“All I am saying is that we’ve been here four seasons now, and we still haven’t seen any real action! I’m tired of patrolling up and down for no reason, back and forth, here and there…the monotony is killing me!”
Heidi, Arnica and I sighed; we’d heard this rant of Lynum’s before. The hall where the leverets and officers took their meals was full of hungry hares breaking their fast. Lynum and I were gearing up to go on another costal patrol duty.
“I mean-”Lynum continued, waving an oatmeal laden bowl around. Beside him, Heidi started to mimic his actions over-comically, dodging splats of oatmeal as she did so. Arnica and I tried to hide our giggles as she gestured and made funny faces. Lynum seemed not to notice. This state of affairs continued for some time.
“If I had wanted to be doing the same chores over and over and over again, I’d have stayed at home on the farm, wot!” Lynum turned round as he finished and vented his wrath on Heidi, who had finished her version of his speech in a shrill squeal that had Arnica and I in stitches. “And as for you, I dunno why you’re so darn cheerful, but knock it off.”
The moody male decked her on the head, and then hunched down over his meal. Heidi rubbed her head ruefully and adopted a pained expression. The sight of the two of them made it hard to resist laughing, and as a result Lynum stood up and walked off in a huff. Heidi consoled herself by grabbing what little food he had left untouched and disposing of it for him.
Sobered by his departure, Arnica turned serious. “What’s been eating him lately?”
“I dunno,” I replied, even though I did. He’d been complaining of it only moments ago. It had been a dull summer, with only a few small insignificant skirmishes to break up the repetitive training and patrols. Young and wild, we needed something to do. War seemed a strange thing to wish for, but I found myself doing just that.
Another few weeks went by without an event. Lynum forgave us, but remained edgy and argumentative. The heat of midsummer began to be felt on the mountain, making the very air hot and stuffy.
Everyday was like a day before a storm, but with no relief at night. Not just the weather – we all felt it, something like a tension in the air. Nothing told us so officially, but deep down we all felt that something, someone, was coming. But, like the ominous rain clouds that never appeared, our suspicions were dry.
Then, one night for the first time in many seasons, I had a nightmare.
It was them – the weasels. They entered my dormitory and killed my family, my friends. They walked a while to a river front and killed a tribe of otters, leaving behind two bodies; a maid with slashed shoulders clinging unconscious to her twin, who had saved her life by drowning. They were at the very foot of the mountain, the very edge of Mossflower, the very gates of Redwall Abbey itself. No one could stop them…there was Martin of Redwall, sword in hand, being knocked down by a red-faced rodent, who smiled wickedly while he slew the brave warrior. There was a strange mouse with a knotted rope, a young novice with the shield of Martin, bold brave hares…squirrels and otters too and every other kind of creature – each and every one defeated by vermin that smelt of leaf rot and had juice stained paws.
One of these paws reached down and pulled a young spunky haremaid from a bush by the scruff of her clothes. She escaped by literally falling out of her dress into the salty water below.
And now I’m in the ocean, being tossed and turned about by the waves. The Strawberry Eater is leering down at me from the prow of his great ship. I am powerless. The wind picks up, bringing with it mad waves, and from the crashing turmoil floats a wooden spoon. I clutch the thing, and hear within me a voice I never thought I’d hear again…
Round and round the strawberry bush,
My Lupwa chased the weasel;
Round and round the strawberry bush,
‘Til…
My grandfather, echoing the tune of the paw clapping game he taught me in my youth and innocence. Suddenly, the wooden spoon is a boat, and I am floating in it, and I can almost reach the railing on the weasel’s vessel, and my fingers grasp at the edge, and thunder rolls and lighting rents the air and when it clears it is simply me alone in my bed, clutching at dreams.
I lay awake for a long time, listening to the long awaited rain run down the mountain side. I knew without getting up to check that there was a thunderstorm and fierce wind, and that the seas would be rough.
I recalled similar summer storms with the mole siblings; we used to go and sit in the burrow doorway and watch the elements battle from the safety of the snug house. I hoped fervently that they were not doing so now with Lilly and Charlie. If they were, they would be able to see the tiniest expanse of ocean, and the tips of the sails that I knew without needing to look were creeping over the horizon.
Bearing the Strawberry Eater closer.
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