Life as a GUOSIM Shrew
Life as a GUOSIM Shrew
By Major Recorder Quinten
In my last report I gave a brief synopsis of my 6 season long journey across the southern wilds and in the Kingdom of Southsward, but in this report I would like to reflect for a time upon one of the more interesting stops in our journey, a Winter spent as honorary members of the Guerrilla Union of Shrews in Mossflower.
Lieutenant Manuel, Private Trodar and I, Private Quinten had been travelling for some time through the foothills of the central mountain range. In our company where also 3 mice, 1 hedgehog and about 7 shrews, former captives of the cannibalistic reptiles whom we had set to route, after discovering their village and their foul and unsavoury practices.
Now it had been our original intent to cross the mountains and travel across the western flatlands between the forest of Mossflower and the central mountains. Our plans however changed when Lieutenant Manuel offered, and quite rightly so to escort the former prisoners home. So we had started south through the foot hills towards the great southern stream and its tributaries where the shrews informed us the GUOSIM where to be found. The mice and hedgehog, not having homes to return to, also accepted the shrews offer to journey with them to Southern Mossflower and locate the GUOSIM. It was quite a subdued journey, all our new friends had lost someone to the cannibals before we arrived and the grieving process was long, the youngest of the mice barely spoke a word as we walked along together always heading south with those loathsome swamps off to our right and the foreboding mountains to the left.
At the tail end of the autumn however we found ourselves finally leaving those sodden grey foothills and entering a region of lush grassland, rolling plains and hills dotted with small woodlands and meandering streams. With a golden, brown carpet of leaves covering most of the land from the falling leaves everything had a strange, somewhat unreal feel to it, after the desolation of those lonesome lifeless foothills. With attitudes slowly rising, it was coming on for sunset a week after we entered this land of southern streams that we heard voices drifting to us on the wind from around the bend in the river.
Shrum a too rye hey, shrum a too rye hey,
Dig those paddle deep today,
Where the alders shade me overhead,
And trout swim on the broadstream bed.
I’m a Guosim, to the water wed,
Shrum a too rye hey, shrum a too rye hey,
I’ll see you one day to make,
O’er any stream or pond or lake,
A good ole logboat’s ripplin’ wake,
Shrum a too rye hey, shrum a too rye hey, shrum
shruuuuuuuuuuuum.”
In unison with no prompting our shrew travelling companions threw back their heads, muzzles wide and gave a great shout of “Log-a-Log-a-Log” The singing voices slammed to a halt and before you could say my name a flotilla of Log-boats came racing around the corner and we soon found ourselves awash with shrews. The Log-a-Log himself was there to greet us, a great warrior of a shrew who favoured a pair of long curved daggers as weapons.
The reunion was long and bright, with much paw shaking and back patting and even some hugs of gratitude from thankful mothers and sweethearts as the shrews we had rescued were reunited with their families. Log-a-Log insisted we join him and his crew at their winter camp for a great celebration. The tail end of autumn was enveloping us and the GUOSIM had been travelling southwards bound to the water meadows were they made their camp for the winter. Lieutenant Manuel happily agreed, never one to turn up a fine meal, especially not a heroes welcome meal. For three days we travelled down stream as welcome friends amongst our shrew friends, well Lieutenant Manuel was comfortable, I spent three days with a sore back, pulling an oar, learning how to sing shrew and paddle in time.
Which is no easy feet I can assure you, GUOSIM are all born on a stream fed from paddles as infants and learn how to paddle log-boats from the moment they are old enough to walk and their heads rise above the gunwales of the boat. For those uneducated chaps a gunwale is the correct nautical term for the top of a boats railing/side.
Anyway Lieutenant Manuel thought it would be a spiffingly good idea for me and Trodar to learn how to row a log-boat. She is a hardy lass and I am no weakling I will modestly admit. Seasons of training for the Long Patrol left us with really good muscles and fighting instincts. But sadly the muscles one trains for boxing, running, jumping and other such martial arts are in no way helpful when it comes to rowing.
So I and Trodar started to learn all about back muscles and shoulder muscles, muscles we had not really had much use for until we started having to paddle a log boat for up to 6-7 hours a day. GUOSIM shrews start the day with a hearty breakfast cooked by general melee it seems and then once camp has been broken they hit the log-boats and get paddling. Apparently spending the majority of the day paddling about on the water, shouting, singing and living the life of water-beasts, with the odd stop over for lunch it truly is a very free and wild way to live.
So that is how we spent the next 2 weeks with winter slowly drawing in to a close we spent it paddling log-boats in the general direction of the water meadows the GUOSIM had selected for their winter camp. We did have a few exciting interludes on our way however. One day after stopping for lunch general war broke out amongst the GUOSIM. Log-A-Log and the elders vs the young ones, apparently the mud flats by the side of the river where too tempting to pass up. After a brief council of war with the Lieutenant we set up camp in-between both sides and did our best to uphold the honour of the mountain. We did bring the GUOSIM together in a united front however and sadly we where forced into retreat to the river bank before being overwhelmed by the combined might of the GUOSIM shrews.
It was three very bedraggled and muddy hares who where brought up before the Log-a-Log to face charges of /treasonous/ behaviour! It was somewhat of a hoot with the three of us heckling the judge as it where we wound up sentenced to rowing our own log-boat and a season of working on the boats come winter camp. Which had been the plan anyway so it was all a good hoot, we got the chance to dunk Log-a-Log head first in the mud during sentencing, which may or may not have resulted in another mud-fight but it would be reproof of me to report such disrespectful behaviour by patrol hares.
Another incident was less joyful; the flotilla was navigating some of the rapids in lower Mossflower when one of the log-boats struck a submerged rock, the log-boat’s keel was split and it over-turned the crew of 4 into the river. Now as you can imagine shrews are great swimmers spending all their time afloat but in the middle of the rapids is not a good place to suddenly be flung into the water. Three of the shrews immediately came to the surface and started swimming but at first there was no sign of Mingo. A frantic few minutes passed but there was no sign of him, it was not until the Flotilla passed beyond the rapids that it became clear what had happened. He’d struck his head when falling over-board, unconscious he’d been washed out of the rapids down stream and fetched up on the bank at the next bend.
He was unconscious, with a very nasty head-wound and worse the wear from the water but alive. We packed him aboard a log-boat and that was an end to the leisurely trip down stream, Log-a-Log had us making double time for the water meadows wanting to get Mingo to the relative security of the winter camp.
Four days later we arrived at the water meadows, vast tranquil expanses of water, covered in water-lilies and moss. We joined the GUOSIM who had come ahead early to set up camp and Mingo was transferred into the care of the camp healer.
That ended our journey and now that we were at winter camp the real hard work began. Everyone pitched in to help set up camp, we erected wooden shelters and lean-tos, 4 to 5 beasts to a shelter all around a big central fire-place. After a couple of days of settling into camp the real fun began, it was time to see to the Log-boats. After a season in the water they needed to be dragged ashore, over-turned, set up on trestles and caulked, have the hulls scraped clear of moss and other such things that accumulate on a boats hull when it is under water.
Trador and I got stuck right in; life in a shrew winter camp has a routine that is hauntingly similar to the mountain. After breakfast work on the log-boats began, it is a slimey, slick and cold job with the weather threatening the first snows at any time. After work however with the sun setting behind the pine-woods to the west everyone gathered around the fire. A great community spirit prevailed, singing, dancing, contests and good food.
I think we tried everything that winter, from wrestling to trying out the balance beam. It was an interesting contest, a greased plank of wood is put in place over one of the pits used for wrestling and then a test of balance ensues. Two beasts armed with short staves have to try and knock the other off the beam with the staff whilst keeping their balance. It is not as easy as it sounds and as often as not it ends up with both beasts in the mud.
With the snowfall came a sharp drop in temperature, wrapped up warmly work on the log-boats slowed, it became a chore for cold paws to handle tools and keep at it and new fires where built around the working area to keep everyone warm. The water meadows for the most part froze over and once Log-a-log declared it safe shrews would take to the ice in droves, using thin narrow strips of metal attached to wooden clogs as skates to whizz across the ice.
We heard some great stories as well on those long dark winter nights before turning in for bed. We heard about Dippler, a GUOSIM shrew who went on to become Log-A-Log in seasons long past and the great journey he made from Redwall to the hidden isle in the centre of the Great Lake to retrieve the tapestry of Martin the Warrior and revenge the murder of the Log-a-log by another shrew whose name is not given, even in the story for it is accursed. Slaying the log-a-log is the greatest crime any shrew can commit.
Another tale we heard was how the GUOSIM sailed to the aid of Lord Sunflash the Badger Lord in his war against Swartt Sixclaw, how they daringly raided the ferret warlord’s army from the sea harrying their flanks and making life less then enjoyable for them.
By far one of the most popular stories is the Log-a-Log who travelled with Martin the Warrior, separated from the GUOSIM during a sea-rat raid he journeyed with Martin over the mountains and was witness to the forging of the great sword of Martin the Warrior which is kept in Redwall Abbey to this day. His tail and the deeds he did in aiding the woodlanders to rid the land of the Wildcat Queen are held in highest regard by the GUOSIM shrews and he shall never be forgotten as long as GUOSIM sail the waterways of Mossflower.
And so that is life with the GUOSIM a lot of hard work, some great arguments with an almost daily occurrence of snow-ball fights, good food and companionship for all GUOSIM and visitors alike. I’ve never quite experienced life like it since. They are hardy warriors, deadly debaters, and brilliant cooks. In their own way they impressed upon this hare the importance of working as well and never letting disagreements stop you from voicing your opinion loudly as long as the work itself is done. I’ll always be a shrew at heart I think and the memories of those days will travel with me I am sure through the seasons to come.
Quinten Tof’Marole Delmanare
Long Patrol Recorder
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