A/N: Surprise! I'm not dead, yet, but really I have no excuse for delaying so long. You could say lack of motivation but I dont think thats the case. Lets just say I was distracted.

A quick note for this chapter, you will be very confused if you do not go back and read through chapter fifty five (the last Salamandastron chapter) because this takes place almost immediately after that. Skim if you must but I fear you will be confused otherwise.

I'm also gonna skip review responses this time around, because there are a lot and I er- am not sure everyone remembers what they typed up several months ago.

So without further ado, the mountain returns.

A gentle stream of tears trickled down Greyclaw's face. The rat wandered aimlessly across the beach, kicking at the sand with his bare feetpaw. The sun had set and the sky was darkening. Night would soon fall upon the mountain. He sniffed, and tried to wipe his face dry but to no avail. Every tear he washed away was swiftly replaced by another.

"Stop expectin' everythin' te go back the way it was! Coz Ma and Pa are dead, our crew is dead and ye and I ain't brothers anymore because everything's different!"

Sharpfur's voice rung between his ears. A cacophany. A thunderstorm.

Grey Claw had always been a sensitive beast. Everybeast had said so. But this went beyond his usual softness. Sharpfur had always been there for him, and Greyclaw had always tried to be there for Sharpfur. For as long as either of them could remember they had been inseparable. But that didn't matter anymore…

He had known Victoria, Angus and Andrew for far less time but it hurt all the same. They had been friends, they had welcomed him… training had been Vicky's idea… Yet now they didn't want anything to do with him.

Greyclaw sniffed again and wiped his nose dry on his wrist-fur.

"It's getting a little late for a stroll." Came the booming voice of the Skipper. Grey Claw froze and barely suppressed a whimper. The big otter lay half-submerged in the sea, a fishing spear held in muscled arms. Now he frowned, and lowered the spear. "Something wrong mate?"

Greyclaw gave no reply, but could not hold back a third sniff. Barely a moment later the otter was wading towards the shore.

"What's the matter?" His voice, as grizzled and rough as the rest of him, was surprisingly gentle. The Skipper crouched upon the sand so that they were at eye level.

"They hate me. E-everybeast's angry with me." Greyclaw confessed. The rat was frightened of course, he had spent most of his childhood actively avoiding otters, and the Skipper probably hated him too for the same reasons Angus and Andrew did. But the Skipper hadn't been so angry when he first heard the news… "Not Jack and T-tibbers b-but Sharpfur hates me." He sniffed. "Vicky hates me. A-Angus and Andrew hate me. The Junior Corporal isn't very mad at me but he's not not mad at me either and- and you- I know I l-lied to everybeast but I'm sorry! I was s-scared an-and" The rat swallowed and could go on no more, his lips quivering.

The Skipper frowned. "This is because of the rat thing, isn't it mate?"

Greyclaw nodded.

The fishing spear was stabbed into the sand, and the otter's paw firmly placed upon the rat's shoulder. "I don't hate you." He hesitated, as if not sure how to proceed, before bringing his other paw up to wipe his face dry. "And I won't speak for anybeast else but… I could never hate you."

The mouse swallowed heavily, indescribably grateful for the comfort shot forwards and thrust his paws around the otter's neck.

"I thought I made my feelings quite clear this morning..." Lord Umber, Salamandastron's current Lord of the Mountain held his head in weary paws. War was easier than children… "When I said that if I heard of any incidents I would not be pleased." The badger was most certainly not pleased now. The Redwall children had come to him after dinner in a state of awkward worry. He was informed that there had been a verbal duel, and their young weasel friend was now unaccounted for.

A few hares were still searching for Sharpfur but it was dark and their chances of success were slim. Yet Umber was not worried. In times of peace the mountain was a safe place. Provided he did not decide to explore any deep, dark and winding tunnels the weasel would come to no harm. If he had decided to leave, which was not unlikely, then he was out of Umber's paws.

Standing before him were, according to the Redwallers, the beasts responsible. The otters Angus and Andrew, who were known troublemakers and the mousemaid Victoria, whom he had had words with earlier that very day.

"Do you have anything to say for yourselves?" Umber asked. His voice was soft and gentle, yet barely hid a hardened edge.

"We're sorry sir…" The twins mumbled in unison.

"For?" The badger raised an eyebrow, and both lutrines flinched.

"Causing an incident…" The two replied, eyes fixed upon the floor.

"Good." Umber nodded once. "The Skipper is aware of all that has passed, and I trust he will discipline you as he sees fit. Dismissed."

The two mumbled their goodbyes, turned and left. To their horror the Skipper himself was waiting just outside the badgerlord's office, his face thunderous. The door swung slowly shut just as the otterchief began his tirade.

He roared and shouted, in response to one of the twin's mumbled apologies. The Skipper's voice gradually faded as he walked away, dragging the twins off by their ears.

Only when all was silent did Umber turn his attention to Victoria.

"This is the second time you've come before me in the space of six hours." The badger said dryly. "Previously I asked you to apologize to the Log-a-log's son and to ...Bartholomew. I distinctly remember you saying you would do so. Yet, I have heard that no such thing has come to pass and that you picked a quarrel with my personal guest."

Victoria did not even bother looking at him and made a small noise of disagreement.

"I expected better from you." The badger said coldly.

"Did you really?" The mousemaid snapped. "Did you really expect me to embrace the vermin you let into our home?"

"No." Umber replied after a short pause. "I expected you to maintain a sense of professionalism. As I've said before, these are not the first of their kind to grace our halls and I daresay they are the least threatening pair this mountain has faced in it's entire history."

"I'm not threatened by them!" Victoria shot back hotly. "I'm angry! And I have a right to be, don't I? I spent weeks training with Berty and the entire time he was hiding something from me! You were hiding something from me! You knew he was a rat-"

"But he isn't a rat." The badger sighed. "He was raised by vermin that is true, but that does not make him vermin. I trust you know the story of Deyna the Taggerung?"

Victoria muttered under her breath but her temper had yet to run it's course. "And what about the other one? The weasel is vermin! Not even you can deny that."

"Nor will I. But the redwallers owe him their lives and I expect you to treat him with… courtesy. I am not asking much from you. Avoid him if you must, but cease all hostilities."

"With vermin?" Victoria spat.

"With my guest." Umber's voice was hardening, growing more and more like iron. "Understood?"

Not even the mousemaid could hold her ground against his steely gaze. She turned to glare at the desk. "Yes."

"Good. Now go get some rest while I think of a suitable way of disciplining you. I expect you to apologize to those you have offended by breakfast tomorrow. Understood?"

Victoria grit her teeth. "Yes."

"Good. Now get some rest and report to me in the morning... after you-"

"Yes, yes. After I say I'm sorry." The mousemaid snapped, scrambling off the desk. With impressive force she stomped away, pulled the door open and slammed it shut behind her.

Umber sighed and rubbed at his forehead. He was accustomed to war and diplomacy, he was a Badgerlord after all… but the petty feuds of children with grudges was somehow harder than all that.

Dawn broke over Salamandastron the way it always did. With no less than three trumpets and two dozen drums calling the hares and leverets up from bed and to drills, patrols and various other duties. The cacophony of the mountain, and the echoes of hundreds of feetpaw racing hither and thither through the volcano, woke Sharpfur up.

The young weasel had chosen a particularly rough ledge as his resting place, having left the mess hall before any hare could show him to a bed or give him a blanket. He had expected, in such close proximity to both molten rock and a desert, for it to be warm outside. He had, of course, underestimated the chilly winds of the sea. With nothing to cover himself but a hare's uniform and nothing but a rough surface to lay on, he had spent the night tossing and turning in search for warmth.

With a start the runt blinked into reality. Instantly he scowled and wished he was sleeping again. He was still in the cursed badger mountain…

"Damn hares." He snarled, propping himself up, the better to rub at still-sleepy eyes. "Damn mouse." He spat, thinking of Hawthorn. "And damn hedgepig."

His stomach gave a grumble of complaint, forcing Sharpfur to add 'damn sto-matches' to his list of morning profanities. In reply his stomach grumbled again. Sharpfur glared at it… not that there was much to glare at. The weasel was as thin as a twig.

"It's not my fault yer empty." He went on, searching for his spectacles, the better to glare at his own internal organs. "Could have filled yerself up at lunch yesterday but all ye could think of was Greyclaw! Ye had dinner as well but ye barely scoffed up anythin' because all ye could think about was Grey's claws, eh? Come to think of it, they ain't even grey!"

"You can hardly blame him for that." Came a small rumble from above, and Sharpfur froze. The jovial face of Lord Umber gazed down upon him from a window above. The very same window that Sharpfur had used to get to his current position. "Beasts rarely name themselves."

The weasel crossed his paws resolutely, and turned away from the badger. "I'm not gonna bother ar-gyoo-in' with ye." He snapped simply. "Yer the big, stupid badger- ye clearly know everythin'!"

"I would never presume to know everything." The badger shot back, frowning slightly. "Though perhaps I know more than some little, stupid weasels." The twinkle in his eyes were ignored by the young vermin, who had finally found his spectacles. Aggressively he placed them upon his face, the hairs along his back rising and falling and bristling with unconcealed anger.

After several awkward moments, wherein Lord Umber, a badgerlord as mighty as the rest, had no idea what to do. Sharpfur finally demanded. "What de ye want?"

"For one, I'd like that uniform returned to wherever you got it from. Stealing is not tolerated here." The badger's voice was calm, yet firm and offered no room for argument. The considerable size difference between them also helped.

The weasel shrunk in on himself, and hastened to wriggle out of the overly-large jacket. "W-wasn't stealin'..." He muttered to himself, not daring to look at the badger.

"You will not be punished of course." Umber proceeded, now in his element. "It hardly seems fair to punish a guest for one minor breach of conduct."

Still refusing to make eye contact the weasel held out the removed garment. Umber reached a paw down and took it.

"Your friends were rather distressed when they couldn't find you yesterday. I want you to apologize to them for putting them in such a dreadful state of worry."

Sharpfur glared at his footpaws, yet nodded all the same. It was never wise to argue with a badgerlord. An' where's my apology? They made me come here even when I said I didn't want te! Pah! Friends...

"Most importantly." The badger smiled widely. "I want you to join me for breakfast."

Precisely one day ago such an invitation would have summoned a girlish scream and an attempt at escape, so perhaps it spoke volumes about how little he cared about whatever life he had left that Sharpfur gave a noncommittal shrug and did not try and run when Umber scooped him up.

"I hope you don't mind my grip." The badgerlord went on. "But it's quicker this way. Walking at the pace of a smaller creature can be hard on the knees."

Sharpfur did mind of course. He had always hated being carted around in any way, shape or form. It had been his siblings' favourite way of emphasising how small he was even by weasel standards. But he wasn't going to tell the dumb badger that…

"Usually I have breakfast in my office." The badger turned a corner. "I find it's easier to think outside of the hustle and bustle of the mess hall. Don't misunderstand me, I love my hares." The badger sighed, his breath ruffling the furs atop Sharpfur's head. "But they can be a pawful sometimes." Umber grinned roguishly. "I'm also not too keen on waiting."

A less emotionally compromised Sharpfur would have, by now, convinced himself that he was the breakfast being referred to and started whining, whinging, whimpering… or biting. Depending on his mood. Yet now all he did was frown, and slump forwards, as bored as a bee. This did not go unnoticed by his current chauffeur, who slowly trailed off. Luckily it did not take long for them to arrive.

The badger's office had not changed since the previous day. Everything was as large as it needed to be for a badger to use effectively, which was another way of saying that everything was ridiculously big. Gently placing him upon the desk, Umber traversed around it till he got to his chair and sat down. There he neatly folded the Long Patrol uniform and placed it in a drawer, to be delivered later to whichever cadet had 'misplaced' it.

Sharpfur sat down and glowered at the desk as an awkward silence ensued. After no less than three seasons (for a moment felt like a season when neither party knew what to say), Umber proceeded.

"I… I have always wondered… What is it that er- how do vermin speak of badgers?" The badgerlord had not spent much time pondering this. In truth, it was obvious that most vermin had never seen a badger until they saw him. And most were terrified or trying to hide it. He had no doubt that young weasels traded stories of terrible, earth-shaking giants to one another. Yet, from his time managing hares Umber knew that the best way to get somebeast to talk was if you gave them a reason to. It was rather like fishing… if he threw enough bait forwards he'd eventually catch something. "Any… I don't know… stories? Camp tales? Er-rumours?"

The question momentarily gave Sharpfur pause, but the weasel had soon pieced together an answer.

"I heard ye kept the skulls of yer enemies an' used 'em like little tea cups." Sharpfur furrowed his brow and his eyes darted around the room at the preposterously scaled-up objects around him. It had probably taken four hares just to make Umber's comfy-looking chair. "But I don't see any here…"

"I keep them in the forge room." Umber said with a smile. Sharpfur was not sure whether he was joking or not and replied with a 'hrmm'.

"Everybeast always said ye were big beasts." Sharpfur went on, fiddling with his spectacles to give his claws something to do. "Nobeast said how big but they compared ye te mountains an' hills an' wotsits."

"A tiny exaggeration there, as you can see of course."

Sharpfur nodded. "Sick-Eyes also said that she heard from some rat who's probably a deadbeast now, that ye could see the future."

Umber cocked his head to the side. "Is that common knowledge amongst your kind?"

"Well no. Deathglare said she was just bein' rid-ick-ew-less." Sharpfur paused, his brow furrowed in thought. "So are ye a seer?" He finally asked.

Umber smiled slightly, but now it was his turn to think. It was out of the question, of course, to show Sharpfur the forge room and all the secrets of the mountain… but the young one seemed genuinely curious. "I have had a few visions of things yet to come." Umber said truthfully. "Both recently and in the past."

The young vermin's jaw dropped and his eyes widened in wonder. Umber could not suppress a grin.

"It is both a gift and a curse. For one, I never see things I would want to see and most visions are unpleasant… warnings of dark things to come." His grin faltered and fell and for a moment Umber looked half a ghost. "Yet… if ever I do face a terrifying prospect in my mind's eye I can prepare for it in reality."

"What about… deth-teeny?" Sharpfur continued to gaze up in awe and admiration, the same awe and admiration most young hares put on when faced with Umber. The weasel himself must have realized that for a moment later Sharpfur pried his eyes away and forced his jaw shut. "Don't ye believe in fate?"

"Destiny is not a steady path young one." Umber replied gently. "It is something like a stroll through the beach. Perhaps I intended to swim in the sea, yet at some point was distracted by a rockpool. Or perhaps it got too hot and I retreated to the shade of the mountain. It never follows a straight line… As you no doubt know by now. A few weeks ago you would never have dreamed of this place. And yet here you are."

There came about another lapse of silence, which was now broken by a smart rap at the door.

"Sergeant Philip Woodfoot, wot. Reporting with vittles sah!"

"Enter." Called the badgerlord.

A short, stocky hare with a peg-leg limped in, shooting a glare at the weasel on the desk. A grizzled old veteran, his furs and whiskers as stiff as iron rods, this was perhaps the most threatening-looking beast Sharpfur had encountered. Which made the fact that Sharpfur glared right back ironic. The hare saluted smartly, placed a tray of crumpets, tarts and other little cakes upon the desk and limped back out.

"My personal steward." Umber cleared his throat awkwardly and pushed the tray towards Sharpfur. "Help yourself."

"Thanks." Sharpfur muttered, thanklessly, eyeing the vittles with disdain. He was hungry, of course, but that did not mean he was about to accept the woodlander's offering. His speech had been impressive of course but Deathglare had often warned him of the falsehood of most seers.

"You're welcome." Umber replied, thrusting a pawful of the cakes into the weasel's arms.

Finally relenting, Sharpfur began to eat. It was a pretty good way of avoiding conversation and although he would never admit it, the food was excellent.

"I am aware of last night's incident." Said the badgerlord abruptly, drawing a small coughing fit from the weasel.

Of course that mouse told him everything! The weasel snarled internally.

"And I apologize. As Lord of the Mountain the wellbeing of the beasts within is both my responsibility and of paramount importance. I have spoken with Victoria, both in regards to you and other matters. I know she can be ah- difficult- but you must understand most of my kind have not had many pleasant experiences with your own."

Sharpfur swallowed and snorted. "What? Some rat rob her once an' she still holds a grudge?"

Umber paused, his eyes narrowed. "I would not speak of her past if I were you. As a fellow orphan, however, I expect you to be able to sympathize."

A strange kind of wriggling erupted from his stomach and Sharpfur turned away. "I won't mention it." He mumbled, nibbling nervously at a tart.

"That is wise indeed. I believe it is in all our interests for the two of you to avoid one another."

"No com-plainsh der!" The weasel agreed from around a mouthful of tart.

The badgerlord smiled. "My hares have prepared a room for you. You will have to share with Grollo and Hawthorn for the time being but if there are any issues with that you can let me know."

The weasel grunted, and selected a fairy cake.

"There is one final matter I'd like to discuss with you." Umber cleared his throat. "Regarding the er ra-mou- regarding your adoptive brother."

Sharpfur, who had been about to take a nice, big bite out of the succulent sweet, scowled suddenly. "What about him?" The fairy cake now lay forgotten.

"I do not know how close you two are or were but I do know that he was rather less cheerful than somebeast should be, when reunited with family."

"Adoptive family." Sharpfur snapped icily.

"But family nonetheless. And you were nothing short of ecstatic upon first finding him here."

The weasel scowled and looked away, muttering under his breath about 'dis-tort-sion' of facts.

"Rat or mouse, he is your brother whatever he may be." Umber went on.

The furs along Sharpfur's back began to rise with rage. If I have te explain te one! More! Beast! Why in Hellgates I'm as angry as I am I swear te Vulpuz I'll-

A single large finger gently pushed up the weasel's head. The overly large spectacles slid off of Sharpfur's face and fell upon the desk. There was no escaping the badger's eyes now. "And brothers should apologize to one another when there is a quarrel and explain things to one another when there is confusion." A short pause seemed to be stretching into eternity until Sharpfur sighed.

"I'll talk te him."

Umber smiled and drew his paw away. "I expected no less."