A/N: Abrahem, Waycaster, Keldor (figured I'd just dump all the review responses in one place): Agatha has quite a lot of good reasons to not trust Threeclaw. It's one thing if he's learning to fight from a respected, honorable source. A guy who kidnaps kids and admits to it? Even the fact that he's vermin isn't high on her list of concerns, it's that he is a kidnapper. His job description is kidnapping kids! I think even Constance would have second thoughts about letting him teach her son.
The feast... shall be eventful ;)
Enjoy, as a side-note we will still be following Redwall for the next few chapters. I'd say the next three for sure at least.
Following the trial, Friar Gord had made a small dinner, consisting of no less than three different types of soup and pastries and half a dozen varieties of fruit salads. The hedgehog had thought it wise not to overdo himself, after all there were still plenty of leftovers from the previous night's feast. The news of his son's safety and good health had been an inspiration, to say the least, and the dishes were once again delicious. For this all the abbeybeasts were grateful.
"You mean he'll be staying here?" The news of Threeclaw's questioning had spread like wildfire and it was all anybeast could discuss.
Bella cracked her knuckles and nodded grimly. "Until the rest of our children turn up anyways."
The Recorder harrumphed around a raspberry cupcake. "In that case we had better get used to him."
"Now now Montague, there's no reason to be a pessimist." Friar Gord, a portly hedgehog by all accounts, wagged a disapproving ladle at the bespectacled mouse. "My Grollo's on his way, and Hawthorn too."
"Not my Momchillo..." Rosebrush muttered into her soup. The sad little mouse would have been offered comfort had a dozen hares not suddenly burst through the doorway.
"Ah there he is!"
"The Friar, wot!"
"Just the chap we wanted so see!"
"We're off!" The tallest hare explained, as he and the other members of the Long Patrol with him, snatched at the salads and pastries and stuffed them into haversacks. "All bloomin' winter and not a trace of anybeast." He shook his head from side to side and bit into a cheesecake. "We were beginning to lose hope don'tcha know? But then the squirrel shows up- I mean one dibbun alive eh? Others must be fine too, it's the only logical explanation!"
The shortest hare continued. "And this time we shan't return till we've got them all accounted! Ain't that right chaps?"
There was a chorus of 'yes sahs' followed by a swarm of 'wot wots'.
Saluting smartly the group spun on their heels and marched out to cheering and whoops of joy. Only the Friar, wearing an ugly scowl, seemed disgruntled by their sudden entrance and departure.
"They've stolen all my haversacks..." He muttered, the ladle shaking in his paws.
"Well there you have it Montague." Rosebrush grinned widely, forgetting her previous sorrow. "It's only a matter of time before the others show up."
The abbeybeasts cheered again, in part to drown out any further pessimism from the Recorder, who's bitterness was left to simmer.
"And when they do Redwall will once again be free of vermin!" A much smaller cheer (made by perhaps half of the shrews present) followed the words of the Log-a-log.
Constance cleared her throat icily, and a hush fell upon the hall. "Not if Fret comes back."
The few Guosim that had cheered had the grace to look apologetic. The Log-a-log did not and stabbed a radish leaf, yet said nothing in reply.
"And I don't think we're getting rid of the weasel babes anytime soon, either." Bella added, in part to take the conversation away from the rather complicated and potentially volatile subject of Constance and her adopted son. "The Abbot seems fond of them and it would be heartless of us to toss them out just because our own young returned."
There was a quiet murmur of acknowledgement, followed by the usual sound of dishes being scraped clean and refilled.
"Has anybeast seen Mefelda?" Friar Gord scratched at his head-spikes and scanned the tables. "And Mormont was in the kitchens before but he doesn't seem to be here now. Are they not hungry or?"
"Nah, they're hiding out in the gatehouse." A chubby otter informed. "I was at the pond you see, saw them sneak in with blankets and everything."
"Hiding?" Bella repeated, a frown on her lips. "Why would they be hiding?"
"The stoat of course." Montague said briskly. "Mefelda's expecting and Mormont's always been a bit on the er- shall we say cautious- side of things. There is a literal, confessed kidnapper within these walls and I for one think they have the right of it. The further they are from Threeclaw, the better."
"There's no point in them skipping dinner." Friar Gord scowled, not wanting anybeast to miss out on the rebirth of his cooking skills. "You don't mind fetching them, do you?"
The addressed otter shrugged and stood up. "I could try but I think it might be easier if I brought some vittles to them."
"Assure them that if that vermin lays any of his three claws on them I will personally rip his tail off and strangle him with-"
"Bella!" The Friar snapped. "Not at dinnertime, please!"
The badgermum, now frowning apologetically, had the grace to look abashed while sipping her tea. The otter, snickering, departed, two platters filled and at the ready.
Once more there was a pause in the conversation, as plates and bowls and cups were emptied and refilled.
"What about that hedgehog lady?" Montague asked, voraciously tearing apart a brunt turnover. "Quite an odd beast really. Very sensitive and all tha-"
"She's also rather nice." Rosebrush butted in. "I was showing her to her room earlier and I don't have anything mean to say. I don't think we should have any problems with her and if she does choose to stay she's more than welcome to."
There came a hearty cheer (which coincided, coincidentally, with the arrival of a particularly marvelous pudding). Damsons were artfully arranged around the sides of the dish, a sprinkling of candied chestnuts topped the wobbling blob, and powdered sugar was carefully sprinkled on in a pattern- one that greatly resembled a young hedgehog.
The Friar flushed with pride as he placed the pudding at its deserved spot in the center of the table. "And we mustn't forget that she looked after Grollo and Hawthorn for us. No doubt kept them warm and well-fed." The fat hedgehog proceeded to dish out the pudding with a flourish, giving Rosebrush a particularly large scoop.
BANG!
The door was flung open. Agatha stomped towards the table, and over protests of a certain Friar, dumped a dusty blanket onto it with vengance, as if both the blanket and the table had done her some great ill. "Where is Matiya?" She demanded.
"Agatha please! Get that old carpet off of my table!" The Friar was shaking with so much silent fury that the jelly threatened to topple to the ground.
"It's not a carpet." She snapped, waving it in his face. The hedgehog almost fell over. "It's my son's blanket and it is covered in blood!"
The Foremole intervened, rescuing the pudding and placing it carefully upon the table. "Burr, itten moight be a toiny scratch."
"It's that stoat." Agatha snarled. "H-he oh you should've seen him today!"
"What did he do?" Bella placed her tea on the table, and wore the expression of one preparing to tear a beast apart.
"He was beating my son! With a stick! An-and Matiya! The- oh you know how he is! Wanting to be the Abbey Warrior and all that. I thought he'd grow out of it by now b-but he- the stoat is teaching him! Teaching! He- he doesn't understand h-how dangerous tha- that vermin is! How he might- and he won't tell me anything!"
"Agatha dear, please sit down." Rosebrush suggested, offering a seat.
The squirrel did so. "I just d-don't understand why he would- and not telling me- and-"
"If this vermin thinks he can get away with hurting our young in our abbey no less." Bella cracked her knuckles.
"There naow Mizz Bella 'ee can sit 'eesself down again. 'Tain't nuffin teh be gettin' 'eeself all stressled about. Zreeclaw an' Mout'ee'a were a playin'."
"Playing! Y-you call that playing? H-he knocked him to the ground! Twice! An-and-" Agatha growled. "I don't want my son around him. A-a kidnapper! A vermin! A-a scoundrel! And a bully! All he seems capable of is h-harming our children!"
"Matiya will be fine." Constance assured her. "He is home again and he is safe. That stoat can't do anything to him. Either me or Bella or a good cell will make sure of that."
"It's not the stoat I'm afraid of! I-it's Matiya! Look at him, trusting a beast wh-who stabbed one of his friends! An innocent child! An-and M-Matiya trusts him b-because he teaches him h-how to swordfight? H-he's naive! And a danger to himself an-and-"
"He can't expect to learn much from vermin anyways." The Log-a-log interrupted with a cackle. The portly little shrew helped himself to a generous piece of pudding. "Most of 'em fight like a pair of half-blind old crones with their legs tied together!"
"Some half-blind old crones with their legs tied together fight very well." Threeclaw was instantly recognized by his accent. "I admit I have not seen many, but I am sure one or two can look after themselves tres bien." The stoat smirked and gave a small wave as the abbeybeasts, almost as one, turned to face him. "As for Matiya, I will say what I said before. He is exceptionally talented. And agreed to my tutalage. If he wishes us to stop, we will stop."
"Will you?" Agatha hissed. "I for one, find that extremely unlikely." She flapped open the blanket and gestured at a streak of dried blood. "Care to explain this?"
"I see a dirty carpet." The stoat replied, with dangerous calm.
"This is my son's blanket! And why, pray tell, is there blood on it!?" The squirrel demanded, rising to her feetpaws.
"Your son can answer that question better than I can. Whatever you are holding I have not been seeing it before. And before you continue to tirade and blabber about your son I was thinking it is being rude to talk about beasts behind their backs."
"Rich of you to speak of manners." The Log-a-log spat. "Guosim! We'll be sleeping on the walltops tonight, to make sure there's no funny business." There were some muffled complaints, and while shrews did love arguing, here they must have seen a lost cause and decided to take the path of least resistance.
Threeclaw waved them away as they passed and blew kisses, which none of them bothered to try and catch, though they acknowledge them with glares and growls of every kind. As soon as they had departed the stoat turned back to the rest of the abbeybeasts and cleared his throat. "I understand that it is time for dinner."
After a short pause Friar Gord nodded. "Yes well... sit down I suppose. I-if you washed your paws that is. I-it is, well we generally wash our paws here-"
Threeclaw marched forwards and thrust his paws outward. "Spotless, oui? It may surprise you but I know my way around a bar of soap." Now that he had mentioned it, the abbeybeasts became aware of the soft, delicate fragrance of spring roses that followed him around. No doubt he'd found the scented soaps.
"Steal a lot of them, do you?" Montague remarked, just as Threeclaw pulled up a stool.
The stoat smiled dangerously and replied with a question of his own. "Would you be thinking more or less of me if I answered honestly?"
Before the Recorder could reply Roseheart, who Threeclaw had just sat next to, stood up abruptly. It was obvious from the way she was shaking that the molemaid was terrified. "Oi be fuller. Good noight!" Without waiting for any kind of response (and indeed before anybeast could give any) she turned and fled from the hall.
"Do not be letting the bed snakes bite." Threeclaw snickered.
"She hardly touched her food." Bella commented, glaring at the responsible party. It said much of the reputations of badgers that the stoat grew silent.
"So um- Threeclaw, was it? Well we generally help ourselves here but if you want I could-"
"Don't bother monsieur hedgepig. I can be helping myself." The friar opened his mouth and, sensing further protests, Threeclaw went on with the cunning bestowed upon him. "You, mon copain, look famished. Please, be sitting down. Be helping yourself. You must be starving."
"Well I am a bit peckish but..." But it was too late. Before anybeast could stop him Threeclaw had assembled a plate, a fork and a knife. To the surprise of everybeast he did so without breaking or damaging any other plates, knives or forks. "...I suppose you can..." To silent gasps of shock and widened eyeballs the confessed vermin kidnapper whipped out a neckerchief and wrapped it swiftly around his neck with all the polished etiquette of one born and bred by badgerlords. "...Manage..."
"I am glad we are agreeing." Threeclaw continued to bewilder the abbeyfolk by piling his plate high with as many of the assembled delights as he could manage. This in and of itself was not surprising and was the general behaviour of any beast visiting Redwall. What was surprising was that he had done so without spilling a single droplet of soup or shedding a single crumb of pasty. It was not at all like what they expected from vermin. Although in their defense, the abbey's previous resident vermin had not set the bar very high.
As if only now noticing their stares the stoat smiled apologetically. Well it was probably supposed to look apologetic but their was a kind of 'ha in your face!' arrogance in his grin that somehow ruined the effect. "Desole, I am a hungry beast and your cooking is being legendary even among my kind. Could somebeast pass the pennycloud cordial? Por favor?"
Struck dumb by the manners on display, Bella obeyed. Simmering in silent rage Agatha got up and stomped out the hall, blanket in tow. The Badgermum cleared her throat and instinctively everybeast in the hall straightened up and removed their elbows from the table.
"Gracias mademoiselle." Threeclaw replied, holding his only pinkie out while filling a goblet with generous amounts of cordial.
"You're welcome." Said Bella, gruffly. "I must congratulate you on the way you hold yourself. Their is a certain grace to it." The hall had become a warzone. It was a battle of politeness and courtesy, a game of manners and etiquette.
"You are too kind." The stoat sipped his cordial the way woodlanders sipped their tea. "And your cordial is simply divine. My compliments to the chef."
Friar Gord was currently devouring an apple salad and holding a miniature pair of raspberry crumbles in his paws. The hedgehog stopped chewing abruptly, his cheeks bulging with vittles, when he realized that everybeast was staring at him. Swallowing deeply he wiped his mouth on his habit sleeve. Bella shut her eyes and Threeclaw's smugness tripled. "Is er- something wrong?"
"Absolutely nothing!" The albino replied, carefully cutting a turnover into a tiny, bite-sized morsel which he could easily stab with his fork and devour.
The Friar was rescued from further embarrassment by the timely arrival of Matiya.
The squirrel's fur was still damp from his bath and there were patches of wetness on his otherwise clean habit; he hadn't been very thorough with the towel before putting it on. "I'm starving." He said, sitting down besides Threeclaw on Roseheart's abandoned stool. Oblivious to the fact that every eye in the hall was on him, the young squirrel snatched at the nearest dish- a tray half-full of cheesy scones and began wolfing them down with all the grace of a beast half-starved.
No spoon or napkin was in sight. His elbows were on the table. He hadn't even asked for it to be passed to him.
"Matiya dear." Bella's voice was like the rumble of a thundercloud. "There is a stick in your tail."
"Oh. 'Fanks." And now he was speaking with his mouth full and Threeclaw was snickering. The squirrel pulled the stick out of his tail and, because he was hungry, tossed it over his shoulder. Finally he swallowed and faced the albino. "What's so funny?"
"Nothing. Just eat your dinner." Matiya was not sure why Threeclaw had shot him a wink, but shrugged his shoulders and continued to violently and gracelessly tear apart his food- the way hungry squirrels were wont to do.
The following minutes were pure torture for Bella. Threeclaw daintily used his napkin to clear lips that hadn't been dirty to begin with, while Matiya smeared his habit sleeve with the crumbs and fillings of half-a-dozen tarts. The stoat sipped at his drink, so silently he made barely a sound doing so. Matiya was practically gurgling it. Matiya hadn't had his table manners under so much scrutiny since he was a little dibbun!
It was a similar kind of torture for the other abbeybeasts, who had moments ago been eating as swiftly as their appetites allowed, yet were now reduced to a crawl. Elbows were constantly being removed from the table, backs were straightened up with force, napkins were used vigorously. Nobeast dared to talk.
Before long, Abbot Martin, accompanied by the weasels clinging to his paws, walked into the quietest, most formal dinner in the Abbey's history.
"PUDDING!" The weasels shrieked, breaking the silence and forgetting the abbotmouse as they hurried towards the table.
Friar Gord, acting quickly, swiftly snatched up the confectionary and held it high above their heads.
"Grrr! Give it back ye fat ole hedgepig!" Snarled Fang.
"Aye! Give us our dinner!" Demanded Bow.
"Or we'll guts ye!" Jewel brandished a lettuce leaf.
Before the Friar could threaten in kind, the Abbot intervened. "Please, children. Sit down. You can have your fair share of the pudding in due time, but erm yes, this is Friar Gord. He's in charge of the kitchens. And well, a lot of time and effort went into that dish and it's not fair on him for you to er- devour it."
The four harrumphed as one, and muttering evilly about puddings and unfair abbotmousies, they began to lay waste to an unfortunate basket of muffins.
"Thank you Father Abbot." The portly hedgehog returned the dish to it's rightful place on the table, before once again picking up his knife and fork and attempting to cut up a blackberry tart that looked more squashed than sliced.
Sitting down at the special chair reserved for the abbot of Redwall, Martin could not help feeling a little awkward. Their was less silence now that the dibbuns had come to eat, but even his half-blind old eyes could tell something was amiss. "So... how was... orchard clearing?"
The abbey-dwellers, aware of what was going on, all swallowed hastily and went for their napkins. Abbot Martin raised an eyebrow and regretted asking.
"It went well, Father Abbot."
"Lots of grass was cut."
"Yes. We should do it again tomorrow."
"The orchard is cleaner too, thank Martin."
The old mouse adjusted his spectacles. "Right. Well er- that is good to hear. I'm sorry I would have come sooner but I was ah- occupied." Nobeast replied, but many gave the weasels- who had poured strawberry fizz into a large bowl and were now lapping it up- quick, furtive glances.
After several minutes of such forced politeness the Abbot's curiosity got the better of him and he was compelled to ask. "Could someone explain to me what's er- going on?"
Threeclaw was the first to reply, smiling brightly. "We are eating dinner of course!"
"I can see that but... may I ask why...?" The old mouse gestured at all calm and quiet of the normally loud and chattering dining hall.
The stoat shrugged. "Your badger doesn't want to see a vermin with better manners than a woodlander."
"That has nothing to do with it." Bella snapped. The badger paused, unsure of how to proceed- although her first inclination was to smack the smug grin off of Threeclaw's face.
"I mean if that is the case..." Abbot Martin scratched the tip of his nose and cleared his throat. "While er- proper etiquette is indeed very important and a ah- vital part of abbey life-" His eyes drifted to the four weasels, currently digging into a pie rather literally. "I think for the time being anyways formality does not have to be ah- particularly high on our list of priorities."
A sigh of relief seemed to sweep across the hall. The Friar tossed aside his knife- having failed to do more than squash his tart flat- and attacked his plate with all the grace of a saber-toothed cavebeast. Backs were hunched, shoulders sagged, drinks were chugged and chatter returned. The familiar sound of dishes being scraped clean had also come back.
Stifling a yawn the Abbot smiled and reclined on his chair. His eyelids were heavy now, and the hour was late. The old mouse felt himself beginning to drift off into a peaceful, well-earned rest. Briefly Martin wondered whether he'd wake up in bed or in the chair...
The sound of a door being slammed open with enough strength to tear it off it's hinges, brought the aged rodent back to his senses. Agatha had entered the hall, looking furious and a part of him hoped this was just a nightmare he could wake up from.
"Matiya." The squirrel's voice was as chilly as a spring frost. Her son turned to face her, swallowing his current mouthful with an audible gulp.
"Yes mother?" He replied, uncomfortably aware that most beasts were watching now.
Constance strode forwards and placed a paw on the squirrelmaid's shoulder. "Not now Agatha, let the boy-" She was shrugged off and ignored.
"I was in your room earlier today. And I found this." She held out the blanket and Matiya's face fell.
"I can explain tha-"
"I also found this." From under the blanket she procured a rapier. The younger squirrel squirmed uncomfortably at the sight of his own dried blood upon it. "Care to explain?"
"I was sleeping." Matiya was staring at his feetpaws in embarrassment. "And I had a nightmare and I cut myself." For the life of him he could not remember what the horrible night-time manifestation had been. Something about Fret? Yes, that was it! And the ferret had been fat for some reason... The young squirrel was wrenched from his thoughts by a loud clatter.
Agatha had flung both the blanket and the rapier to the floor and furiously placed her paws on her hips. "Do you really expect me to believe that? After I saw your- your tomfoolery with this-this-"
Threeclaw turned swiftly to face her, grin at the ready. "This?"
"This vermin!" Agatha hissed. Her eyes were red and bloodshot. Constance, acting swiftly, placed her paw once more on the squirrel's shoulder, not that stopped her from speaking. "What were you even doing with a real- a real weapon? You could have hurt- you did hurt yourself!"
"I gave it to him." Replied the blademaster. The stoat's voice was calm and cold and sent a shiver down Matiya's spine. "So that when I got here, and when somebeast inevitably called me vermin I didn't kill them." Casually he sipped his tea; pinkie still protruding from his grip..
The older squirrel was struck dumb by this reply, and the underlying threat brought silence to the hall once more. Abbot Martin rose to his feetpaws, but nobeast seemed to notice.
The tension cracked when Threeclaw snickered. "I am joking." His smile seemed to agree but his eyes said otherwise. Coughing awkwardly the stoat rose and made his way towards the pudding.
Agatha glared momentarily at his retreating back, only to turn back to Matiya. She spoke now, loud enough to be heard by all in the hall. "I don't want you around that beast."
Matiya shot to his feetpaws, a strange kind of energy was coursing through him. It was not exactly anger, nor was it adrenaline but it burned white hot. "Just because he's-"
His mother cut him off. "What he is has nothing to do with it." She shot the stoat a look of pure revulsion. "But he is dangerous."
"No he is not!"
"Yes I am!" Threeclaw chimed in, generously filling his plate with scoop after scoop of glorious pudding.
The young squirrel growled but forced himself to remember his manners. He did not need Bella reminding him to respect his elders. Agatha went on.
"I do not want you playing, practicing or being with him. He is a dishonest creature through and through by his own admission."
"You don't know him, mother." Matiya forced himself to reply, knowing full well that he did not know Threeclaw all too well either.
For a beast known as Blind the squirrelmaid was quite perceptive. "And do you?"
Matiya glanced in the stoat's direction, hoping for some sort of advice. He found none for Threeclaw was busy whispering something to the weasel dibbuns. In truth he knew less about his sword master than he liked to admit, especially out loud, but lying was not the abbey way and Threeclaw would probably contradict him anyways.
"Look at me Matiya."
It took a conscious, physical effort to bring his eyes towards his mother's scowling face. Constance still had Agatha by the shoulder and the big mouse had the grace to look apologetic, not that that improved his mood.
"I don't want to repeat myself." Agatha went on. "Will you listen?"
Matiya suppressed the urge to snap 'no', but found himself out of ideas. Bitterly he remembered that nobeast had ever objected to Matthias learning swordplay. Then again Matthias' mentor had been a kindly old mouse, not an eccentric stoat.
"Agatha." Abbot Martin had made his way over by now. "Whatever he is, Threeclaw is our guest unt-"
SPLAT!
Four identical shrieks of laughter pierced the air. Abbot Martin and all his words of wisdom had been interrupted by a pie to the face, thrown by none other than the weasel quartet. They were not the only four who snickered. Threeclaw was giggling next to an appalled-looking Friar, Matiya could not suppress a snort and even Bella looked mildly amused.
The old mouse held onto every trace of dignity he could as he pulled the pie off his face. Wiping cream off his spectacles, he made no sound as he walked slowly towards the oblivious weasels.
Splat! Splat! Splat! Splat!
A tiny cupcake was dunked onto each of them (to Gord's horror), bringing in more laughter from the hall. The Abbot himself was beaming, satisfied at the small measure of pay back he had gotten for all the things they had put him through…
Unfortunately, Martin had miscalculated. Vermin rarely took insults lying down and dibbuns never did.
"Ye'll pay for that abbotmouse." They growled in unison, swaying a pie between their paws.
The old abbot smiled fondly, remembering bygone days when he had been a mischievous dibbun. He'd thrown his own fair share of pies back then…
With a cry of bloodcurdling rage the weasels hurled the pastry forth. Despite his age, the mouse easily avoided it, having had ample time to prepare his escape. Agatha, unfortunately, was called Blind for a reason. She never saw the pie coming.
Howling in rage, amidst gales of barely-suppressed laughter, the squirrel mother freed herself from Constance's grip and seized a soup-pan by the handles.
"Agatha! That's enough!" Bella rose to her feetpaws, but too late. The soup splattered all over Rosebrush and the pan (which had slipped from the squirrelmaid's grip) made a loud clang! upon connecting with the Foremole's head.
"'Ee should knowum better'n to waste yon food." Said the mole, rubbing his digging claws against a small bump.
Rosebrush said nothing at all and hurled the last of the pies at Agatha. Her aim was off and instead it caught an unfortunate shrew.
"Not the treacle tart!" Shrieked the Friar, rising to his feetpaws. But it was too late. The Foremole was guffawing with the wild pleasure of a dibbun let loose, despite (or perhaps because of) the tart currently stuck to his face. "And anything but the pear pas-" The pear pasty exploded against the quills of a hedgehog lucky enough to turn before it struck. Because, of course, the Foremole was not the best of shots.
The hedgehog turned back, her quills bristling, her nostrils flaring. The mole had the grace to tug his nose in embarrassment, as moles were wont to do. That might have been the end of it, had she not heard a small cough.
"Mademoiselle." Threeclaw offered her a tart dripping in meadowcream. "Is the expression not an eye for an eye, a pie for a pie?"
"It surely is!" She cried, having perhaps had a bit too much cordial.
Within moments the Great Hall had become a war zone. All the carefully made salads and soups were thrown about hither and thither. Abbot Martin soon found himself drenched and blinded, his spectacles covered in cream and dressing. The Friar stood in the center, clinging onto his precious pudding protectively. Bella would have put a stop to the nonsense, were she not busy trading pastries with Constance.
Matiya ducked a flying pie and hopped over a river of lava-hot pumpkin soup. He was in no hurry to join in the battle after he'd spent most of the afternoon pulling things out of his tail. Yet a daring sort of excitement coursed through his veins. He longed to leap in and launch a pastry or two, to duck between deadly muffins and-
"You are being welcome." Threeclaw was besides him, unharmed and unstained (to Matiya's surprise and annoyance). The stoat grinned. "Best go to bed before maman can make you pinkie promise, oui?"
Of course you were behind it all... Matiya grinned back. "Thanks for the diversion."
"Anytime. And duck."
The squirrel did as he was bid, bringing his face into an incoming pie. Matiya growled from under the cream.
The stoat was too busy cackling to hear him. He was also too busy cackling to avoid a pancake projectile that caught him right in the face.
Satisfied with the fairness of the universe (and the fact that Threeclaw took two more pancakes to the vital organs) Matiya fled, leaving a trail of creamy footprints in his wake. They came to a sudden halt when the squirrel tripped over a stray cupcake. He flailed his paws wildly about him as if they were a pair of undersized windmills, yet failed utterly to regain his balance. His momentum did not stop however, not even upon hitting the floor. With a scream he slid forwards, carried forth by rivers of soup and cream. Carried forth directly into the back of Friar Gord's legs.
The hedgehog toppled backwards with a scream of his own and hit the floor with a tremendous crash. Matiya watched in horror as the wonderful pudding the Friar had been cradling flew through the air.
Abbot Martin wiped his spectacles as thoroughly as he could with the soaked sleeve of his habit. Delicately replacing them he winced. The hall would take days to clean and he was quite sure every habit present was ruined. I had better put a stop to this while I still can… "Bella! Everybeast! Please! This is getting out of paw!" Nobeast seemed to have heard him. There came a scream and a particularly loud crash. The old mouse turned just in time to see the wonderful pudding flying towards him. He sighed, resigned to his fate. "Oh dearie me…"
SPLAT!
Matiya winced as the aged rodent fell to the ground. Deciding this was his cue to leave, the squirrel bolted for the door. He reached it without further event and scampered away as fast as he could.
"Woah there mate! Easy on the-" The chubby otter, having returned from delivering Mormont and Mefelda their dinners, would remember to step out of the way of escaping squirrels next time.
"Sorry Flounder." Matiya winced, pulling himself off the dazed lutrine.
"Issalright." The otter replied, rubbing the back of his head. "Geez, what happened to you?"
"Well…" Matiya glanced in the direction of the hall. "There's a bit of a war going on for some reason. And er- I think it's getting a bit out of paw."
"You can say that again." Flounder replied, eyeing him as if he were some never-before-seen species of sentient pudding. To be fair, he probably looked like one.
"Yeah." Matiya chuckled half-heartedly and scratched the back of his head. "You might want to call the Log-a-log."