A journal entry
In the rainy evening, summer. Redwall Abbey. Jo the otter.
"Iv'e been visited by martin the warrior twice now.
Of course all of the tasks put before me have been a riddle till recently.
I must find a hiding place for the inhabitants of the Abbey, I’m afraid we may be attacked soon.
A hooded squirrel, who could not speak came into the Great Hall, he mostly responded using his tail but aside from that was the picture he drew.
It depicted vermin with an arrow pointing at our home, I am afraid of what is to come.
As of late just for a little while I looked for a hiding place but I cannot do this on my own.
Martin and my father will guide me to where we must flee, oh the contrary I had hopes of the help Ayita the ottermaid would give me of which martin mentioned.
The beauty of her form was enough to ruffle my fur and curl me whiskers, but she has left the Abbey for good. I’ll never know her intentions or reasons for her departure but it saddens me to the point of no sleep in the evening that she has left to Camp Willow never to come back.
If she ever does I will either not remember her or I will but I could not approach her again.
My past is a jumble of events, in my case my father was a smithy, my mother a village cook, pup sitter and home keeper. They were the leaders in my village but that did not stop vermin from destroying it, my parents murdered before me. I fled out the window, with just the small shirt on me back. Id nothing else with me, I will never know if anyone survived. Regretfully I doubt it but if there are any survivors from those seasons past then I bid them good health and a good life. I had fled down the road in hopes of escaping, course I did flee and escape but my father had thought things through ahead of time. He must have had a feeling something like that would happen.
The Noonvale Traveling Companions Trope was waiting just down the road out of sight of the vermin. I tripped and fell and skinned me knees pretty badly but kept running and an old hare came out infront of me and grabbed me and put me in their wagon. I was afraid, more so for my own life than the strangers near me, they were friendly and said they are friends of me dads and they asked about him………
I broke down then and leaned into the chest of the old hare seeking to be consoled and comforted.
They had been close to me parents, the old hare hugged me close and cried with me feeling me sorrow, id never known older beasts cried so openly. This lasted most of the day, and we were still fleeing, the mood was gloomy like the rain that fell. On the contrary my father had a funeral fit for a king but out of disgrace and misery the vermin brought.
We had traveled for about two passings of the sun and stopped and made camp, the least I could do was help. So I helped make the fire and find a stream to fill the ‘food pot’ as they’d call it and make soup.
In me own opinion their cooking was the best I had tasted since me mothers.
After we had eaten and cleaned out the pot and set out bedrolls, we said a few prayers hoping that anyone who may have survived the assault at the village was ok and safe. The old hare as i’m prone to calling him mentioned something about a mouse who fought valiantly and true. Slaying evil for the sake of goodness and light, his name was and well still remains Martin the warrior.
I’m not going to go into detail of the six to eight months I was with the troupe, I loved it with all me heart but they had decided I had to find me own path. I didn’t quite understand what this meant until we came into view of the abbey, I asked the hare we were there he said,
“So that you may find your life once more.”
Me emotions overflowed and I was sad, I did not let go of the old troupe hare for atleast an hour before letting go.
His fur wet with me tears, the same mine wet with his. He was and still remains to me a father, though me blood father died one can always become a father to another who has lost both parents. Just like flicktail, he considers all young ones his own. Anyhow before we separated he gave me a wrapped bundle and said I was to have it, I unwrapped it and stared at the gleaming blade and the elegantly made scabbard and looked at the old hare with a kindof ‘what is this’ look. “Your father said to give it to you if ever something bad were to happen.” I nodded and sheathed the blade and put it in my leather bag and it stayed there for some months but besides that,
I straightened me hat and fixed me tunic as best I can and gave each of the troupe members a hug goodbye, their names still a vivid memory to me – Thatch the squirrel, Buhad the mouse, Wesden the squirrel and last but not least the Old troupe Hare, Wevrid.
This all I take down as my life history so far, my father had been to the abbey before and left a shield and a yellowed letter atop it underneath the strap. I found it in one of the storage rooms upstairs and saw that it was given to me by me father by me name engraved along the edge.
This I record in any such occurrence that I die or live me life and leave to the dark forest.
I, may think I have some sortof gift to see martin fully. Besides him being a spirit and all I can touch him without me paw passing through, tomorrow night I will enquire of martin as to what I must do since Ayita left redwall abbey. One must take her place, in search of a hiding place. I may think martin is pointing me towards cavern hole, I shall search there in the morning perhaps.
Groups:
