A Lead
This is apart of 'The Great Ones', a Camp Willow plot. Read the [[[The_Great_Ones_Aren%27t_Here|introduction]]],[[[The_Great_Ones%2C_Part_One%3A_Under_Siege|Part One]]], and [[[Page_not_found|Part Two]]].
Setting
River Moss
~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%< The River Moss >~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%
This is a particularly rock portion of the River Moss. Large boulders, smoothed by the gentle caress of the river, and the silent tears of the rain, rise up from the ground. The shore line isn't. It stands at a cliff that rises a couple meters up, over which cast large white oaks, shading the river from most direct sunlight.
The trees move gently in the breeze.
~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~
Characters:
Lutea, the Taggerung
Rascal, a traveler
==
<---->A Lead<---->
==
|Part One|
The little canoe is tucked into the bank, its nose buried in the mud and lashed to a tree at the bank. The camp nearby is accentuated by the smell of fish, roasting over a small fire, and by the sights of a rather fierce looking ottermaid stretching nearby. Her paws go above her head, then down to the muddy riverbank, then sweep up once again before she snatches her staff from the ground and twirls it above her head. Going through the motions, she parries, swings, twirls, and thrusts the weapon at invisible enemies all around her.
It was the smell of fish that drew the beast here. If the fox could still be called a beast. His red fur is covered in specks of mud, the tattered remains of his trousers hang loosely from boney hips.
A pair of canine eyes peer at the camp over a small bush. He licks his chops with hunger. Whether or not the hunger is for fish or otter remains to be seen.
For now the beast stays where he is, trying to keep himself silent and still.
When one is, first, hunted by the Juska, before doing battle with Vikings and, subsequently, /hunting/ said beasties of the North - it tends to sharpen the senses a bit. The fur along her nape raises, coupled with a fractional narrowing of the eyes - she can feel the fox's presence; a scent on the breeze, a minute rustling, the feeling of being watched... But she gives no real indication of it. Instead, she continues to practice until the moves bring her closer and close to the bush concealing the fox. All at once, she twists and thrusts her paw behind it with a shout to snatch at him. "Enjoyin' th'show, eh?" She growls.
The fox was up until then enjoying a smug sense of accomplishment. He was being so sneaky and so sly. He was doing his ancestors justice! And then without warning a paw grabs him by the chest. "EEEEEEEEEEEEP!" He shrieks, trying to beat off the otter by flailing his paws at her. It's super effective. "Let go! Let go! It was broke when I got there! I was framed! I saw nothing! Nothing! Well, I saw everything but that's not the point!" He rambles amid his arm flailing.
"Shuttap!" Lutea doesn't release her grip, but stares at the flailing, writhing mass of fur and bones with a raised eyebrow. She's not a small beast, and is solid to boot - she's immobile. "Y'got t'the count of 'eleven' to explain y'self before I throw y'in the river." She warns, giving him a shake. "ONE..."
The fox's head flails back and forth with every shake. His noodly arms failing to free himself the fox simply goes limp. "I just wanted your fish!" the fox begins to cry. Quite literally. Tears stream down his cheeks. "All I w-wanted was something to EAT. Why does e-everything in this forest want to KILL me or EAT me or DROWN me?!" Rascal falls to pieces in every meaning of the word.
Lutea holds the fox at arm's length, her nose wrinkling. "Hoi, stop that. Stop tha'!" She frowns, still clutching the vulpine but recoiling away as much as her body will allow. Abruptly, she releases her grip and lets him fall to the forest floor. "Jus' take the bloody /fish/ we got plenty more." She snarls in disgust, turning away from him to approach the fire. Still too trusting, after everything that has happened - though he tells the truth, she certainly shouldn't have taken his word on it. Yet, here she is, again being talked into and out of things by a fox.
Except this fox just sort of lays there in one giant heap of misery and depression even after the fox's exceptional whining skills saved his life. Slowly his head lifts up, eyes wide and full of pitifull sniveling tears. "Y-you mean you arn't going to try and drown me? Or...or stab me or...or turn out to be some kind of horrible fur trading otter after my hide?" He sits up cross legged, "You mean I can just have a fish, just like that?" The tears instantly dry up and he gives her a sidewise glance, "What's the catch?"
"Th'catch is questions." She shrugs, plucking the fish from the flames and holding it towards the fox - but she doesn't give it to him, just yet. "Y'answer m'questions, I feed ye. S'tradin'." Lutea reasons, rather reasonably, pleased with this great idea she's had. See? She can think on her feet, too! She isn't just good for fighting, fishing, and eye candy.
One can't argue that Lutea does indeed catch the eyes of others. But probably not for the reasons she thinks.
The fox's hunger returns, eyes dilating as his tail thumps against the ground behind him. "Fish for Rascal?!" Like leaping from a diving board the fox lunges at Lutea for the fishy fish, teeth flashing as he tries to bite down on the fish, not caring if he takes a few of the otter's fingers with it.
Wrong move - she is a warrior built of instinct, muscles tightly coiled for reactions to situations just like this one. She steps back and swings at him in surprise, holding the fish away. "/AFTER/ y'answer my questions!" Lutea admonishes, distancing herself further. "I need t'know a few things an' you'll 'ave t'sit still an' be a /nice/ foxy or else I'll clobber y'head in an'throw you in th'river 'ungry!"
The fox is sent head over heels from the blow to the side of the head. Landing on his back with his tail end draped over his head the fox let's out a stunned, "Sure. Good foxy is good. Questions. Answers. River." Slowly he brings himself to a sitting position, once again cross legged. "Thanks. I needed that." Rascal rubs at his jaw, hoping his teeth didn't come loose. "Sorry, when you have lived off of only acorns and berries for the last few weeks you would not be completely with it either." Rascal shakes the dizziness from his head. "Questions? Questions I can do. We fox's have an answer to everything!" he gives the otter a sage nod, still obviously dizzy.
"Don' mention it." Lutea flashes him a small, savage, grin. "'Kay, first, I need t'know if y'seen otters in chains. Probably with big, scary Northbeasts in big boats on th'river. /Then/ I need t'know where a beast can get slaves 'round 'ere. Like... Markets, tribes, taverns tha' ain't really taverns... You know." Sure, she's stereotyping - but he's a fox, and the Juska markings on her face are a testament to her experience with his species. She likes to think she's earned the right to stereotype.
By the fox's expression it seems Rascal is one to disagree. "Forgive me if I didn't have time to stop at the local slave market while I was out here lost and alone for the last several weeks." Crossing his arms, the fox sighs, "Just for the sake of clarifying, I don't deal with...things like that. But in my travels I did stop by a place called the Snake Pit. It's off in that general direction, one of the tributaries to from the Mossflower River runs into it. It would the kind of place you are looking for." His belly growls and his ears fall flat, "I don't suppose you know which way it is to Redwall, do you?"
"Redwall is thatta way - " Lutea points away from the river, through the woods. "Got a good walk ahead of y', though. Follow the river up a ways, first." She doesn't seem phased by his non-involvement, and simply shrugs as she tosses the fish-on-a-spit towards him. "So this Snake Pit - how far off is it?" She presses, settling to a cross legged position across from him with her staff across her knees.
It takes a moment for the fox to reply. The fish is eaten so quickly that even Rascal doesn't know what happened to it. He looks up, cheeks swollen and puffy with fish. With an audible swallow he says, "You...you don't want to go there. Trust me. I have a tribe of murderous shrews after me who followed me to Redwall and even THEY won't go there. Even I won't go there. Not again." He shrugs, turning back to his fish, "It's not easy to find anyway. They make it that way on purpose."
"Hmmm..." Lutea mulls over this information, the cogs turning in that thick skull of her's until she decides that this fox's advice is wise. "I'm goin' there." She is sure her companion will agree when she returns; they've been searching for a lead like this, anyway, have they not? "'Ow much further down river?"
The fish now naught but a slight bulge on the fox's gut Rascal leans back on one paw, licking his free paw clean. "Lady. It's called the Snake Pit for a reason. Because it draws every two legged snake in the forest. These are not your run of the mill bandits and thieves that go there. It's a giant quarry dug strait into the earth using the broken dreams of the slaves who died making it. The entire village is built in the pit itself with miles of mine shafts spreading out in every direction." Rascal picks his teeth with the spit. "Not knowing exactly where I am I can't say for certain, just that it's up river..."
"Then up river we'll go! Thanks." She grins, not seeming to hear the rest of what he said, and pushes herself upright. "I wish y'luck in gettin' t'Redwall. Been unrest in th'forest lately. Least that's wha' th'trees say!" Lutea's grin widens, and she offers a paw down to help the fox up. "But y'best be goin', I want t'finish m'forms before th'lady Sol gets back."
"You're really going to go there, dispite all I told you?" The fox gratefully accepts help to his feet. He glances to the forrest in the general direction of Redwall. He rubs the back of his neck, asking shyly, "I-if you need a paw getting there...I suppose I can guide you there. Especially if there are more fish involved." The fox says with a smile but then turns serious, "But I'm not stepping foot on that unholy ground."
Lutea shrugs. "Sure, but m'companion might be a bit wary of ya." She gestures towards the fire. "Sit, rest up - we 'ead t'Snake Pit in th'mornin'."
They’ll find them….
Groups:
