Brian Jacques - Loamhedge

The squirrel chased after him, shouting out, “Grab ’im, Horty, he’s loose!”

Quick off the mark, the young hare gave chase. He was reaching out to grab Jiboa, when a piercing shriek came from above. “Kyeeeeeeeeee!”

Jiboa threw himself flat, but Horty was knocked ears over scut by a massive shape. A great buzzard—chocolate-and-white plumed—snatched Jiboa up in its fierce, hooked talons. It bore him off squeaking, high into the blue. Three more of the deadly predators swooped down on the Jerbilrat pack, each one seizing a victim, as the rest tried vainly to burrow into the dust. Then they were gone. The rest of them fled westward, thrumming and wailing fearfully.

Then there was silence. Horty sat up, dusting himself off. “Stifle me whiskers! Did you see the size o’ those birds? That’s a pretty awful thing to happen to anybeast, even a Jerbilrat. Fancy bein’ scoffed by a flippin’, flyin’ feather mattress, wot!”

Springald gazed around at the dusty, deserted plain. “Those poor creatures, no wonder life in this area makes them hostile to others. I hate this dreadful place!”

Fenna’s voice sounded small and frightened. “How are we going to find water now that we’re completely alone?”

Bragoon shouldered his sword wearily. “Just press on. Jiboa knew there was water over this way. We’ve got t’keep goin’!”

They staggered onwards, but as evening arrived Fenna collapsed. Saro rushed to her side, fanning her brow and rubbing her paws. The aging squirrel looked up at Bragoon. “Pore young thing, the heat an’ thirst have got to ’er. We don’t even have a damp cloth t’wet ’er lips. Fenna’ll die if’n we don’t get some water soon.”

The otter covered the little squirrel with his cloak. “Right, mates, that’s it. Horty, ye come with me! Spring, ye stay ’ere with Saro an’ Fenna. Me’n Horty will find water, or die tryin’. If’n’ we ain’t back by tomorrer noon, ye’ll know we never made it. But don’t fret, we’ll be long back by then with water!”

Sarobando and Springald shook their friends’ paws.

“Good luck, an’ fortune go with ye!”

“We’ll be alright here, hurry back now!”

Horty bowed gallantly. “To hear is to jolly well obey, marm!”

The two comrades struck off into the gathering dark.

Saro and Springald settled down to their vigil. After awhile, Fenna began murmuring as she tossed and turned feebly. “A beakerful, is that all, Father Abbot? I’m thirsty . . . so very thirsty, Father.”

The mousemaid cradled her friend. “Hush now, Fenn, lie still.”

Softly, Springald began singing an old lullaby, from when they were Dibbuns together at the Abbey.

“Peace falls o’er vale and hill,

silence fades the light,

moon and stars watch over

little ones by night.

Dawn will send the day bright,

larks will sing for thee,

streams of slumber flow now,

round this babe and me.”

Saro smiled. “That’s a pretty song, I remember it from Redwall long ago. Ol’ Sister Ormel used t’ sing it in the dormitory. Happy days, Ormel was a good ol’ mouse.”

Springald sniffed. “I learned it from her, too. Sister Ormel passed on three winters back. She was well loved.”

As they nursed Fenna, in hostile country, far from their beloved Abbey and its friendly creatures, Saro and Springald sat silent with their thoughts of Redwall.

Horty staggered gamely onward, though his paws were wobbling and his body bent with fatigue. Bragoon was in slightly better shape, but every step he took was an effort. Side by side they stumbled along through the night. Then the young hare tripped and fell, bringing the otter down with him.

Through cracked and swollen lips, Horty mumbled, “Beg your pardon, old lad, tripped over a confounded bush. Wonder what oaf left it there, wot.”

He grunted as Bragoon scrambled over him and grabbed a pawful of leaves. Thrusting his nose into them, the otter whooped. “Wahoo! This ain’t no bush, mate. ’Tis a big clump o’ comfrey. There’s water nearby, I’m sure of it. Water!”

Leaping up, they plunged forward with renewed hope and energy. The otter suddenly ground to a halt, pulling Horty back. He pointed ahead, to where a soft glow emanated from behind the bulk of a widespread willow tree. Beyond that, the trickle of running water could be clearly heard.

Drawing his sword, Bragoon thrust the young hare behind him, uttering a quiet caution. “Stick close t’my back, an’ don’t do anythin’ foolhardy. There’s a fire burnin’, t’other side o’ yon tree. I ’ope there’s friendly beasts sittin’ round it.”

Horty snorted. “Fat chance in this neck o’ the woods, pal. All we’ve met is bounders’n’cads since we climbed those cliffs. Huh, friendly y’say, prob’ly so friendly they’ll chop off our blinkin’ heads on sight, wot?”

The otter’s paw clamped over Horty’s mouth. “Stow the gab an’ stay behind me, we’ll soon see!”

There were six reptiles in all—two large frilled lizards, three fat toads and a grass snake—lounging around the fire. They were grilling a mess of bleak and minnow on green twigs. Having made a bit of noise as they approached, both travellers were expected. One of the lizards stood barring their way to the water, which appeared to be a small streamlet flowing away into a dense pine forest. The rest of the reptile crew crouched, ready to back the lizard up.

Bragoon nodded civilly to them, noting that all eyes were on his sword. “Evenin’ to ye, we’ve come for water.”

One of the lizards sniggered nastily, trying to imitate the otter’s voice. “H’evannin’ to ye, we’ve a-come f’waterrrr!”

Horty noticed several large gourds of water nearby. “That’s the jolly old stuff, water, you know, that pleasant liquid which is rather nice t’drink. I say, those tiny fish smell rather toothsome, wot. Don’t suppose you’d like to donate a few to a worthy cause, a hungry but honest hare, eh?”

The reptiles edged around, circling the pair. The largest of the lizards picked up a crude, flint-tipped spear, pointing it at Bragoon.

“Watersss not a free, iz all oursss. You wanta fisssshes an’ drrrrrink, give usss bright a blade!”

Ignoring him, the otter turned to Horty. “I don’t know wot it is wid the beasts in this country, but they seem t’think we’re dim-witted. Our stream, our water, our fish. While pore young Fenna’s dyin’ for a drop o’ water. I’ve taken about enough of all this claptrap, mate. Ye take my sword, don’t do anythin’, just stay there, that’s an order!”

Horty took the weapon and saluted. “As y’say, sah! An’ pray, what d’you intend doin’, if one may ask, wot?”

A slow, savage grin spread across the otter’s tough face. “Nothin’ much, I’m just goin’ t’get us some water.”

Roaring out a warcry, Bragoon launched himself at the reptiles. “Make way fer Bragoon o’ Redwaaaaaallllll!”

Horty could not have moved if he had wanted to. He stood wide-eyed with shock, watching six reptiles take the most fearsome beating he had ever witnessed.

Bragoon broke the spear of one of the lizards over its head, then picked the reptile up and hurled it into the stream. He went at the others like a madbeast. Flinging himself through the air, he butted a toad heavily in its enormous stomach. As air shot out of the toad in a whoosh, he rudderwhipped it hard, thrice across the head, laying it senseless. He turned and grabbed the other lizard, running it forcefully, snout on, into the willow trunk. Seizing the grass snake, he used it like a flail, cracking the jaws of the other two toads with the snake’s head. Bragoon leaped high. Still holding the grass snake, he landed on the two toads’ stomachs, then booted all three toads into the stream. The other lizard sat facing the tree trunk, nursing its broken snout. Knotting the snake around its neck, the otter looped them both to a low branch.