Brian Jacques - Loamhedge

She gave Bragoon a beaker of hot mint tea. “Mornin’, matey. Well, our bigbeast left while it was still dark. I saw ’im go, y’know.”

Fenna poured tea for herself. “Lonna’s gone?”

Saro nodded. “Aye, you lot were all asleep. Horty’s snorin’ woke me, sounded like a tribe o’ stuffed-up frogs.”

The young hare huffed indignantly at her, but Saro carried on. “I was lyin’ there wide awake, watchin’ Lonna in the fireglow. He’d picked up the sword o’ Martin to admire it. Well, next thing that badger went stiff as a frozen pike, sittin’ there starin’ at the blade as if it was speakin’ to ’im. I watched for a while, then Horty started snorin’ agin. So I gave ’im a good kick an’ settled back to catch a nap.”

Horty interrupted. “Blinkin’ cadess, kickin’ a chap in mid slumber? Rank bad manners, I’d say. Hmph!”

The elderly squirrel shrugged. “When I woke up agin, he’d gone.”

Bragoon slapped his rudder against the rock floor. “I’ll wager ’twas Martin the Warrior, speakin’ to Lonna through the sword. He told the badger where t’find Raga Bol, an’ Lonna took off after the villain!”

Bragoon wrapped the sword up reverently as Horty chuckled. “I bet old Raggaballoon wotsisname wouldn’t be too pleased with Martin, if he knew. Snitchin’ about him to that bally great hulk. I’d hate to be in his way when he feels peevish. Frazzlin’ frogs, imagine what old Lonna’ll do to that vermin when he catches up with him, wot wot!”

Bragoon began packing his belongings. “I wouldn’t like to imagine, mate. That’s Lonna’s business, an’ I’m sure he can take care of it well. But we’ve got our own problems to tend. Up an’ on to Loamhedge, mateys!”

Morning boded bright as they left the cave and began climbing the cliff to its top. It was hard going until the two squirrels, Saro and Fenna, went ahead. Soon they were on top of the cliff. Lowering down a rope, they heaved up all the packs, then secured the rope around a rock, allowing the other three to haul themselves up.

It was a breathtaking panorama from the plateau. Horty’s keen eyes spotted a small dark smudge, moving across the scrublands in the distance. He pointed. “I say, you chaps, that could be thingummy, er, Lonna!”

Springald shaded her eyes. “So it could! He’s headed northwest, that’s the direction we came from. Saro, d’you suppose he’s going to Redwall?”

Sarobando felt they were wasting time sightseeing. “I couldn’t really say, missy, but one thing’s shore, we ain’t goin’ to Redwall. ’Tis Loamhedge we want. So stop lookin’ backwards an’ let’s go for’ard. Quick march!”

Shimmering flatlands, devoid of vegetation or shade, rolled out before them. Small swirls of dust eddied in spirals on the hot breeze. Sarobando squinted her eyes against the distance.

“Miss Fenna, yore in charge o’ the drinks, we’ll have t’be stingy with liquid. It might be some time afore we run across water by the look o’ things.”

Immediately after the squirrel mentioned drinks, Horty began feeling thirsty. “I say, Fenna old gel, pass me that canteen, there’s a good little treebounder. I’m parched!”

Fenna marched right on past him. “We’ll drink at midday and not before, so forget about it and keep going.”

The young hare appealed to his comrades. “Wot? Did you chaps hear this heartless curmudgeon?”

Bragoon grinned pitilessly at Horty. “Aye, loud an’ clear, mate. Wot’s the matter, are ye thirsty already?”

The incorrigible hare clapped a paw to his throat dramatically. “Me flippin’ mouth’s like a sandpit, an’ the old tongue feels like a bally feather mattress. A drink, for pity’s sake, marm!”

Saro levelled a paw at him. “Ye drink when Fenna tells ye. Now get a slingstone pebble an’ suck it. That’ll keep the thirst off as y’march, ’tis an old trick.”

Horty pulled a pebble from his pouch, looked at it in disgust, then put it back. “Permission to sing, sah!”

The otter waved a paw in the air. “Sing y’self blue in the face for all I care, but forget about drinkin’.”

Horty had to dig through his store of ballads and ditties, but he soon came up with an appropriate one.

“I knew a jolly old spider, and she always used t’say,

she could dive in a bath of cider, an’ swim around all day.

Oh I would like to be that spider,

floatin’ round in sparklin’ cider,

she’d drink an drink, ’til she started to sink,

there’d be so much cider inside o’ that spider!

I once knew a friendly flea, to whom I used to chat,

his favourite drink was ice-cold tea, what d’ye think of that?

Oh I would like to be that flea,

sippin’ cups of ice-cold tea,

all in fine fettle from a rusty kettle,

’til I drank as much tea as that flea!

O cider spider, tea an’ flea,

’tis all good manner o’ drinks for me.

I’m an absolute whizz for strawberry fizz,

I’ll sup old ale ’til I turn pale,

I’d never bilk at greensap milk.

Give this ripsnorter some rosehip water,

or cordial fine made from dandelion,

give me a barrel it’s mine all mine,

just tip me the nod or give me a wink,

an’ I’ll drink an’ drink an’ drink . . .

an’ dri . . . hi . . . hi . . . hiiiiiiiink!”

Saro covered her ears with both paws and roared, “Enough! I can’t stand no more o’ that caterwaulin’, give that hare a drink. Give everybeast a drink!”

Fenna passed the canteen around, allowing each of the group one good mouthful. Horty was onto his second swig when the otter snatched the canteen from him and stoppered it. “Ye great guzzlin’ gizzard, don’t ye know when t’stop?”

Horty gave him a hurt look and belched. “Beg pardon, sah. Miserable blinkin’ bangtail, I barely wet me lips, wot!”

Bragoon grabbed the young hare by his fluffy tailscut and tugged hard. “One more word and ye’ll be wearin’ this as a bobble twixt yore ears. Now belt up an’ march!”

It was hard, hot and dusty out on the flatlands, but they trekked doggedly onward. Even the breeze was like the heat from an open oven door. With neither shade nor shadow to shelter from the ruthless eye of the blazing sun, it soon became an effort to walk.

Bragoon licked his dry lips. Dropping his pack, he crouched down on his hunkers. “Phew! I tell ye, mates, I never knew a day could get so hot. We’ll rest here awhile.”

The aged squirrel set about making things comfortable. She laced their cloaks together and made a lean-to. Weighting one end of the cloaks with their supply packs, she propped up the other end with two travelling staves. “That’ll give us a bit o’ shade. Get under it, an’ we’ll take another drink. Mebbe we’ll have a nap ’til it gets cooler. Then we can travel in the evenin’.”

The otter dug a beaker out of his pack. “Good idea, mate. Fenna, pass me the canteen. I’ll measure our drinks out, so nobeast gets any less.” Here he glanced at Horty. “Or more than the others!”

They were each allowed one half-beaker, which they sipped gratefully.

Horty quaffed his off in a single gulp. “Bit measly, wot! Where’s the food?” He was the only one who felt like eating; the others stretched out and tried to rest.

Fenna watched the hare stuff down candied fruits. “That will make you even thirstier. The sweetness will start you wanting to drink more.”

Horty waggled his ears at her. “Oh pish tush an’ fol de rol, miss, I like eatin’, doncha know!”

Bragoon opened one eye, remarking ironically, “Ye like eatin’, really? I’d never have known if’n ye hadn’t told me so! Put that haversack back on the cloak ends, or the wind’ll blow our shelter away.”