To Run, and Fight, and Run Again
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
You stand somewhere between the threshold of the forest and the small dirt road that lies before you. You look up it, and down it, and see that it stretches as far north and south as you can see.
Closer to the north, you can see the ruins of a small chapel through the trees. Behind you lies the dense forest..
Characters:
Jake, a Camp Willow refugee
Lutea, the Taggerung
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<----> To Run, and Fight, and Run Again <---->
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Jake has passed out by the side of the dirt road. His arm is burned badly and his whiskers burned half off. He has a cut on his forehead and his clothing is torn, dirty and blood stained from blood that’s some his and some another beast's blood. He groans weakly but does not fully awaken. He had missed lunch that day and there was not a dinner as it was then the monsters came, it was then he ran and fought and ran again, he got lost in the woods and then passed out.
The Taggerung has been on edge - the smell of smoke, drifting on the breeze, the signs of an army, her altercation with the Northmen... Mossflower is not the safe place she thought it to be. Lutea came here to escape the Juska - yet another tribe, worse by ten-fold, have now taken their place... But that is as far as her knowledge goes: an inkling, a scent, a brief encounter; she knows nothing of the slaughter that has taken place. She pushes her way through the woods, making her way through half-remembered paths in search of the Dirt Road and the red stone Abbey it leads to - surely her grandfather and the great Redwall must know of the disquiet that haunts the countryside? She stumbles upon the other otter by pure chance, and is at his side in a moment, ripping the water skin from her belt. "Mate? /Mate/? 'Ello? Cin y'hear me, there?" She taps at the unconscious beast's cheek, dribbling water over his face.
Jake groans and coughs weakly, "Nooo....nooo" He tenses up and jerks away "No… don't hurt me… done enough...dead alll..." He blinks and focuses on the other otter briefly "They... all dead even skipper"
Lutea's ears prick forward as her brow furrows, her face, fiercely tattooed, is etched with concern. "Who? /Where/?" Trying to help Jake up, the otter offers a paw to brace behind his shoulders. "C'mon, mate, let's get'cha up, 'ere.... There ya go - wha' /happened/ to ye?"
Jake is a bit weak, he backs away from the tattoos and frowns "Camp Willow… Destroyed, burnt down, otters killed left and right even the Skipper is dead.My friends are dead. Dibbuns, mothers, fathers, families...they killed them all. The horned creatures with the fire and chants."
"Slow down - tha's..." Lutea's frown deepens, and she slides back to allow Jake more room. She can't help that she looks scary, but at least she's aware of it. "Camp Willow..." Her heart drops all the way to her feet. It couldn't be - not... She doesn't need to question who these horned creatures are; she is from the same ice-ridden land that the Vikings hailed from. She's heard the tales - has sparred with their leader. "We need t'get you to a 'ealer." Is all she can think to say in the face of such horror. Standing, she offers a paw down to the injured otter. "I cin carry y'a good distance, but -" And that is when the arrow buries itself into the trunk of a tree, mere inches from her face. "GE' DOWN!"
Jake starts to stand and then gasps as he dives down with hidden adrenalin and screams: "They found me, they found they want all the otters dead!" He is clearly in a panic and clearly wide awake now.
The warrior throws herself in front of the injured Jake, her staff already spinning out of its place at her back, her dagger poised in front of her muzzle, defensively. "Stay down, those aren't a Northbeast's arrows..." She growls, eyes darting through the tree line, until... "GE'BACK!" The fox bursts from his cover with a shout, his sword already swinging as he charges the pair of otters. Lutea's staff rises to meet the blade, clacking against the steel and sending its course veering, crazily, sideways. This is not a trained beast, hardened by the winds of constant winter - he is softer than that. "Stay away." The Taggerung growls, her muzzle twisted in a snarl.
Jake eyes widen and he stays down. He is too weak to do much else and sudden movement has made his arm sore. He stays as still as he can, besides from shaking this is fairly easy to do. He just listens and waits to see the results of this fight as he has seen and lived through much, much worse.
For a warrior of Lutea's caliber, it is not much of a fight. Even as the bandit's friends join him, she is more skilled with a simple staff and a dagger than these tantrum-pups. Short work is made of them, the heftier end of her staff clubbing across temples and snapping bones amid pained shouts. As she sets upon the fox, again, one of his comrades - an overweight ferret - makes the charge for Jake. At least this one seems to be easy pickings! Raising his club above his head, he rushes for the injured otter, going to take a swing for his head as he lies in the open.
Jake quickly rolls away when he hears the sound of a beast coming to him, the ferret should be slower than most so should be easy to roll away from him. He grabs a lose branch, most likely knocked down during a storm, and if needed will swing it at the ferret.
The ferret swings at Jake, but the branch takes him across the face as he does, distracting him. It buys the injured otter time as Lutea returns with a savage growl, and lays her dagger into the ferret's neck without mercy. "Be /still/!" She demands of the fat oaf, kicking him away from Jake as the light leaves the vermin's eyes. He collapses, still twitching, to the ground. "Are y'alright?" She questions the otter, anxiously. "Can y'stand?"
Jake is shaking like a leaf before he nods slowly and manages to stand/ He is seriously wobbly on his footpaws and leans on a tree.
"Y'got a name, mate?" Lutea asks, gently, offering a paw out to him. Her savage appearance is, assuredly, not the most comforting thing for a traumatized Camp Willow resident, but she's all he has right now. "M'names Lutea Mudpaw - I'm on m'way t'Redwall, already. We need t'get ye somewhere /safe/."
Jake nods "Its... its Jake Riverstone....and how close is...is Redwall?" He stares at the paw and gulps, but he shakes it after a while" All..it...happen so fast.” He shivers and lays a paw on his forehead. "So... much... chaos and screams...death and horror."
"It's not far, but it's no pupwalk, tha's f'damn sure, Jake Riverstone." She nods ahead, through the trees. "I think th'Road is close, an' it leads straight there. I'm...Listen, mate, I'm... Sorry, y'hear? These monsters will /pay/ f'what they've done."
Jake lets the tears flow "I think they killed every otter thar... all of em' And burned down the camp." He drops back to his knees and sobs into his paws for what seems like a good long time. The tears sting his burned arm but he doesn't care right now.
There is nothing Lutea can do but to wait, the anger and hurt bubbling up within her own heart, too. Finally, she kneels by his side. "Jake, listen t'me... they'll pay with th'lives, they will. But we need t'get you /help/, first." She offers her arm to him, to use as support. "Th'Abbey will know what t'do."
Jake allows the help, just barely, and frowns as his face shows a loss of a will to fight, to fight anything as he mutters "Abbey...yeah....abbey."
"I gotcha, mate." Lutea mutters, gently, using herself as support for the injured otter. "One foot in front'a th'other - y'always keep fightin', an' y'always keep movin', no matter what y'hear? It's th'way we know as otters, an' y'kin wouldn't want t'see you defeated when there's still life in ye." The peptalk, though marred by the accent vaguely shared by those who destroyed his life, is earnest. "We cin make it there before sundown, just lean on me if y'need to. We'll get ye /help/."
Jake just nods, its unclear if his will to live is gone or not. His will if anything is seriously dim and he has decided to not speak of anything. He slowly moves with the otter as she has said. One foot at a time and he even manages to go a little faster for a time before slowing again.
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