Friendship's Tests

Tundutwaa, Stubb, Angus, Amos

Location: Northern Lands

A heavy fog has rolled in during the early morning hours, from some warm, moist front that has blown in from the icy river... the squirrels are up in the trees, trying to keep watch as best they can if some are still awake, and the party that had followed the squirrelking is still watchful of the fox, as a gaseous ocean surrounds their ankles and soon everything around them.

Stubb's mouth vainly combats the sand that seems suddenly to coat his tongue. "Ah... -Ah. Angus, ma'e. You've go' to understan'. Oi were goin' ta tell ya..." The lizard has just turned to the weasel, demanding an explanation for Hactor's cryptic remarks. The egg. The damn egg. A half-considered ploy to get the lizard on the warlord's team, now months ago, now mostly forgotten. "We... Oi..." Stubb tries to disguise his retreat by leaning forward as he steps backward. His arms swing forward, paw grasping paw in an anxious entreaty. "You've go' ta believe me, ma'e. Oi didn' mean no 'arm!"

Whether due to the fog or his fatigue, Angus is slow to process the unfolding scene; perhaps his tiny lizard brain is simply not equipped to handle things such as complete and utter betrayal. "Y--y'mean it's true, mate?" he howls, as eyes go glassy with rage and despair. "How how--*no harm*?" The lizard continues to advance on Stubb, grasping, wailing, flinging his mighty head from side to side in disbelief.

The scrawniness of Stubb's frame is magnified by the scene: by his trembling head, by his eyes large with remorse and terror, by the moon-white Venetian bands that illuminate the forest and the interstitial shadows that hide it. "'E's aloive, do!" The weasel utters this in a desperate squeak. "I's whoi oi don' sleep neva. Oi'm finkin' a how ta get 'im back. Finkin a how oi done wrong boi moi frien'." His fragile voice teeters on the brink of tears.

"Awwwwww... little weasel, you meant no harm! Hahahahaha!!" Is there a shape emerging from behind Stubb? Something coming out of the fog? At this point, it looks only like an irregularity - besides, didn't that voice come from behind Angus? The voice is a low-pitched buzz... muffled by something, yet loud - and the louder it gets, the more confusing its directional quality becomes, bounced off of the trees, "I don't think I should interrupt this delightful heartbrokenness, but I shall."

Amos gives glance at the weasel in disbelief and to Angus who he suddenly has imaginings of violence towards the weasel. His ears though are arrested by the sound of that unfamilar and dangerous, "Mates, we ain't got bloody time for this, we's got company that I fear ain't kindly."

"*Alive?* Where is he, *mate*? *Where*?" The handshake morphs from truce to death-grip, as Angus enlists the weasel's paw as leverage. He twists at the spindly mustelid appendage, dragging its owner inward. With his other hand stationed on the weasel's shoulder, the lizard seeks to illustrate how a simple jerk could result dislocation or worse. Whispers from the dark fall upon deaf ears; Angus is beginning to seethe, hyperventilate, dribble spittle from the corners of his mouth. "So help me, Stubb--I'll tear yew apart iffn' ye' don't start spillin' *now*!" He is too enraged to heed Amos' warning.

Stubb is, obviously, similarly preoccupied by concerns more pressing than an ominous voice and a cat's misgivings. The hot stink of lizard breath puts such everyday concerns far out of mind. "Tha... tha bird. George. 'E's been followin' Nidlorf's men abou'. Dey've got 'im. Dey've got your son." He doesn't bother to struggle against the dragon's grip. "Oi din' wan..." He swallows heavily.

"Well, it doesn't matter what kind of company I keep, does it? I suppose I have this axe... but I am outnumbered /vastly/." The fox steps into the visible vicinity of the group, looking around, "..but what I lack in numbers, I make up for in sheer bargaining power. Not that power is of /any/ interest to me." There is something yet familiar in this introduction... hard to see past the hood are the fox's eyes... they look fairly glassy. The end of the axe pokes into Stubb's back.

Amos moves his weapon at ready, his focus turning to the fox, "At your back ya bloody weasel, we are to be assulted!"

Angus unleashes a guttural hiss, digesting the tale of squirrels and mischief, but his inky gaze gently lifts from Stubb. Partially blinded by the haze, the dragon can barely see the beast, in spite of its proximity, but is well aware of the presence. "This is none of yer concern, mate," is his reptilian suggestion, chased by another raspy growl. He maintains his hold on the weasel, all though it is unclear whether the tension in his grip aims to thrust the shaken creature into the axe blade or, rather, yank him to safety.

Stubb twitches at the touch of the blade inserted between his back and his pack. His head strains against the limitations of physics and tendons, craning to see the owner of the voice and blade. His frail body continues to quiver.

Tundutwaa squints through the hood, barking, "Angus... Angussss... your /daughter/ is /at least/ part of my concern. I do have her, after all. She is one of many things I would not fancy your 'Nidlorf' to have. Many things including your hare." He chuckles, throwing his head back, "Do you think I was ever against you? Against Hactor? No. I let things turn out the way they turn out, with an occasional /nudge/. Hmhm..." He pushes Stubb with the blunted head of the axe, back towards Angus.

Angus briefly hangs his head, as the scene gradually complicates. The lizard attempts to fling Stubb to one side, releasing him, and focus the brunt of his force on the cloaked figure. Bellowing expletives, he rushes to snatch up the axe; disarm the shadowed vulpine, figuratively, and then literally, if the situation permits.

Stubb tumbles onto his side. He groans and props himself up on his arms to steady his spinning mind.

Tundutwaa smiles, waiting for the lizard to be almost upon him, and throws the axe down towards Angus' head... but too late. The fox is pummeled and the axe flies out of his grasp, to land embedded high in the trunk of a tree at the opposite end of the small clearing.

Stubb's mouth falls slack, and his eyes draw downward. He eases himself a big higher off the ground, without removing the bulk of his weight from the side of his haunch. With one paw, he reaches inside his vest. The weasel's eyes widen.

If momentum allows, Angus will follow through; put Tundutwaa, now off balance, on his back on the snowy forest floor. Once there, the lizard drops the entirety of his weight upon the fox, pinning him. A calloused hand fires at the adversary's throat, its intention to asphyxiate. The lizard does not speak, but continues to growl and hiss.

Amos moves to attack the fox and his blade pushes forward at villian.

Tundutwaa, strangely, allows all of this. He simply laughs, or tries to laugh - especially when the reptilian claws are about his neck. In a gagged voice, the fox mutters, "Do it. Kill me. Kill the hare, your daughter, and kill the entire North, while y--gg- while you're at i-g."

Taking no heed of Tundutwaa's words Amos' blade moves to strike true regardless. He glares at the fox, "Better you be dead then us to play your games!"

Stubb winces as he extricates his dirk from his side. It drips blood into the snow as he pulls out from the shelter of his vest. With breaths coarsened by the cold, by effort, by pain, Stubb first wipes the bloody blade on the ground, then struggles to stand. A few stumbles ensue, but he persists, rising at last to stand, gasping and hunched.

Angus says, "It might just be worth it, iffin' I getta' hear yew rattle an' gurgle an' scream," Angus cannot deny. "I ain' got no reason t'trust yew, anyhow--especially not with a smell that foul, mate." The lizard tilts his head inward, as his forked and bluish tongue emerges, probing shamelessly at the downed fox's neck. "Y'smell almost like .. hm. Now who wassit." His vise-like grip steadily tightens, relentless, in spite of the others' respective attacks. Maybe Tundutwaa's eyeballs will pop, Angus idly imagines."

Tundutwaa quickly grabs the lizard's restraining claw and uses all of his strength to yank it towards the lateral swing of Amos' blade, simultaneously kicking out at the lizard's middle to allow his bulky frame to follow the inertia of the yank. "Ah..... yeees!!! You.... mean...." The fox rolls out of the mess, regardless what happens, and pulls his hood.

Angus was too cocky there, and he is punished by the triumph of Tundutwaa's scheme. His hand is peeled away--all though not without its claws digging deeply at the thick-furred flesh beneath--and caught in the path of the wildcat's blade. "Unholy toads!" the lizard wails, as the sharpened implement connects not just with a claw, but with the top third of two fingers. They sail sadly into the night, plopping, out of sight, in a snowdrift. The only evidence of their voyage is their crimson contrail, and the lizard, who screeches and clenches at his maimed hand. "He gotmah---holy flyin' .. FAH. Aaauug."

Angus screams at Amos, blinded by pain, "Why did yew go fer' him?! I had him *pinned*, y'loopy bastard!"

Events unfolded so swiftly, Stubb was impotent to do much to prevent the lizard's loss. He shakes off his own pain and limps in the direction of the fox. His eyes smolder.

Amos maw clearly expresses shock but also anger, "Is why I went for him, " He turns his glaze of furry upon the fox, "Ya bloody bastard, look what'cha did! Cut ya tongue out is what I'll do, before I listen to it again." He charges with sword in paw.

"Angus, brother! Your own 'friends' are more against you than I am! Come, meet your daughter, whom I /haven't/ placed in the paws of some unknown beast, and whose fingers I haven't severed! Are these /really/ your friends?! Hah!" The fox leans against a tree, stroking his neck, suddenly serious, "I /might/ pretend you didn't try to squeeze the breath from my lungs, just now." He stares down the weasel advancing on him, letting the cat charge...

With a suddenness that rips open the night, a burst of fire slices down from amidst the upper boughs of a tree. It thuds into the ground, rattling softly from the force of the impact. An arrow suspends the dwindling fireball in the air, inches from the base of the tree where Tundutwaa now stands.

Amos continues to charge madly with rage, even in spite of the arrow and pulling a dirk free from his side and tossing it at the villian.

While not likely life threatening, the injury is severe--and alarmingly painful, in spite of the frost-bitten state of Angus' extremities. He has managed to sit upright, but doubles over, bloodied mitt drawn against his torso. "Y'ain't crackin' this skull with yer' mindgames, fox--the weasel an' me, we got some things to hash out, but .. well. An' the wildcat too," he admits as he pants, rocking to subdue the agony. "Besides, I ain't got no daughter--I got a son. And I'm not even convinced I got one still, if y'really want to know." The lizard manages to dart a gaze among the others, as he rambles, dizzied by adrenaline.

Stubb stops and squints up into the darkness above. The flicker of a kindling flame echoes from a high branch and spills red light across the upper reaches of the forest. From this distance, only the barest hint of animal activity reveals itself.

Stubb moves with caution to the lizard's side and offers his small frame as an aid to help Angus up.

Tundutwaa is distracted by the fireball, in front of him, which now illuminates his features. "Fools! You have greater enemies than I! The whole forest moves with their filthy little scamperings! If you continue this witless attack, I will retreat and leave the others to die, and you to be devoured by a far more vicious, epic war!" He nimbly dodges the cat, circling around the tree he was against.

Angus jerks his head to examine the fiery onslaught. "Now what?" he wails, wincing. "The brimstone's finally comin' down upon us?" There is a lingering glance at Stubb, as the weasel boldly provides assistance. The dragon accepts his chum's aid, albeit hesitantly, and rises to his wobbly feet. "What's it with foxes an' their cryptic prattlin' on?" Angus half-heartedly pipes. His eyes fall to his fist, which oozes blood into his clothes. He is distant, confused, cold--the whole scene is dreamlike.

Another arrow springs forth from the forest, this time catching the wildcat and he falls. Then another, he glares at the fox as he lays bleeding in the snow and staining it with his blood as he struggles for breath.

"Quick," Stubb mutters. "Dunno who's foirin', but i' don' look loike dey're interested in bein' friens wif us, neiver." He helps Angus in the direction of a small evergreen shrub.

Angus limps for the shrub, but halts when Amos goes down. "Lords--Stubb, it's the cat!" he hollers. "He's down." The hulking lizard adjusts his trajectory, now headed to scoop up the wildcat, at least to the best of his ability, given the mangled hand. "They gottim'." Tears have long since welled in reptilian eyes; he his distraught, panicked.

The fox jerks his head now in the direction of the flaming missile's origin, as he shakes his head, "Fools... You follow an old, over-ripe shadow of a warlord, whom I gave up on well before his foolish sacking of Redwall. Are you listening to me now??" He is sure to put the tree between himself and the arrows... he yells across, from tree to tree, "Follow /me/! I would lead you to the twin richest cities in the North. /King/ Stubb, and /King/ Angus, hahahaha!"

Amos struggles under the pain, one arrow produding from his leg and another at his upper back. He grunts but struggles to get to his feet once again, only to slip and fall again in the snow.

Suddenly a bottle is thrown from the fox's direction out into the open where the lizard and cat are. "It will slow the bleeding, deaden the pain. Trust me or let most of your friend's life-force drain into the snow."

Amos glares at the fox and turns to Angus, again trying to get up, "Leave it, I rather die than accept his help."

"Don't listen t'his wretched words, mates!" Angus rasps, stumbling to the wildcat's side. The lizard crouches in the snow beside his injured comrade, and, while the wounded hand is kept tucked and immobile, he extends the other arm to hook Amos--to drag him to safety. "C'mon, kitteh kitteh--no time fer' a nap, eh?" he hurriedly howls, ignoring the bottle that whirs past. "Stubb, c'mon, mate--*help me*." Frantic eyes search for the weasel.

Stubb squeezes himself under Amos' arm, despite the blossoming blood on his midriff, and helps hoist the cat to his paws. "C'mon, ma'e. We'll get you free a here."

Amos chuckles at both of them and struggles to ease their burden despite the pain, "I'll be alright, " He braces his teeth and hisses at the pain of movement.

Angus helps Stubb drag the wildcat to the chosen bush. "Who's doin' the firin'?" he asks, his breath sharp and heavy. "Don't move so much, kitteh--it'll make y'bleed out. Gotta keep yer' heart pumpin' slow." His gaze falls to Stubb as the weasel's abdominal injury makes itself know, and his jaw slackens. "Toads--they got yew too? S'might be th' end of the road, fellas'." His head hangs, and he draws his injured hand in tighter.

( An arrow plants itself at a steep angle in the trunk of the fox's chosen hideout, and its flames lick hungrily at the frostbitten bark. Steam gives way to smoke, and before long, to a slowly marching outline of glowing red. )

Stubb eases Amos into the cushion of snow. A grimace gnaws at his face, revealing teeth tightly clenched. "No, they ain' go' me. Go' moise'f. Knew oi shou'd a stowed moi daggers somewhere safer."

Stubb looks up. "Damn if oi know 'oo's up dere. Ew'd a knew it were so busy roun' dese par's? Seems a new army greets us at every turn."

Amos slows his breathing as best he can, and stills himself at Angus' words, "Hellsteeth, " He curses, "My weapon, " Still laying where it was dropped in the snow. Liberated from the rats, its no great loss but his ears fall against his skull at his helplessness and he falls quiet and still again.

Angus slowly nods his boxy head, following the weasel's gaze to the treetops. "Aye," he whispers, and sinks low, as if hiding was a viable option right now. "There ain't no weapon worth goin' back out there right now, kitteh," the lizard insists, and turns his attention back to Stubb. "Y'did that t'yerself, mate? Never pegged ye' for the clumsy sort."

By now, the fox is long gone, the axe too - as nothing but the burning of the arrows fills the scene with a red glow, illuminating the bottle which slowly turns black as another arrow is fired in its direction. Suddenly, a loud explosion rocks the entire area!

The archers, of course, followed him, since they can navigate among trees.

Stubb stands enough to peer out from behind the shrub. He squints into the clearing, lit now by the fire that slowly, deliberately has consumed one face of the tree. "Guess i's best we didn' give you that medicine, eh? Da bo'tle exploded." He snickers, then looks up at the sky, now touched with the fingers of dawn. "Oi don' fink dey're shooting anymore. We'd best escape before dey start again. An before the 'ole place goes up."

Angus cringes, prying his hand from his middle. He holds the appendage out, examining the damage, and shakes his head in dismay; "Won't be usin' that one for countin' no more," he light-heartedly quips, despite their dubious circumstances. Then the lizard grabs hold of one of his many layers of clothing, rips at it, and uses the scrap to haphazardly bandage his crippled paw. "Aye," he tells Stubb, adding a sage nod. Again, he eyes the steadily growing stain on the weasel's shirt, and glances to Amos. "Should we get the arrows outta' the kitteh first?"

Amos laughs despite his wounds, though regretting it shortly after, "Aye, get 'em out if ya don't mind, " He grits his teeth, closing his eyes, "Bloody hell, least ya two got ya senses back." He grins despite himself.

Stubb crouches down again. "Bes' no' to remove em entoirely. Oi been in a few ba'tles a' sea. Dey'd cut i' so as i' don' wiggle abou', bu' we best 'ave plenny a cloff ready if we pull em ou'." A single, delicate paw settles gently on the protruding barb. "Bleedin' nasty, dis is..." His breath catches in his throat as he surveys the damage to his friend.

Angus throws a sharp glance at his feet. "Not quite," he admits, moving the glassy gaze to the weasel. "But best save it fer later." Falling quiet, the lizard watches Stubb's examination, and gnaws on another chunk of fabric. This new piece is fashioned into a make-shift sling, in which Angus plops his tender fist. "Looks like it," he says, and squints at the arrow wounds. "What about yew, mate?" A lizard claw pokes at Stubb's belly, and the ominous cardinal stain.

Cold and pain keep the wildcat's senses afire, though his strength is slowly beginning to be sapped by the loss of blood and damage. At Stubb's touch he flinches, groaning in pain as that was a mistake. He makes the effort againt to lie still, but doesn't quiet his tongue, "I'll be alright mates, we ain't beat yet." His teeth chatter.