Refugees on the River Moss
This is apart of The Great Ones, a Camp Willow plot. Read the [[[The_Great_Ones_Aren%27t_Here|introduction]]] and [[[The_Great_Ones%2C_Part_One%3A_Under_Siege|Part One]]].
Setting:
Mossflower Woods: Bank of the River Moss
You stand in thought a moment and notice the water rush by, heading west. You can see the endless grassland around you, and you see this large river in the middle of it.
Characters:
Lutea, the Taggerung
Rorgan, a Camp Willow guard
Murdock, a Camp Willow refugee
==
<---->Refugees on the River Moss<---->
==
The thing with large groups of injured, battered refugees is that you can't just plow through the wilderness for hours on end, no matter the dire necessity to arrive at one's destination. They have stopped by the River, nervous and huddled in the shadows of the trees as the afternoon sun climbs higher in the sky, dappling them with greens and yellows as the sunlight pierces through the canopy. It would be beautiful, were the circumstances less bleak. The Taggerung, newly recruited to guard this ragged bunch, has distanced herself from them. Her appearance and accent can be, understandably, upsetting to those who have just lost their homes to raiders from North - she isn't one of them, despite her good intentions, and she knows this. Understands it. Lutea is keeping guard, her staff propped against a tree beside her.
In Rorgan's case, the main problem with the forest is that it took a good amount of extra care simply to travel quietly through the forest. He'd decided to go out traveling for a bit one last time, perhaps to remember all the good times he'd had in the past while traveling. However, when he'd heard news that Camp Willow had been attacked, he of course had to cut his travel time a tad short. Despite his own common sense telling him to be quiet getting this close to the Camp, he couldn't stop sprinting through the forest, breath quiet and steady through his nose. He couldn't have known about the refugee's he was heading towards, but he didn't care to check his surroundings. He had to get back where he belonged as fast as he could! There was no time to waste by this point.
The thing about sprinting through the forest, though, means that someone is /bound/ to hear you. And that someone is Lutea, already on high alert, the ottermaid doesn't waste a moment snatching her staff from its resting place, and dashing towards the sound of movement. As she goes, her dagger is yanked free of its holster, and Rorgan may soon find it thrust into his path. The savage-looking female flings the thing with gusto, and it buries itself into the ground in front of the other otter. "No' another step!" She growls - but immediately drops the act when she realizes his species. "You! Are y'another one?" From Camp Willow, she means, though this isn't immediately evident.
Skidding to a stop, Rorgan's fists immediately rise, ready to defend himself. After a second of processing, his paws drop, and he sighs. "Listen, I'm trying to get to Camp Willow. I don't know what you think I am, but I'm just a traveler that needs to get back home. So if you could just let me through..." As he speaks, he begins to walk forward, past the staff and attempting to pass by the other otter.
That staff only juts forward. "Don't." Lutea falters, and withdraws the weapon after a moment's hesitation. "M'sorry, mate. S'gone." Her ears wilt backwards, and even as fierce as the Taggerung may look, her face is twisted in sorrow - sympathy, empathy for the stranger. "I'm with th'survivors - it's..." There is really nothing more to be said. The place is gone - nothing but ash and blood soaked mud. "We're goin' t'Redwall, t'seek 'elp... Please, y'should come this way. Nothin' for ye back there."
Once again, Rorgan's paws tighten into fists, and he growls softly. "Then I'll go back and kill as many as I can. There's nothing for me anywhere else, so why bother?" His brows deepen, and his icy blue eyes gain a certain coldness that hadn't been there before. "I've spent enough time without a home. I'm not about to abandon it now."
"Y'still 'ave a home, don' be daft." Lutea growls, yanking her dagger free of the dirt and buckling it back into her sash. "Listen', I'm with y'skipper's son. S'far as I know, they ain't 'bout t'let y'home stay in th'Northbeast's paws." The ottermaid jerks a nod over her shoulder, back down the river and towards their camp. "Y'want y'home back? Then don' just throw y'life away. Help y'people take it back. We've go' about twenty down the river, few more tucked safe at Redwall." And her - just along for the ride.
More than anything, the gruff, male otter simply wanted to hit something. He didn't care what it was, but he couldn't bring himself to. Finally, his shoulders sink, and his fists loosen. "Fine," He says with a good hint of regret in his defeated voice. "I guess I've got no choice but to stay with you lot." He didn't have much else to say. He couldn't run away, but he knew throwing his life away would be stupid, and as angry as he was, he wasn't mindless. He knew when to handle things logically. It was a rather infuriating realization to come to.
Hesitatingly, Lutea offers a paw out to the devastated riverdog. "Hoi, it's goin' t'be okay, yeah? Jus'..." She sighs, and her brow furrows. She's never been good with words, never been one for inspirational speeches; she feels a great deal of empathy for the beast, her blood running hot with her fury for her kind, but voicing this is nearly impossible for her. She's a simple beast - hit the things that make you mad and make them pay for it. She leaves the long winded philosophy to her roommate. There is a moment of inner turbulence before she simply growls: "Y'got a name, mate?"
It's surprising how similar the two are, though Rorgan really wasn't thinking about it at that current moment. "Rorgan," He says softly. "My name's Rorgan. I was trying to settle down from traveling, but...I guess that'll have to wait eh?" He holds out his own paw, taking the other otter's. "You?"
With a short chuff of laughter, Lutea gives the paw a firm shake. She is just realizing that same thing. "Lutea Mudpaw. In th'same boat - thought helpin' the Camp with its vermin problem would rid me of m'own." She points to her face and the Juska markings inked into it. The mug only a mother could love. "Bu' that's neither 'ere nor there, let's get y'back t'camp, I'm sure th'others will be pleased t'see one of their own. They could... y'know. They could use some good news; sure y'could... Y'know. Use some as well."
The otter's icy eyes watched the other otter, gripping her paw firmly with the shake. "I suppose they could, couldn't they?" He remarked. "As for me, I've had too much bad news in my life for any one piece of bad news to be too much for me." In a surprising moment of somewhat adorable awkwardness, he scratches the back of his neck, trying to think. "Uh...I guess what I'm trying to say is...uh, don't worry about me too much really. My main concern is the others, and if I need anything tended to, whether it's a wound or being upset, then I'll deal with that after everything's over. Until then, I'm at your disposal for whatever you need." His sword skills, his archery skills...he couldn't recall the last time he'd ever pledged himself as a warrior to someone else for something other than money.
"Good, y'cin help me worry about th'rest of this lot." Lutea nods, flashing him a reserved grin as she turns to head back down river, crooking her paw at him to follow. "We've got this bloke, Gaheris - he's th'Skipper's son -" She explains as they walk, like she's been there forever. "Bunch'a residents, some warriors among'em... What's y'story, mate?" She's fine steering the conversation away from the doom and gloom, if even for the time it takes them to take a short march along the river.
Following after the other otter, he listens in quite attentively. Being still relatively new to Camp Willow, he certainly doesn't know all the names yet. "My story?" He repeats, a tad thrown off by the question. "I'm just a wanderer. Nothing all too interesting about me," Was his reply. Perhaps not completely true, but he wasn't in the realm of going fully in depth into his past. Some things are better left there.
"Whaddya do then?" pipes a smaller otter, coming up alongside the pair, his paws fumbling around Lutea's waist for a belt, but finding none, pushing off of her to grasp at Rorgan's quiver. "You, big guy, you gotta have a thing you did, everyone has a thing they did." Murdock's beady little eyes peer up at him curiously, then to Lutea. "....I don' know you neither. Whaddya do?"
"Ooooh, mysterious." Lutea grins back at Rorgan. She's gotten used to some of the mystery - and she's just relieved to be away from Halyard, where her own privacy was something she had to enforce, ugh. And then there is a tiny little terror grappling at her waist? "Wha- ?" She bats at the little paws with a chuckle, watching him travel back to do the same to Rorgan. "I do...? What d'/you/ do, y'little horror? Best be willin' t'tell if y'askin' it of the big beasts!"
It doesn't take long for the small otter to brighten Rorgan's mood. Turning around to pull his quiver away, he chuckles down at Murdock, bending down to a crouching position in front of the small otter. "I can't say I've got something interesting that I did mate," He says with a grin. "Like I said, I'm just a traveler looking to explore a bit! Not everyone's got something they did."
"I walk an' breathe an' I fish sometimes if some-un'll help me, an' I eat an' play an' run an' sing an' /talk./" Murdock stares defiantly back at Lutea, crossing his arms over his small chest. "...s' a bad answer," he scolds Rorgan before turning back to the female. "An' you never said!" Now an accusatory finger, stubby though it may be, pokes out at her.
"'Ow d'you keep all that straight? Sounds busy." Lutea raises an eyebrow in amusement. She really cannot argue with that logic, and doesn't try. With a shrug, she turns back around and continues to speak as she leads the way. "Well, I used t'live in th'snow with m'family, and then I came 'ere an' got tricked by a bunch'a bad beasts, so now m'face is all colorful, but I still kind'a like it. Now I live in th'swamp with a squirrel t'hide from the badbeasts, but I'm 'ere t'help you now." She tilts her head and shoots the little thing a look. "Is tha' wha' y'wanted?" She flicks a grin back towards Rorgan - he's a lot better with the small ones than she is.
Rorgan looks back up at Lutea, grinning lightly in response before looking back at Murdock. "It's a bad answer, but that's all you need to know, eh little mate?" He replies with a chuckle, standing back up and turning to follow Lutea. "Now come on you little scamp! We can't have you wandering about alone out here in the woods!" At that, he stops in turns with a devious grin. "That is, unless you want me to have to carry you all the way back."
"I'm too growed f'r that," Murdock replies immediately, trundling along stubbornly, his short legs pumping rapidly to keep up with the taller, faster otters. "I don't get carried no more, an' I never liked it much inna first place. You just get dragged around an' they never go fast an' I like goin' /fast./" He speeds up briefly to shove Lutea a bit with his little dibbun-arms. "You can't go fast like me I bet."
What? This tiny thing is so persistent - and Lutea is competitive. "I bet I /can/ y'scamp." She growls, giving him a fierce grin, but looks back towards Rorgan, mouthing 'help?' at him with wide eyes. She doesn't know how to handle the small ones whatsoever. "I bet Rorgan goes faster, though?" Hey, she can try.
Laughing in response, Rorgan simply shrugs. "I dunno. What makes you assume I'd be faster?" He asks, completely innocent in tone and expression. "I'm sure you're pretty fast little mate. You could probably leave a big lumbering beast like me right in the dust, eh?" He'd taken on a completely different personality with the smaller otter. One that was playful, and slightly mischievous.
"Look pretty slow," Murdock agrees, scratching at his miniature chin with miniature thoughtfulness while his miniature brain works through the details and parameters of the situation. "Plus you gots a whole lotta junk on ya, you'll never be fast like 'at." He shakes his head in disappointment. "Not like me! I ain't gots nothin' t' weighs me down, I just /run/ an' I'm /fast./ Prob'ly run circles around /you./" Lutea is lumped into that, because both paws are pointing now. "...you're kinda boring," is his abrupt decision. "I thought you'd be more fun cause you gots all that paint on your face." What a let-down. "No one wants t' be fun since- since we ain't in Camp."
"M'very boring." Lutea agrees, nodding soberly. "But at least m'not /rude/, hmph!" She turns her nose up and away from the dibbun in mock hurt, crossing her paws across her chest and thumping her rudder, heavily, on the ground. "Betcha can't run t'that tree and back 'fore I count t'ten!" She challenges, pointing defiantly at an oak a short distance away. This child has insulted her honor and now he will RUN for it!
"Woah woah, hold up! Now, running around in the forest is a bit dangerous," Chimes Rorgan, his face going stern. He looks at Lutea, then down at Murdock, and then his expression turns to a mischievous grin. "Course...danger's what I live for. Forget the tree. I bet you can't run faster than Lutea and I back to everyone else. We can't have none of that boredom around here after all! We're otters! Fun is a part of us!" With that, he turns, promptly counts to three without quite waiting, and then... "Go!" And then he bolts...though not as fast as he could, along with looking back to make sure Murdock was keeping up, if not catching up to him altogether.
With a shout, the little otter tears off into the woods, his scrawny limbs pumping enthusiastically as he sprints, all the way to the tree. Past the tree. Way past the tree. Okay, he's still going. Maybe Murdock seriously misunderstood which tree she meant. Rorgan's alternative is rejected just like that, and frankly it's hard to tell where the little otter is heading. He's just- out there. Gone. What a brief and irritating life he led.
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