Post by T-Bone on Oct 5, 2011 0:29:43 GMT -5
Name: Broden Spikediggle
Gender: Male
Age: 25
Species: Hedgehog
Occupation: "Master at Arms" (future Redwall Champion, please)
Physical Appearance:
Broden Spikediggle is a big ol’ hedgehog, and even that is an understatement. He is taller than most other hedgehogs in the Abbey; in fact, he may actually be the tallest. Sure, the otters have him beat, but they’re, y’know, otters. Cheaters. Conversely, Broden is not the widest hedgehog. He has managed to stay rather fit over his twenty-five seasons, thanks to his constant traveling and fighting. Now, by most beasts, this would be considered a good thing. But Broden is a hedgehog, and it just so happens that hedgehogs rather take pride in their girths. I mean, how silly the thought! A thin hedgehog? No, sir, that certainly isn’t acceptable. So, Broden makes up for it in weight. Muscle is heavier than fat; to compensate for lost pounds of fat, he has built his muscles to such a size that a foebeast will likely think twice before bringing a knife to a fistfight—with Broden. (And that has nothing to do with the spines on his arms, of course…) His shoulders are broad and well-formed—not all slumped forward like some beasts. Likewise, his chest is deep and his limbs are thick, particularly his massive forearms. His back is presumably muscular, but really, it’s just hard to tell with all those spines. Now, the spines are rather interesting. You see, like most hedgehogs, Broden has innumerable spines on his back (sorry, no hugs), but for Broden, spines also exist on his arms on paws , though only on the outside. The spines are not nearly as thick here, but there are enough that most beasts don’t like standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him. (And when he elbows you, it really hurts.
) Now, while the extra spines might usually be considered a good thing, Broden hates them, because they prevent him from curling up into a ball like other hedgehogs. But it wasn’t something he could help. It runs in the family.
Now, his fur is a typical brown, peppered with black, but the black is more noticeable in his spines than in his fur, which appears just a dark shade of brown. Seasons at Redwall have granted him embarrassingly soft fur, but usually, the pointing and laughing that might accompany the discovery of this is dampened a bit by his intimidating size and cold death-glare. And his case really isn’t helped by the general lack of scars on his body. He has two noticeable scars; one on his left forearm (from an incident involving a kitchen knife, a staircase, and Shad Streamdog) and one on the bottom of his right footpaw (thanks to the genius who left a nail standing, point up, by the doorway in Cellar Hole). Other than that, he is free of scars. It’s not that he doesn’t work hard or lead a semi-dangerous life—he does both of those things. He is just careful. Really, really careful. He hasn’t even broken a bone before, because he never fails to consider his actions before making them. Of course, if asked where his scars and broken bones are, he will casually respond, “I’m just that good.” If you ever saw him in a fight, you’d know he wasn’t just joking.
Broden’s eyes are hazel; mostly brown with diamond-shaped flecks of green scattered here and there. It looks kind of like a green pane of glass was broken in his iris. Fortunately, it wasn’t nearly that painful to get that design. He just had to spend about nine months in his mother’s womb. Sweet deal, right? Now, his eyes aren’t particularly expressive. That’s his face’s job. Fortunately, his face does its job well. He makes but the slightest movements and somehow manages to express exactly what he wants to communicate. An ever-so-slight raising of an eyebrow to communicate amused confusion, or—the classic—the beginning of a smirk to communicate sympathy for you with just a touch of confidence; he likes you and respects your abilities and talents, but he knows he can destroy you without much trouble. This is the very expression that he adopts when he is challenged to a fight, or really anything else he is good at. Even chess. The fact is, he’s good at what he does, and you can tell he knows it. But at least he’s being good-humored about it, right? …right?
Now, let it be known that Broden does wear clothing. Most beasts do. And Broden isn’t one to stand out in a crowd…well, if you don’t consider his size, his slightly unusual eyes, his highly expressive face, and his extra spines. But still! Now that Broden is officially a Redwaller (well, truth be told, he’s been one for a few seasons now), he daily dons the traditional green habit. Unfortunately, he is a hedgehog, and hedgehogs have spines, and spines poke holes in things, so Broden must periodically obtain a new habit, one that hasn’t been mutilated beyond recognition. He wonders how the other abbeyhogs do it, but then it occurs to him that most of them don’t have pointy things on their arms to constantly hang by their sides and rip new holes in the fabric. On his footpaws are the usual sandals, but to be completely open and honest, Broden hates sandals. They’re just…They’re terrible articles of clothing, and it’s a wonder they haven’t yet been wiped off the face of the planet via lightning bolt. Ah well, there’s always tomorrow, eh? Outside of the abbey, Broden gets to wear his favorite clothing—the clothing he arrived in. On his torso was a maroon tunic that, for aforementioned reasons, lacked sleeves and was made of a terrifically tough material. He honestly isn’t sure what the material was, exactly, but then, he never much cared—and he still doesn’t. Broden also wore some baggy, but well-fitted trousers that really weren’t anything special. On his footpaws were boots. Not sandals. Now, Broden’s paws never hid themselves in gloves, partly because the spines would not allow for it, and partly because his big, calloused paws never really needed such protection. Similarly, his head never covered up with a hat, because hedgehogs can’t really wear hats. Do you see how annoying spines can be?
Possessions:
Broden carries a set of keys with him at all times, typically attached to his belt or scabbard. The scabbard holds his favorite weapon—the broadsword of an old otter he befriended seasons ago. Aside from the broadsword, he carries a rapier, two sabers, and a dagger (which was once part of a set of three). He can use the rapier somewhat effectively, and while he is not the best with the two sabers, he absolutely loves to use them both at once. It just makes the swordfight feel that much more awesome. And the dagger is a throwing dagger, which he is only good at using when frustrated, interestingly. Broden can use other weapons, but he likes to just carry these around, because carrying much more would weigh him down quite a bit. Plus that, he can fairly effectively use an opponent’s own weapon against him.
Personality:
Broden is a pretty fun beast to be around. He’s got an excellent sense of humor, and he utilizes it often. He is also highly competitive, which works in his favor, because he’s very good at what he does. He is also the epitome of anticlimax and hates all things dramatic. Even so, he has his dramatic moments, whether he likes them or not. But art really isn’t his thing. Broden is much more physical.
In fact, to Broden, violence is almost always the answer. Got a bully pestering you? Violence. Have something to say to your idiot boss? Violence. Slightly irritated by the door-to-door salesmen? Violence. Yes, violence is like Broden’s duct tape. It fixes everything. In fact, it would almost seem that he enjoys fighting a bit too much…
Broden’s sarcasm is noteworthy, because he uses it all the time. It’s part habit, part demeanor. He just doesn’t like to take things seriously. That is not to say that he can’t take things seriously; he just doesn’t like to. It is possible that Broden hides behind his sarcastic attitude in order to avoid looking unsure or insecure in front of his peers. He tries to keep up a sarcastic, somewhat cynical atmosphere about him, for fear that somebeast will see that he is not as invincible as he likes to make himself out to be. Now, it is entirely true that he is very good at what he does. This leads to a confidence that borders on arrogance, but it isn’t a terrible problem with him, because he never fails to think a dumb idea through before executing it. Interestingly, what he is putting on is actually a sort of pseudo-confidence. He is simply trying to hide his own uncertainty in himself… from himself.
As mentioned earlier, Broden generally rolls an eye or two at drama. He doesn’t much care for it, honestly. That isn’t to say that he hasn’t had his dramatic moments in life, but those were all justified, of course. When other beasts do it, it’s just silly. It is this very opinion that tilts the heads of beasts who know him, because when he picks up his violin, he becomes very serious about it. Broden shrugs this off and declares that music is where "that stuff" belongs. Anywhere else, and it’s stupid.
Broden is most dramatic when it comes to a hogmaid named Lavender. He fancies himself her future husband, though such talk has never passed between their lips. But he is conflicted. You see, Lavender visits him in the wintertime, but once springtime rolls around, she disappears. Broden doesn’t know why she feels the need to do this, for she refuses to tell him, but he nevertheless pleads with her every winter to stay. This causes much emotional distress to Broden, who has never felt so strongly for anybeast else.
But to sum the hedgehog up in six words…Broden wants to be a hero. He longs to use the life he has been blessed with to preserve those of others. The idea of giving up his own life to save another’s is utterly awesome, and it inspires Broden to no end. And it affects every aspect of his personality. He hides behind sarcasm and cynicism in an attempt to maintain the appearance of a strong and confident warrior, when in reality, he doesn’t feel nearly so confident. He wants to look like a hero. He dispels all possible drama because he fears that it will hinder his sense of practicality in battle—and besides, what good would it do if he brought petty personal issues onto the battlefield? He wants to act like a hero. And Broden’s proclivity to resort to violence at the drop of a hat comes from his history of pursuing heroism. When one fights constantly, one constantly wants to fight. He wants to fight like a hero. You see, he doesn’t just want to be a beast who has the potential to rise up when the situation demands it; he wants to be the beast who seeks out opportunities to rise up. And finally, it affects Broden in this: He values the lives of others above his own. This a lesson he learned at the age of eighteen and the very reason he so longs to be a hero.
Strengths:
Strength – Broden’s most apparent strength is his strength. He brings entire trees to log-throwing competitions. (possible exaggeration
)
Fighting – Broden can best the best of almost any sort of fighter. He recognizes that otters fight differently than mice do, and that moles fight differently than weasels do. Well, he’s fought nearly all of them, so he can adapt his fighting style to the fighter. And he seldom loses.
Violinist – Broden is a masterful violinist. It’s the only instrument he cares to play, so he does it well. And he writes his own songs.
Songwriting – He writes his own songs. (There's an echo…) And he’s a pretty good lyricist, if he does say so himself.
Photographic Memory – Broden doesn’t forget things easily. Of course, it’s a selective memory, so he only remembers details that he intends to remember. He’s got pretty good at remembering unimportant things lately – he’s especially good with dialogue.
Careful – Broden is as careful as they come. He doesn’t like making mistakes, and when he does, he makes sure he won’t make that same mistake again. This is why he hasn’t accumulated a lot of scars or yet broken any bone (of his). It also helps that he sort of visualizes his actions before making them.
Weaknesses:
Spines on his arms – Broden has spines on his arms, which are terribly uncomfortable and even more terribly inconvenient. They get in his way far too much, so much so that he can’t curl up into a ball like most hedgehogs, leaving him to defend himself the old-fashioned way.
Misuses words a lot – Broden has recently taken up using big words in an attempt to look smarter than he is, but he mixes them up sometimes. This isn’t a significant weakness, but it sure is amusing.
Sarcastic – Broden has a big mouth and a tendency to be a little too sarcastic sometimes. But that’s okay, ‘cause with his skills, he can afford to be, right?
Relives day’s experiences in his sleep, loudly, must be kept in his own room – Broden relives the experiences of his day every night…in his sleep. Yes, that means he will be sleep-talking all night long. It is for this reason that he has been assigned his own room in the abbey, somewhere nobeast will have to suffer his noisy dreams, somewhere like…the cellars. (Rook doesn't seem to mind, though.)
Feigns indifference, stupidity, laziness – Broden likes to feign indifference. He doesn’t want to look like he cares – he likes to make everything look effortless. Therefore, he will often act apathetic when he is really interested, lazy when he is really itching to work, and cynical when he is really sympathetic. It’s more out of embarrassment than anything else. Heaven forbid he look “weak” in front of his peers.
Violence is the answer – For Broden, violence is usually the answer. He resorts to it a bit too often and seems to enjoy it a bit too much.
History:
Snow fell gently on the soft earth. Broden’s deep footprints led from Redwall Abbey, across the dirt path, all the way to a small clearing hidden in the midst of the thick forest. Here, he lay in the snow, waiting. Snowflakes caressed his face, melting from the warmth of his fur. His eyes were closed restfully. After a time, he awoke, and a song came to him. He didn’t know where it had come from, he didn’t know what it had come for. But he sang it softly as the words wrote themselves.
“I'm layin’ here, waiting for you
Our season's comin’ round
The weather's cold, next thing I know
The ice is on the ground
Every year, you meet me here,
But you never stay…”
“Broden?” came a voice.
He sat up quickly. There she was. Lavender. The big hedgehog rose to his footpaws and brushed the snow off his clothing, apologizing.
“Sorry, sorry, I, uh—I got tired, an’ uh—“
“Broden, it’s—”
“Well, I just thought—”
“Just stop t—”
“I was, er—”
“You can—”
“—writing a song, an’—”
“Broden!” she placed a paw on his arm. Broden froze. “Remember to inhale,” she said.
Broden complied, chuckling a bit. “If’n ye say so.”
Lavender nodded satisfactorily. “Good, now make sure your circulatory system still works.”
“Check.”
“Good,” she said with a laugh, “Now sit down. You owe me an explanation, mister.”
Broden nodded. Last time, he had asked her to share her history with him, with the intention of letting there be no secrets between them. She agreed on the condition that he share his own history with her the next time they met. He accepted this only because it was Lavender asking. Anybeast else would have been met with a laugh and a brusque, “No.”
Broden smiled at her. “All right, I’ll tell ye everything. I think I’d rather stand, though.”
She shrugged. “Suit yourself,” she said as she seated herself. Moss-covered stones made decent chairs once the snow was brushed off.
Broden leaned his shoulder against a tall evergreen casually. He opened his mouth to speak, but the tree promptly deposited a branchful of snow onto his head. Lavender laughed aloud at him, covering her mouth. Broden shook his head and laughed too. He sighed. “Hhhaha, aye, that’s…That figures.” He tried to brush the snow out of his headspikes. “All right, so where d’ye want me t’start?”
Lavender tried to control her laughter. “H’um…From the start. The very start. How did your parents meet?”
Broden raised an eyebrow. “Really? That far back?”
She nodded. “Aye. Go.”
He laughed. “Hahaha, okay, then, uh…lessee…Right, so my dad was a musician. Lived in Noonvale. He, uh, wrote an’ played songs fur beasts, an’ that’s how he made ‘is living. Mum was warrior, actually, haha, uh, served with the northerners up in the mountains. She came down t’Noonvale ev’ry summer to stay with ‘er family. She knew mah dad furra long time, actually. But they didn’t get along—until, o’ course, mah dad ended up on the battlefield with ‘er…”
“Something rather inappropriate?” Lavender laughed. “I’m not a dibbun, anymore, Broden.”
He shrugged his big shoulders. “Eh, it’s just how my dad allus told it.”
Lavender chuckled. “Okay, go on.”
Broden nodded. “Right, so, Mum told ‘im how a pack of wolves came an’ killed ‘most everybeast. Some of ‘em were bein’ kept as hostage, though – I don’t know why. Wolves don’t make sense t’me. – An’ so my parents thought ‘Hey, why don’t we go an’ rescue all of ‘em?’ So they did. Er, well, most of them…”
Broden sighed. “Y’see, my dad wasn’t the brightest hog in Noonvale. An’ I’m not entirely sure he wasn’t doing it just t’prove a point t’Mum. He gets in this mood, sometimes…A-Anyway, I’m ramblin’. Fact is, he did somethin’ stupid, an’ now he had t’back it up.”
“Did he?” Lavender asked, eyebrow raised.
Broden smiled at her knowingly.
Broden nodded, holding back a chuckle. “Turns out my dad’s a natural-born killer.”
“No.” Lavender shook her head incredulously. “No way. Beasts don’t just—”
“Well, aye, that’s what I said!” Broden said, nodding emphatically, “But he an’ Mum swear up an’ down it happened.”
“Certainly he had some training beforepaw?”
Broden nodded. “Aye, Ah think so, anyways. But if ‘e did, he ain’t talkin’.”
Lavender laughed. “Wow. That’s impressive…” She held out her paws. “…Well, c’mon! What happened next?”
“Oh, right, uh, Mum let ‘im keep the sword, aye, annn’ they went, an’ they killed all the wolves.”
Lavender waited. “…What? That’s it?”
Broden seemed taken aback. “You wanna story fur every wolf?”
“Yes!”
“There were twenty-three, Lavender! An’ the stories really don’t get any more interestin’, I swear. There ain’t much t’killin’ a beast. Slice. Oh. You’re dead. Sorry.”
Lavender couldn’t quite believe her ears. “They killed twenty-three wolves? By themselves?”
Broden shook his head. “No, they had help. Remember, they were rescuin’ warriors, so ev’ry time they saved one, the next one got easier. But by the end of it, Dad was exhausted from all that fightin’ an’ hikin’—remember, he wasn’t used t’bein’ a warrior.”
Lavender chuckled. “Didn’t stop him from taking out two wolves without a weapon,” she murmured.
Broden crossed his arms. “D’ye wanna hear the rest o’ the story or not?”
“No, don’t mind me. Go on.”
“Aye, so…Er, aye, Dad got t’be leader o’ the warriors furra few seasons, ‘cause o’ how good he was in battle. That, an’ the other leader was killed, so, y’know, beggars can’t be choosers. Anyways, mah parents got married after a while, an’ decided they wanted t’go t’Redwall, b’cos they were plannin’ t’give birth t’me soon, an’ they figured it would be best if I stayed at an abbey ‘stead o’ tryin’ t’survive the harsh winters up north. Arter all, hedgehogs aren’t made fur snowy land. That’s otters an’ wolves.”
“Aye. So, when d’you come into this picture?”
“Aboot two years lader. I was born smack in the middle o’ Mossflower, actually. A liddle too early, unfortunately. See, mah parents don’t know a thing aboot takin’ care o’ babes. They’re warriors, o’ course. So, they wanted t’be at the abbey when I was born so I could have proper care. But they were... They did okay…”
Lavender was speechless.
“… What!” Broden demanded. “I didn’t die!”
Broden shrugged. “… Not sayin’ I didn’t come close.”
Lavender nodded a little, searching for words. “…I don’t know how to respond to that.”
“…And that was just the first week.”
The hogmaid shook her head and held up a paw to silence him. “Just tell me what happened when you got to Redwall Abbey.”
Broden smiled. “Oh, heh, right. So, we got to the abbey—”
“Thank heavens.”
“—An’ that’s when mah parents could finally stop worryin’ aboot me wanderin’ into the River Moss at night.”
“Oh dear Lord.”
“So, fur a few seasons, the Sisters took care o’ me while mah parents tried to settle into life at the abbey. I adjusted faster than they did, though. Mum kept nearly killin’ beasts when they'd sneak up on 'er. Force o' habit.”
“And you survived as a child?”
Broden gave her a look. “No. I died.”
She dismissed him with a wave of the paw. “Oh, you know what I mean! Anything else interesting about your childhood I should know?”
Broden thought about this for a moment. “Well, come t’think of it, aye. Turns oot, I was a hyper liddle ‘og, ‘specially as a dibbun. They tried givin’ me sugar a few times, but…”
“In short, I went t’bed that night covered in syrup an’ scorch marks while they got rid o’ the tables I’d broke. Nobeast got a lick o’ shuteye, though, ‘cause I was literally running through the halls doin’ my best impression of a banshee.”
“How’d they get you to quiet down?”
“Well, when you’re walkin’ up the stairs to the dormitories, you’ll notice a crack in the floor aboot the size of a hogbabe’s head…”
Lavender shook her head. “Okay—Is there anything good that came of your childhood?”
“Ach, aye,” Broden nodded vigorously. “Fur shore. It’s just not as fun t’talk aboot that stuff.”
Lavender laughed. “I think you could stand to mention it. Like, did your parents do anything right with you?”
This time, Broden laughed. “Hahaha, aye, heh, o’ course they did. Took ‘em a while, but they learned. Iffact, they starded teachin’ me stuff that they wanted me t’know how tae do. Like mah dad wanted t’teach me how t’fight. Apparently, he got in a lots o’ fights – still does, actually…”
Broden paused, then continued. “…Ye don’t mess wi’ Dad’s October ale…”
Lavender nodded like she understood.
Broden snapped out of his thoughts. “Anyway, so Dad taught me t’fight. Well, mostly. He taught me how t’fight like he did, but I found it didn’t allus work t’fight like he did. Somebeasts were just too good fur me, an’ it took me a while tae figurr out, beasts’re diff’rent, so they all fight diff’rent, an’…Well, y’know what, Ah’ll get t’that later. Fact is, Dad taught me how t’fight. Box, mostly. An’, uh, my mum didn’t really teach me so much o’ that as she did other stuff.
“It’s odd, actually, that they didn’t teach me the things they was best at. A’ least, not as much as the things they wish they was best at. See, Mum was allus furgettin’ things, so instead o’ teachin’ me how t’use a bunch a weapons—which she did, but not as much as this—she made me learn how t’remember everything.” He looked pointedly at Lavender. “An’ Ah mean everything.”
Lavender nodded. “Ah, I see. It’s okay to unleash a pint-sized apocalypse on the abbey so long as that apocalypse remembers how many pies are on the table.”
“Exactly!” Broden agreed wholeheartedly. Lavender rolled her eyes.
“So, who taught you to play the violin?” she asked.
“Oh, that would be my dad. He can play just aboot any instrument, really. . . Even the haredeegurdee.”
Lavender nodded. It was interesting, to say the least, but she wanted to know something more about Broden. He wasn’t your average abbey hedgehog. He was…different. “…Broden?”
“Aye?”
“Tell me why you left the abbey.”
Broden’s face began to lose its mirth. This wasn’t a subject he enjoyed discussing. But he knew it had to be coming; he was telling Lavender his past, after all. He took a deep breath. “…Ah didn’t want tae leave, at first. It wasn’t…it wasn’t mah…Abbeybeasts just dinnae leave fur nae reason, but Ah was different…” He searched his thoughts, as though trying to decide how to go about explaining himself. He looked Lavender in the eyes. “…It happened first when I was in Mossflower, helpin’ a farmer fix ‘is house.”
Broden stared at the ground solemnly. “…He died protecting his neighbor’s life. An’ fur nothin’. He didn’t…he didn’t care enough fur his own safety t’let his neighbor die…They didn’t even get along before then. They—they fought constantly. But when it came to Dade’s life bein’ on the line, Tim took ‘is place…” He stopped for a moment and looked up at Lavender. She had fallen serious too. Broden continued. “That was the first time Ah saw somebeast give up ‘is own life t’save somebeast else’s life. It was…it was…It hurt. It hurt mah heart, b’cos Ah knew if I was inna same boat, Ah wouldn’t hae done the same. Ah was weak. Ah cared so much aboot mah own life, mah own happiness, Ah didn’t see the bigger picture…See, Tim, he got it. He knew somethin’ Ah didn’t. He died, an’, an’ Ah knew, Ah knew there was somethin’ different aboot that dormouse. Somethin’ Ah didn’t ‘ave…There’s more to life than living…”
“Frae that day on, Ah didnae want tae live a peaceful life at the abbey. Ah knew Ah was meant fur somethin’ more…Ah wanted tae…tae make Tim’s death worth it. Tae live diff’rent, sae that Ah didnae value mahself as much. Ah wanted tae ken…why woold Tim dae that?”
Lavender watched Broden with interest. His accent had thickened, which meant this part of the story was close to him. She had a feeling they were getting to the meat of the story now. She might end up learning more about Broden than she’d ever wanted to.
“What kaend o’ beast sacrifices hisself fur another?” Broden straightened and began pacing slowly. “The kaend what knows the worth o' his life. What knows he's not the 'main character' in the story.”
Broden stared up at the sky, watching the white and gray clouds pass overhead. “On mah way there, Ah met some shrews. They ‘elped me get along faster by lettin’ me ride in one o’ their logboats furra while. Problem is, shrews like rapids…”
“Needless tae say, Ah didn’t ride wi’ shrews on the way back. Anyway, it made mah trip shorter; only took half the time. An’—Oh, actually, Ah also met some bats, an’ they—Ach, nevermind, that was just…”
“…Nevermind.”
Lavender laughed. Broden nodded. “He was a curious fellow, but Ah grew tae like ‘im. He was good at fightin’, but ‘e was near terrible at anything else.”
“Okay, okay,” Lavender interrupted. “What’s his name?”
“Ach, right, uh, it’s Crew.”
“…Crew?”
“Aye, “ Broden admitted, “It’s an odd name, fur shore, but that’s it. Crew Steampaw.”
Lavender laughed. “Sounds like you two got along real well.”
Broden smiled fondly. “Aye, we did. But Ah ended up stayin’ fur only two seasons…”
Broden’s eyes were glistening with tears now. He was holding them back desperately. He wasn’t about to let Lavender see him cry. “He…he, uh, died protectin’ me. Like Tim did fur Dade. But, uh, Crew…wasnae one tae die lak other beasts.” Broden smiled fondly. “Nae, he went like…it was lak ‘e didnae ken he was dyin’…”
Broden wiped his eyes and turned away from Lavender. “Got somethin' in my eye, jus'…Gimme a second.” And with that, the big hedgehog wandered into the woods.
Lavender let him go. She felt so bad for him now. But at the same time, she respected him immensely. She finally knew. This was what made Broden who he was.
Broden composed himself and returned to the clearing. “Ah’m sorry,” he apologized. “That’s just…not a story Ah like tae tell…” He cleared his throat. “All right, here’s what happened after that. Crew’d told me tae meet a fox in Soouthsward. He an’ that fox had unfinished business tae take care of. Thing is, we talked aboout the fox before, but not in great detail. Ah kenned ‘e had a fort somewhere in Soouthsward, but Ah didnae ken where…” Broden looked up from the snowy ground and smiled almost mirthfully at Lavender. “…Bu’ Ah foound him.”
Lavender’s brow furrowed as she looked at Broden, concerned. “…Broden, you okay?”
“…Aye.”
“You’re worrying me…” She no longer felt comfortable around the hedgehog. He seemed to be enjoying the memory a little too much.
“Sorry,” he lied. Broden shook his head, dispelling the thoughts. “But it, well, aye, Ah killed ‘im. But Ah didnae get away fur free. His friends showed up an’ nearly beat me tae death. But they kept me alive. Ah didn’t know why ‘til they brought me tae their fort. Then, Ah remembered. The fox Ah killed was workin’ furra stoat who wanted tae make ‘is own Redwall fur vermin, but it wasnae goin’ well. It was a small place. Sae, they’d started kidnappin’ beasts tae come an’ work on the fort as slaves. An'…” He stared at the snow gravely. “…An' Ah knew Ah had t’do something.”
“…While I was there, Ah met this mouse. Well, actually, it was two mice, but the other one never talked t'me. But this one ended up bein' a good friend o' mine. He was preddy big furra mouse. An’ he was constantly getting’ into fights with the guards. ‘Parently, he was a thief…”
“The plan was simple…Well, not really, but Ah expected somethin’ a lot more complicated. See, Ah was s’posed t’pretend t’get in a fight with Jaroah…
“The gatekeeper’d come runnin’ up an’ try t’break it up. Ah push the gatekeeper, an’ Tobias helps him back up, but when ‘e does that, he takes the keys off ‘is belt. Then ‘e hides ‘em ‘til everybeast is back t’normal, an’ then, he unlocks the fetters—they made us wear those ‘round our ankles so we woouldn’t escape—an’ then he passes the keys t’Jaroah, who passes the keys t’me, an’ so on…”
“Once everybeast’s free, we just keep workin’ like nothin’s different, except Tobias sneaks out to the gate an’ opens it. As soon as it’s open…”
“…An’ that’s how we escaped,” Broden concluded, holding up a set of keys, “A couple o’ thieves stole some keys off a rat.”
“Wow.” Lavender was impressed. “That’s amazing, I have to admit…What about the rest of the slaves?”
“Oh,” Broden said, “right, well…Ah don’t wanna go intae much detail wi’ this, but a few weeks later, we broke intae the fort at night an’ basically freed all the slaves as quiet as we coould ‘til one guard heard us. Then, our plan was ‘kill all vermin,’ which we did. Ah got all mah weapons back after the raid, although there was a dagger missin’, but Ah didn’t really miss it. But, uh…”
Broden beamed. “It was…the happiest day o’ mah life.”
“After that, Ah went back tae Redwall, mah auld home. Mah dad an’ mum were still alive an’ kickin’—Dad quite literally—an’ they’d both set up a nice liddle tavern in Mossflower. Dad’s partial t’drink, y’know.
“Anyway, Ah got back, an’ they had a big ol’ celebration at the tavern fur me. Mum even brought some scones an’ syrup from the abbey. Good times. Oh, an’ Dad hired a musician—violinist, lak me—t’play. Name was Rook, they tell me. Me an’ him became real close friends real fast. We share a room at the abbey now, ‘cause he don’t seem t’mind mah sleepin’ habits, hahaha,” he laughed, “But, uh, aye, we’re guid friends noo…”
He trailed off and stared into Lavender's eyes. Lavender looked away. She knew where he was going next.
“An’ then…Ah met you.”
Lavender sighed. “Well, you don’t have to tell me the rest. I already know…”
Broden sat beside her, hoping she would make eye contact again. “Aye, but Ah wrote a song fur ye an’ everythin’. Don’t ye want tae hear it?”
Lavender, though terrified to, looked him in the eyes and smiled. “…Sure.”
As a general rule, Broden didn’t sing much, but for Lavender, he made an exception. His mostly-on-key tenor voice began the verse…
“I'm layin’ here, waiting for you
Our season's comin’ ‘round
The weather's cold, next thing I know
The ice is on the ground
Every year, you meet me here,
But you never stay…
…You’re like an angel in the snow
I knew you’d come, but soon you’ll go
You have to leave, but believe you’ll be
Frozen in my mind
And back to life…
Come wintertime…
Nighttime comes, an’ soon it’ll go, an’
Hide behind the light…
I open my eyes, and peek outside.
The ground is colored white…
I hate it when you leave, but I
Love when you arrive…
You’re like an angel in the snow
I knew you’d come, but soon you’ll go.
You have to leave, but believe you’ll be
Frozen in my mind,
And back to life…
Come wintertime…
An’ I don’t why
You have to come and go.
But when the weather gets warm,
And the sun starts to shine
I know it’s time…
To say goodbye…
…You’re like an angel in the snow
I knew you’d come, but soon you’ll go
You have to leave, but believe you’ll be
Frozen in my mind
And back to life…
And back to life, an' back to life…
Come wintertime…"
…Broden surprised himself. That was the best singing he’d done in seasons. He knew it was because of Lavender. She rose to her footpaws, and Broden did the same. She smiled at him softly, but sadness shone through her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to Broden. She hugged him tightly, ignoring his spines. She released him and took a few steps back, looking sorrowfully at him through the snow-laden gusts of wind. And with that, she was gone.
Broden closed his eyes and clenched his paw. Soon, however, he inhaled and, slowly, exhaled. No. She wasn’t gone yet. Not until spring…
Relationships:
Bron and Taera Spikediggle - Parents
Lavender - Close Friend
Lyric "Rook" Dare - Close Friend
Crew Steampaw - Close Friend (deceased)
Timburr - Family Friend (deceased)
Jaroah and Tobias - Acquaintances
Lhiam Coor MacCloud - Close Friend
Most everyone in the abbey - Various Acquaintances and Friends
Other:
Gender: Male
Age: 25
Species: Hedgehog
Occupation: "Master at Arms" (future Redwall Champion, please)
Physical Appearance:
Broden Spikediggle is a big ol’ hedgehog, and even that is an understatement. He is taller than most other hedgehogs in the Abbey; in fact, he may actually be the tallest. Sure, the otters have him beat, but they’re, y’know, otters. Cheaters. Conversely, Broden is not the widest hedgehog. He has managed to stay rather fit over his twenty-five seasons, thanks to his constant traveling and fighting. Now, by most beasts, this would be considered a good thing. But Broden is a hedgehog, and it just so happens that hedgehogs rather take pride in their girths. I mean, how silly the thought! A thin hedgehog? No, sir, that certainly isn’t acceptable. So, Broden makes up for it in weight. Muscle is heavier than fat; to compensate for lost pounds of fat, he has built his muscles to such a size that a foebeast will likely think twice before bringing a knife to a fistfight—with Broden. (And that has nothing to do with the spines on his arms, of course…) His shoulders are broad and well-formed—not all slumped forward like some beasts. Likewise, his chest is deep and his limbs are thick, particularly his massive forearms. His back is presumably muscular, but really, it’s just hard to tell with all those spines. Now, the spines are rather interesting. You see, like most hedgehogs, Broden has innumerable spines on his back (sorry, no hugs), but for Broden, spines also exist on his arms on paws , though only on the outside. The spines are not nearly as thick here, but there are enough that most beasts don’t like standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him. (And when he elbows you, it really hurts.
) Now, while the extra spines might usually be considered a good thing, Broden hates them, because they prevent him from curling up into a ball like other hedgehogs. But it wasn’t something he could help. It runs in the family.Now, his fur is a typical brown, peppered with black, but the black is more noticeable in his spines than in his fur, which appears just a dark shade of brown. Seasons at Redwall have granted him embarrassingly soft fur, but usually, the pointing and laughing that might accompany the discovery of this is dampened a bit by his intimidating size and cold death-glare. And his case really isn’t helped by the general lack of scars on his body. He has two noticeable scars; one on his left forearm (from an incident involving a kitchen knife, a staircase, and Shad Streamdog) and one on the bottom of his right footpaw (thanks to the genius who left a nail standing, point up, by the doorway in Cellar Hole). Other than that, he is free of scars. It’s not that he doesn’t work hard or lead a semi-dangerous life—he does both of those things. He is just careful. Really, really careful. He hasn’t even broken a bone before, because he never fails to consider his actions before making them. Of course, if asked where his scars and broken bones are, he will casually respond, “I’m just that good.” If you ever saw him in a fight, you’d know he wasn’t just joking.
Broden’s eyes are hazel; mostly brown with diamond-shaped flecks of green scattered here and there. It looks kind of like a green pane of glass was broken in his iris. Fortunately, it wasn’t nearly that painful to get that design. He just had to spend about nine months in his mother’s womb. Sweet deal, right? Now, his eyes aren’t particularly expressive. That’s his face’s job. Fortunately, his face does its job well. He makes but the slightest movements and somehow manages to express exactly what he wants to communicate. An ever-so-slight raising of an eyebrow to communicate amused confusion, or—the classic—the beginning of a smirk to communicate sympathy for you with just a touch of confidence; he likes you and respects your abilities and talents, but he knows he can destroy you without much trouble. This is the very expression that he adopts when he is challenged to a fight, or really anything else he is good at. Even chess. The fact is, he’s good at what he does, and you can tell he knows it. But at least he’s being good-humored about it, right? …right?
Now, let it be known that Broden does wear clothing. Most beasts do. And Broden isn’t one to stand out in a crowd…well, if you don’t consider his size, his slightly unusual eyes, his highly expressive face, and his extra spines. But still! Now that Broden is officially a Redwaller (well, truth be told, he’s been one for a few seasons now), he daily dons the traditional green habit. Unfortunately, he is a hedgehog, and hedgehogs have spines, and spines poke holes in things, so Broden must periodically obtain a new habit, one that hasn’t been mutilated beyond recognition. He wonders how the other abbeyhogs do it, but then it occurs to him that most of them don’t have pointy things on their arms to constantly hang by their sides and rip new holes in the fabric. On his footpaws are the usual sandals, but to be completely open and honest, Broden hates sandals. They’re just…They’re terrible articles of clothing, and it’s a wonder they haven’t yet been wiped off the face of the planet via lightning bolt. Ah well, there’s always tomorrow, eh? Outside of the abbey, Broden gets to wear his favorite clothing—the clothing he arrived in. On his torso was a maroon tunic that, for aforementioned reasons, lacked sleeves and was made of a terrifically tough material. He honestly isn’t sure what the material was, exactly, but then, he never much cared—and he still doesn’t. Broden also wore some baggy, but well-fitted trousers that really weren’t anything special. On his footpaws were boots. Not sandals. Now, Broden’s paws never hid themselves in gloves, partly because the spines would not allow for it, and partly because his big, calloused paws never really needed such protection. Similarly, his head never covered up with a hat, because hedgehogs can’t really wear hats. Do you see how annoying spines can be?
Possessions:
Broden carries a set of keys with him at all times, typically attached to his belt or scabbard. The scabbard holds his favorite weapon—the broadsword of an old otter he befriended seasons ago. Aside from the broadsword, he carries a rapier, two sabers, and a dagger (which was once part of a set of three). He can use the rapier somewhat effectively, and while he is not the best with the two sabers, he absolutely loves to use them both at once. It just makes the swordfight feel that much more awesome. And the dagger is a throwing dagger, which he is only good at using when frustrated, interestingly. Broden can use other weapons, but he likes to just carry these around, because carrying much more would weigh him down quite a bit. Plus that, he can fairly effectively use an opponent’s own weapon against him.
Personality:
Broden is a pretty fun beast to be around. He’s got an excellent sense of humor, and he utilizes it often. He is also highly competitive, which works in his favor, because he’s very good at what he does. He is also the epitome of anticlimax and hates all things dramatic. Even so, he has his dramatic moments, whether he likes them or not. But art really isn’t his thing. Broden is much more physical.
In fact, to Broden, violence is almost always the answer. Got a bully pestering you? Violence. Have something to say to your idiot boss? Violence. Slightly irritated by the door-to-door salesmen? Violence. Yes, violence is like Broden’s duct tape. It fixes everything. In fact, it would almost seem that he enjoys fighting a bit too much…
Broden’s sarcasm is noteworthy, because he uses it all the time. It’s part habit, part demeanor. He just doesn’t like to take things seriously. That is not to say that he can’t take things seriously; he just doesn’t like to. It is possible that Broden hides behind his sarcastic attitude in order to avoid looking unsure or insecure in front of his peers. He tries to keep up a sarcastic, somewhat cynical atmosphere about him, for fear that somebeast will see that he is not as invincible as he likes to make himself out to be. Now, it is entirely true that he is very good at what he does. This leads to a confidence that borders on arrogance, but it isn’t a terrible problem with him, because he never fails to think a dumb idea through before executing it. Interestingly, what he is putting on is actually a sort of pseudo-confidence. He is simply trying to hide his own uncertainty in himself… from himself.
As mentioned earlier, Broden generally rolls an eye or two at drama. He doesn’t much care for it, honestly. That isn’t to say that he hasn’t had his dramatic moments in life, but those were all justified, of course. When other beasts do it, it’s just silly. It is this very opinion that tilts the heads of beasts who know him, because when he picks up his violin, he becomes very serious about it. Broden shrugs this off and declares that music is where "that stuff" belongs. Anywhere else, and it’s stupid.
Broden is most dramatic when it comes to a hogmaid named Lavender. He fancies himself her future husband, though such talk has never passed between their lips. But he is conflicted. You see, Lavender visits him in the wintertime, but once springtime rolls around, she disappears. Broden doesn’t know why she feels the need to do this, for she refuses to tell him, but he nevertheless pleads with her every winter to stay. This causes much emotional distress to Broden, who has never felt so strongly for anybeast else.
But to sum the hedgehog up in six words…Broden wants to be a hero. He longs to use the life he has been blessed with to preserve those of others. The idea of giving up his own life to save another’s is utterly awesome, and it inspires Broden to no end. And it affects every aspect of his personality. He hides behind sarcasm and cynicism in an attempt to maintain the appearance of a strong and confident warrior, when in reality, he doesn’t feel nearly so confident. He wants to look like a hero. He dispels all possible drama because he fears that it will hinder his sense of practicality in battle—and besides, what good would it do if he brought petty personal issues onto the battlefield? He wants to act like a hero. And Broden’s proclivity to resort to violence at the drop of a hat comes from his history of pursuing heroism. When one fights constantly, one constantly wants to fight. He wants to fight like a hero. You see, he doesn’t just want to be a beast who has the potential to rise up when the situation demands it; he wants to be the beast who seeks out opportunities to rise up. And finally, it affects Broden in this: He values the lives of others above his own. This a lesson he learned at the age of eighteen and the very reason he so longs to be a hero.
Strengths:
Strength – Broden’s most apparent strength is his strength. He brings entire trees to log-throwing competitions. (possible exaggeration
)Fighting – Broden can best the best of almost any sort of fighter. He recognizes that otters fight differently than mice do, and that moles fight differently than weasels do. Well, he’s fought nearly all of them, so he can adapt his fighting style to the fighter. And he seldom loses.
Violinist – Broden is a masterful violinist. It’s the only instrument he cares to play, so he does it well. And he writes his own songs.
Songwriting – He writes his own songs. (There's an echo…) And he’s a pretty good lyricist, if he does say so himself.
Photographic Memory – Broden doesn’t forget things easily. Of course, it’s a selective memory, so he only remembers details that he intends to remember. He’s got pretty good at remembering unimportant things lately – he’s especially good with dialogue.
Careful – Broden is as careful as they come. He doesn’t like making mistakes, and when he does, he makes sure he won’t make that same mistake again. This is why he hasn’t accumulated a lot of scars or yet broken any bone (of his). It also helps that he sort of visualizes his actions before making them.
Weaknesses:
Spines on his arms – Broden has spines on his arms, which are terribly uncomfortable and even more terribly inconvenient. They get in his way far too much, so much so that he can’t curl up into a ball like most hedgehogs, leaving him to defend himself the old-fashioned way.
Misuses words a lot – Broden has recently taken up using big words in an attempt to look smarter than he is, but he mixes them up sometimes. This isn’t a significant weakness, but it sure is amusing.
Sarcastic – Broden has a big mouth and a tendency to be a little too sarcastic sometimes. But that’s okay, ‘cause with his skills, he can afford to be, right?
Relives day’s experiences in his sleep, loudly, must be kept in his own room – Broden relives the experiences of his day every night…in his sleep. Yes, that means he will be sleep-talking all night long. It is for this reason that he has been assigned his own room in the abbey, somewhere nobeast will have to suffer his noisy dreams, somewhere like…the cellars. (Rook doesn't seem to mind, though.)
Feigns indifference, stupidity, laziness – Broden likes to feign indifference. He doesn’t want to look like he cares – he likes to make everything look effortless. Therefore, he will often act apathetic when he is really interested, lazy when he is really itching to work, and cynical when he is really sympathetic. It’s more out of embarrassment than anything else. Heaven forbid he look “weak” in front of his peers.
Violence is the answer – For Broden, violence is usually the answer. He resorts to it a bit too often and seems to enjoy it a bit too much.
History:
Snow fell gently on the soft earth. Broden’s deep footprints led from Redwall Abbey, across the dirt path, all the way to a small clearing hidden in the midst of the thick forest. Here, he lay in the snow, waiting. Snowflakes caressed his face, melting from the warmth of his fur. His eyes were closed restfully. After a time, he awoke, and a song came to him. He didn’t know where it had come from, he didn’t know what it had come for. But he sang it softly as the words wrote themselves.
“I'm layin’ here, waiting for you
Our season's comin’ round
The weather's cold, next thing I know
The ice is on the ground
Every year, you meet me here,
But you never stay…”
“Broden?” came a voice.
He sat up quickly. There she was. Lavender. The big hedgehog rose to his footpaws and brushed the snow off his clothing, apologizing.
“Sorry, sorry, I, uh—I got tired, an’ uh—“
“Broden, it’s—”
“Well, I just thought—”
“Just stop t—”
“I was, er—”
“You can—”
“—writing a song, an’—”
“Broden!” she placed a paw on his arm. Broden froze. “Remember to inhale,” she said.
Broden complied, chuckling a bit. “If’n ye say so.”
Lavender nodded satisfactorily. “Good, now make sure your circulatory system still works.”
“Check.”
“Good,” she said with a laugh, “Now sit down. You owe me an explanation, mister.”
Broden nodded. Last time, he had asked her to share her history with him, with the intention of letting there be no secrets between them. She agreed on the condition that he share his own history with her the next time they met. He accepted this only because it was Lavender asking. Anybeast else would have been met with a laugh and a brusque, “No.”
Broden smiled at her. “All right, I’ll tell ye everything. I think I’d rather stand, though.”
She shrugged. “Suit yourself,” she said as she seated herself. Moss-covered stones made decent chairs once the snow was brushed off.
Broden leaned his shoulder against a tall evergreen casually. He opened his mouth to speak, but the tree promptly deposited a branchful of snow onto his head. Lavender laughed aloud at him, covering her mouth. Broden shook his head and laughed too. He sighed. “Hhhaha, aye, that’s…That figures.” He tried to brush the snow out of his headspikes. “All right, so where d’ye want me t’start?”
Lavender tried to control her laughter. “H’um…From the start. The very start. How did your parents meet?”
Broden raised an eyebrow. “Really? That far back?”
She nodded. “Aye. Go.”
He laughed. “Hahaha, okay, then, uh…lessee…Right, so my dad was a musician. Lived in Noonvale. He, uh, wrote an’ played songs fur beasts, an’ that’s how he made ‘is living. Mum was warrior, actually, haha, uh, served with the northerners up in the mountains. She came down t’Noonvale ev’ry summer to stay with ‘er family. She knew mah dad furra long time, actually. But they didn’t get along—until, o’ course, mah dad ended up on the battlefield with ‘er…”
The wind roared through the mountains. The sky threatened the earth with hail and sleet, but none came. For the time being, only snow blew across the frozen rocks. Bron Spikediggle trudged stolidly up the mountainside. Why in heavens had he, of all beasts, been chosen for this task?
He shrugged the pack more securely on his thin shoulder.
Oh, sure, send the smallest hedgehog out to deliver the supplies to the warriors. The fat ones wouldn’t survive the trek. Right, especially with all that extra insulation that Bron didn’t have, mind you. Oh, but no…We couldn’t send them out. Instead, let’s send little Bron, the one hedgehog who never scaled a mountain in his life. Bahh, they could all go boil their heads.
Just then, Bron noticed something up ahead. Footprints in the snow. He was close.
He sped up his pace a bit, and he was in the middle of the camp before he had a chance to realize it. He slid the pack from his shoulder and dropped it on the ground sullenly. “Brought the bloomin’ supplies!” he shouted. But there was no answer. No reply. Silence. He called out again. “I have yore supplies!” No response. “Gah, fine then, let ‘em freeze fur all I care…”
The hedgehog began to walk back the way he had come, but stopped when he realized that he had just trekked up a mountain. Rest would be good. Besides, his ears were about to freeze right off his head. He made for a nearby tent—one he recognized as the head warrior’s. What he found inside left him breathless.
He backed away from the tent as quickly as he had opened it, stumbling and falling on his tail in the process. So much blood…Something was horribly, horribly wrong. He stood up, about to take off in a sprint, down, back the way he had come, but he froze in his tracks.
Standing on the other side of the camp was a wolf. An upright, blood-stained wolf. Its eyes locked onto Bron. The hedgehog let out a small, pitiful noise. It turned as though to lunge at him, but something came flying from the trees, landing on its head. The next thing Bron knew, a hogmaid was making faces at a wolf with a spear in its neck. She turned to face Bron, a confident smile on her face. “Ah knew that woold work,” she said snootily, spitting contemptuously on the dead wolf.
Bron was speechless for a moment. “…You just—”
“Killed a wolf in under ten seconds? Aye, Ah did. An’ Ah did it wi’ just one spear, mind ye!” She crossed her arms and shook her head from side to side as she spoke, quite pleased with herself. She took notice of the dead body again. “Shame, though. Lost a guid spear. That was mah last weapon. But!” She crouched and began taking items from the dead body. “Now Ah hae new weapons! Hooraaay…”
Bron would have laughed if he had understood what the heck was going on. She was actually quite comical. It was still hard to believe…This was the same hogmaid that came to his family’s house for dinner every midsummer’s day.
“…Taera?”
“Aye?” The hogmaid looked up from her carcass-looting.
“What the—”—here, he said something rather inappropriate—“—happened here?”
“Something rather inappropriate?” Lavender laughed. “I’m not a dibbun, anymore, Broden.”
He shrugged his big shoulders. “Eh, it’s just how my dad allus told it.”
Lavender chuckled. “Okay, go on.”
Broden nodded. “Right, so, Mum told ‘im how a pack of wolves came an’ killed ‘most everybeast. Some of ‘em were bein’ kept as hostage, though – I don’t know why. Wolves don’t make sense t’me. – An’ so my parents thought ‘Hey, why don’t we go an’ rescue all of ‘em?’ So they did. Er, well, most of them…”
“Keep down!” Taera hissed at Bron, who was standing up as tall as he could. “D’ye want tae get us both killed?”
Bron crossed his arms. “Gimme a weapon, an’ I’ll sit down.”
She shook her head. “Absolutely not! Ye’re no’ a warrior, an’ ye’ll be gettin’ no blade!”
“What if I need t’protect myself?”
“Run.”
“They’ll catch me!”
“So run faster.”
Bron crossed his arms. “Fine. Have it your way. I’ll just go an’ get my own weapon.” And with that, he began to walk toward the two wolves they had been spying on.
Taera nearly stood up, herself. “What in the name o’ Brian J— Come back here noo!”
But it was too late. Bron was in clear view of the wolves. Arms crossed, he shouted obnoxiously at them. “You two!”
They looked at him. He gestured rudely at them with his paw, and gave them a small nod. “Yes.”
Broden sighed. “Y’see, my dad wasn’t the brightest hog in Noonvale. An’ I’m not entirely sure he wasn’t doing it just t’prove a point t’Mum. He gets in this mood, sometimes…A-Anyway, I’m ramblin’. Fact is, he did somethin’ stupid, an’ now he had t’back it up.”
“Did he?” Lavender asked, eyebrow raised.
Broden smiled at her knowingly.
The wolves growled angrily. The first to lose control lost its head as well. It charged. Bron slipped by the beast smoothly, taking hold of its sword in the process. By the time it had stopped and turned around, Bron was swinging the blade at its throat. It crumpled to the ground, reddening the snow as its head rolled downhill. Spinning around suddenly, Bron launched the same blade at the second wolf. It fell.
Bron straightened his collar and casually made his way over to the second corpse and retrieved his new sword.
Broden nodded, holding back a chuckle. “Turns out my dad’s a natural-born killer.”
“No.” Lavender shook her head incredulously. “No way. Beasts don’t just—”
“Well, aye, that’s what I said!” Broden said, nodding emphatically, “But he an’ Mum swear up an’ down it happened.”
“Certainly he had some training beforepaw?”
Broden nodded. “Aye, Ah think so, anyways. But if ‘e did, he ain’t talkin’.”
Lavender laughed. “Wow. That’s impressive…” She held out her paws. “…Well, c’mon! What happened next?”
“Oh, right, uh, Mum let ‘im keep the sword, aye, annn’ they went, an’ they killed all the wolves.”
Lavender waited. “…What? That’s it?”
Broden seemed taken aback. “You wanna story fur every wolf?”
“Yes!”
“There were twenty-three, Lavender! An’ the stories really don’t get any more interestin’, I swear. There ain’t much t’killin’ a beast. Slice. Oh. You’re dead. Sorry.”
Lavender couldn’t quite believe her ears. “They killed twenty-three wolves? By themselves?”
Broden shook his head. “No, they had help. Remember, they were rescuin’ warriors, so ev’ry time they saved one, the next one got easier. But by the end of it, Dad was exhausted from all that fightin’ an’ hikin’—remember, he wasn’t used t’bein’ a warrior.”
Lavender chuckled. “Didn’t stop him from taking out two wolves without a weapon,” she murmured.
Broden crossed his arms. “D’ye wanna hear the rest o’ the story or not?”
“No, don’t mind me. Go on.”
“Aye, so…Er, aye, Dad got t’be leader o’ the warriors furra few seasons, ‘cause o’ how good he was in battle. That, an’ the other leader was killed, so, y’know, beggars can’t be choosers. Anyways, mah parents got married after a while, an’ decided they wanted t’go t’Redwall, b’cos they were plannin’ t’give birth t’me soon, an’ they figured it would be best if I stayed at an abbey ‘stead o’ tryin’ t’survive the harsh winters up north. Arter all, hedgehogs aren’t made fur snowy land. That’s otters an’ wolves.”
“Aye. So, when d’you come into this picture?”
“Aboot two years lader. I was born smack in the middle o’ Mossflower, actually. A liddle too early, unfortunately. See, mah parents don’t know a thing aboot takin’ care o’ babes. They’re warriors, o’ course. So, they wanted t’be at the abbey when I was born so I could have proper care. But they were... They did okay…”
Bron prodded it gingerly with his paw. “What’re we s’posed to do with it?”
Taera shrugged helplessly. “Ah dinnae ken! It won’t stop cryin’!”
“Well there’s your problem,” Bron said. He took the babe from Taera, flipped him right-side up, and placed him back in her arms.
Lavender was speechless.
“… What!” Broden demanded. “I didn’t die!”
“Please tell me you did not actually put him in the treetop…”
“That’s how the song goes.”
“Don’t you know how that song ends?!”
Broden shrugged. “… Not sayin’ I didn’t come close.”
Lavender nodded a little, searching for words. “…I don’t know how to respond to that.”
“You hired a toad to babysit…”
“…And that was just the first week.”
The hogmaid shook her head and held up a paw to silence him. “Just tell me what happened when you got to Redwall Abbey.”
Broden smiled. “Oh, heh, right. So, we got to the abbey—”
“Thank heavens.”
“—An’ that’s when mah parents could finally stop worryin’ aboot me wanderin’ into the River Moss at night.”
“Oh dear Lord.”
“So, fur a few seasons, the Sisters took care o’ me while mah parents tried to settle into life at the abbey. I adjusted faster than they did, though. Mum kept nearly killin’ beasts when they'd sneak up on 'er. Force o' habit.”
“And you survived as a child?”
Broden gave her a look. “No. I died.”
She dismissed him with a wave of the paw. “Oh, you know what I mean! Anything else interesting about your childhood I should know?”
Broden thought about this for a moment. “Well, come t’think of it, aye. Turns oot, I was a hyper liddle ‘og, ‘specially as a dibbun. They tried givin’ me sugar a few times, but…”
The feast was grand. Foods and pastries and cordials as far as little Broden’s eyes could see. That was apparently not very far, in this case, for his vision was obscured by the pile of pastries on his plate. He had drowned them all in syrup. Taking a bite, the little hedgehog smiled widely. He liked syrup. He took another bite, and another, and another.
Suddenly, his eyes grew as wide as saucers.
“…I can see eternity.”
“In short, I went t’bed that night covered in syrup an’ scorch marks while they got rid o’ the tables I’d broke. Nobeast got a lick o’ shuteye, though, ‘cause I was literally running through the halls doin’ my best impression of a banshee.”
“How’d they get you to quiet down?”
“Well, when you’re walkin’ up the stairs to the dormitories, you’ll notice a crack in the floor aboot the size of a hogbabe’s head…”
Lavender shook her head. “Okay—Is there anything good that came of your childhood?”
“Ach, aye,” Broden nodded vigorously. “Fur shore. It’s just not as fun t’talk aboot that stuff.”
Lavender laughed. “I think you could stand to mention it. Like, did your parents do anything right with you?”
This time, Broden laughed. “Hahaha, aye, heh, o’ course they did. Took ‘em a while, but they learned. Iffact, they starded teachin’ me stuff that they wanted me t’know how tae do. Like mah dad wanted t’teach me how t’fight. Apparently, he got in a lots o’ fights – still does, actually…”
The tension in the barroom was almost palpable. The small, silver-furred hedgehog stared levelly back at the sneering rat. This was no ordinary rat. The hulking beast could have easily hefted three Brons with one paw. But the hedgehog did not even waver slightly under the rat’s attempt to intimidate. Everybeast watched the two stare each other down. Some were placing bets in the corner, and one coughed loudly to break the uncomfortable silence.
The rat growled. “I ain’t payin’.”
“Yes you are,” replied Bron coldly. The rat slapped the glass out of Bron’s paw, spilling perfectly good October ale all over the unsuspecting floor. Bron looked at the shattered glass on the floor, then at the rat. “…You’d better pick that up in about five seconds.”
The rat sneered. “Wot yew gonna do abowt it, gran’paw?”
Bron’s whiskers twitched.
Outside, a mouse passed in front of the tavern, hoping to buy a quick drink. He reached for the doorknob, but there was a sudden thump. The mouse fell to the ground, startled by the giant rat crashing through the window.
Broden paused, then continued. “…Ye don’t mess wi’ Dad’s October ale…”
Lavender nodded like she understood.
Broden snapped out of his thoughts. “Anyway, so Dad taught me t’fight. Well, mostly. He taught me how t’fight like he did, but I found it didn’t allus work t’fight like he did. Somebeasts were just too good fur me, an’ it took me a while tae figurr out, beasts’re diff’rent, so they all fight diff’rent, an’…Well, y’know what, Ah’ll get t’that later. Fact is, Dad taught me how t’fight. Box, mostly. An’, uh, my mum didn’t really teach me so much o’ that as she did other stuff.
“It’s odd, actually, that they didn’t teach me the things they was best at. A’ least, not as much as the things they wish they was best at. See, Mum was allus furgettin’ things, so instead o’ teachin’ me how t’use a bunch a weapons—which she did, but not as much as this—she made me learn how t’remember everything.” He looked pointedly at Lavender. “An’ Ah mean everything.”
Broden’s eyes were wider than Friar Furdle’s apron. His little paw reached out to grab the syrup-drenched scone, but a larger paw held him back. “Nae, Broden,” his mother warned. “Remember somethin’ first.”Broden threw up his little paws in despair. “But Ma—”
“Broden.” She spoke a little more harshly. “Close your eyes.”
The small hedgehog sighed deeply, but complied.
“Guid. Noo, tell me…How many pies are on this table?”
Broden sighed deeper. It was such a big table! “Ummm…” He thought about this for what felt like an eternity (which he could see if his mom would just let him at that scone). “Eight,” he said decisively.
Taera shook her head. “Nine.” She breathed a mental sigh of relief, glad that she had an excuse to keep Broden from getting his little paws on more syrup.
But Broden shook his head insistently. “Eight.” He pointed a paw at Friar Furdle himself, who was licking his fingers, having just terminated the short life of a poor cranberry pie.
Taera was impressed and disappointed at the same time. “…All right. Have at it.”
And eternity came into view again.
Lavender nodded. “Ah, I see. It’s okay to unleash a pint-sized apocalypse on the abbey so long as that apocalypse remembers how many pies are on the table.”
“Exactly!” Broden agreed wholeheartedly. Lavender rolled her eyes.
“So, who taught you to play the violin?” she asked.
“Oh, that would be my dad. He can play just aboot any instrument, really. . . Even the haredeegurdee.”
Lavender nodded. It was interesting, to say the least, but she wanted to know something more about Broden. He wasn’t your average abbey hedgehog. He was…different. “…Broden?”
“Aye?”
“Tell me why you left the abbey.”
Broden’s face began to lose its mirth. This wasn’t a subject he enjoyed discussing. But he knew it had to be coming; he was telling Lavender his past, after all. He took a deep breath. “…Ah didn’t want tae leave, at first. It wasn’t…it wasn’t mah…Abbeybeasts just dinnae leave fur nae reason, but Ah was different…” He searched his thoughts, as though trying to decide how to go about explaining himself. He looked Lavender in the eyes. “…It happened first when I was in Mossflower, helpin’ a farmer fix ‘is house.”
The trees swayed gently in the wind. Autumn leaves swirled whisperingly to Mossflower’s floor, and overhead, gray clouds trailed closely behind the departing storm. Thunder could still be heard in the distance. Yet it was still not over. As fate would have it, a second storm was approaching fast from the west. Soon, the wind would die down, only to burst forth once again in a sudden blast of frenzied gusts.
Broden wiped sweat from his brow. “How soon d’ye think it’ll arrive?” he asked.
An aged dormouse looked up from his work, glancing at Broden, then at the approaching thunderhead. Just as quickly, he turned back to the house and began hammering nails into the boards. “Less’n ten minutes, I’d say. We’d best patch up this side o’ the roof’s best we c’n manage afore it gets ‘ere.”
Broden left the crooked door he had been tending to, and made for a chair. He used it to clamber up onto the roof of the dormouse’s home. “Aye, that’s prob’ly a good idea, Tim. Here, Ah’ll start on this side, an’ we’ll try tae meet in the middle.” The dormouse didn’t stop working, just nodded.
The two had made significant progress on the roof when loud shouting sounded from the woods. Timburr dropped the nail he was holding and began making his way to the edge of the roof. “That’s Dade’s voice. Somethin’s wrong.”
Broden stopped and looked up at the dormouse, worry beginning to form in his chest. This was serious. He had never been in a serious situation like this before. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Ssshhh! Boy, hush!” Tim snapped.
The shouting was getting closer. Suddenly, a squirrel came crashing through the treetops, leaping from a branch and landing ungracefully on the roof, beside Broden. The hedgehog jumped a bit, startled.
“Dade, what’s ‘appenin’?” asked Tim.
The squirrel sat up. “It’s that ferret again; ‘e’s after me fur slayin’ ‘is mates.”
The dormouse cursed. “Dade, I tol’ ye not t’mess with vermin like that!”
“They was tryin’ t’burn my ‘ouse down, Tim—what was I s’posed t’do!” Dade replied angrily.
Tim grunted and turned back to survey the forest. The rustling of the trees grew closer. Broden glanced first at Mossflower, then at the sky. The trees in the distance were swaying more violently now, and the front of the storm was approaching fast.
“Yew!”
Broden looked back at the ground. A ferret stood there, holding a bow and pointing an arrow straight at Tim. “Gimme dat squirrel ‘r I’ll shoot y’dead where y’stand!” the ferret warned.
Broden expected Tim to negotiate, but nothing of the sort happened. Instead, the dormouse clambered down to the ground and stared levelly at the ferret. “Gerroff my land, ferret.”
An arrow flew from the bow and nearly struck Dade. That was enough for Tim. The dormouse launched himself at the ferret, landing three good, solid blows on the archer’s jaw before the vermin could retaliate. Broden was shocked. He couldn’t bring himself to move a muscle. For an instant, he glanced up at the sky. The front was here. Wind blasted wildly through the trees, the noise mixing with the sounds of the struggle below. Broden didn’t catch what had happened, but Tim had a wound in his side and was strangling the ferret. The ferret died first. Then, Tim fell over. Dade scrambled frantically down from the roof, shouting something. Broden couldn’t hear it. He couldn’t feel the wind whipping his shirt back and forth. He couldn’t see anything but the struggle.
Tim was dead.
Broden stared at the ground solemnly. “…He died protecting his neighbor’s life. An’ fur nothin’. He didn’t…he didn’t care enough fur his own safety t’let his neighbor die…They didn’t even get along before then. They—they fought constantly. But when it came to Dade’s life bein’ on the line, Tim took ‘is place…” He stopped for a moment and looked up at Lavender. She had fallen serious too. Broden continued. “That was the first time Ah saw somebeast give up ‘is own life t’save somebeast else’s life. It was…it was…It hurt. It hurt mah heart, b’cos Ah knew if I was inna same boat, Ah wouldn’t hae done the same. Ah was weak. Ah cared so much aboot mah own life, mah own happiness, Ah didn’t see the bigger picture…See, Tim, he got it. He knew somethin’ Ah didn’t. He died, an’, an’ Ah knew, Ah knew there was somethin’ different aboot that dormouse. Somethin’ Ah didn’t ‘ave…There’s more to life than living…”
“Frae that day on, Ah didnae want tae live a peaceful life at the abbey. Ah knew Ah was meant fur somethin’ more…Ah wanted tae…tae make Tim’s death worth it. Tae live diff’rent, sae that Ah didnae value mahself as much. Ah wanted tae ken…why woold Tim dae that?”
Lavender watched Broden with interest. His accent had thickened, which meant this part of the story was close to him. She had a feeling they were getting to the meat of the story now. She might end up learning more about Broden than she’d ever wanted to.
“What kaend o’ beast sacrifices hisself fur another?” Broden straightened and began pacing slowly. “The kaend what knows the worth o' his life. What knows he's not the 'main character' in the story.”
Sunlight streamed through the tree branches, sliding across Broden’s spines as he took his first steps away from Redwall Abbey. The grass was green, and the air smelled of new life. Normally, it would have excited Broden, made him yearn for adventure. But right now, he just didn’t want to be away from home.
He stared sullenly at the ground under his footpaws. So, this was it. He was leaving the abbey to go save the world…right… Gosh, this had sounded a lot better in his head. He didn’t know what on earth he was doing! He just knew he needed to do something. And somehow, that didn’t seem enough…
And that’s when he heard it…He didn’t know what it was, nor whence it had come, but he was sure he had heard it.
He smiled and looked up. He knew what he was going to do. Broden quickened his pace and headed out toward the Western Sea.
Broden stared up at the sky, watching the white and gray clouds pass overhead. “On mah way there, Ah met some shrews. They ‘elped me get along faster by lettin’ me ride in one o’ their logboats furra while. Problem is, shrews like rapids…”
Water splashed all over Broden’s body for the eighth time. He clung to the deck for dear life. The shrews next to him were laughing wildly. “Are these boats s’posed t’flip in midair like that?” Broden shouted.The foremost shrew laughed harder. “Hahahaha, not even sort of!”
“Needless tae say, Ah didn’t ride wi’ shrews on the way back. Anyway, it made mah trip shorter; only took half the time. An’—Oh, actually, Ah also met some bats, an’ they—Ach, nevermind, that was just…”
The hedgehog sprinted from the cave, screaming. “It’s gonna eat me!”
“…Nevermind.”
It was raining. A long shadow drug itself slowly across the rolling hills of grass. Broden was fairly sure he had strayed too far north and expected that he would have to head south upon reaching the coast. That is, if he were going to find Salamandastron. What he did not expect was to find a little hut just sitting there, on the side of a hill – or, in this case, in the side of a hill. You see, when one does not expect such things, one has a tendency to tumble down them.
And so Broden did.
Landing flat on his back, he cursed. Opening his eyes, he discovered that he had been cursing an old sea otter, who now stared down at him with a look of disdain. “Gerrup, hog.”
Broden did as he was told. He could hear the roar of the sea behind him, so he knew he could not be far. But this otter was too…peculiar to simply leave be. A conversation was in order. “Sorry,” the hedgehog apologized, “Ah didn’t see your, uh, house there.”
“That's because ye weren’t lookin’,” growled the otter, shoving the door open to reenter his house.
Broden's sarcasm got the better of him. “Well, that’s b’cos, usually, beasts don’t go ‘round building houses intae the sides o’ bloomin' hills!”
The otter returned with a broadsword. He pointed it at Broden. “Watch yore tongue, lad. There’s a reason they tell ye t’respec’ yore elders.”
Broden nodded, but he really didn’t feel like being polite today. “An’ what woould that be, gran’paw?”
A fist appeared rather unexpectedly. The sea otter lowered himself to one knee, growling. “Well, look at ye now, kissin’ on the ground. That reason enough for ye?”
Broden pushed himself into a sitting position as the otter rose to leave. “That only worked ‘cause Ah wasnae ready furrit!”
The otter laughed. “Hahaho, h’aye, an’ ye’d be ready for it if’n a vermin come an’ stab ye in yore sleep? Yore defense sucks.”
“What’s that’s s’posed tae mean?”
“Y’mind tellin’ me wot yore doin’ out ‘ere, ‘og?”
Broden was thrown by the question, but he quickly recovered and responded. “Ah—Ah’m goin’ t’Salamandastron.”
“Why? Got summat t’deliver?”
“No. I, uh, want t’learn ‘ow t’fight.”
“Wot, there?” The otter turned and looked at him incredulously. “Nay, hog, you’ll learn nothing there.”
Broden crossed his arms, ignoring his spines. “What? They’re excellent fighters. Heaven knows they're fairer'n you, Gran’paw. Helped the abbey many a season against vermin hordes an' such.”
The sea otter laughed as he wiped the broadsword with a dirty rag. “Oh, shore. They’re good help, but they’re inna army. Yore alone. If’n ye wanna learn t’be a soldier, go on ahead t’Salamanderstone, ‘r wotever. They'll teach ye t'act all nice an' proper, an' never hit a beast wid 'is back turned, an' all that malarkey. But if’n ye wanna learn t’fight, spend a season ‘r two wi’ me.”
“An’ what makes you so special?”
“Ask yore bloody lip.”
Broden fell silent.
The sea otter chuckled. “Aye, that’s wot I thought. Ye got no proper trainin’, hog. Tell ye wot, though, I like yore attitude. R’minds me o’ me. Wot say ye stay ‘ere for a season ‘r two, an’ I’ll teach ye everything I know?”
Broden lowered an eyebrow. “An’ what do ye know?”
“Son, I’ve sailed places ye’ve never even heard of. I know how beasts fight. All of ‘em. An’ I c’n best the best of ‘em too, so I can.”
“Aye?”
“Aye.”
“Prove it.”
“Catch.”
Broden caught it, but winced as the blade stung his paw. “Ach, ye threw a bloody broadsword at me!”
“ ‘Tweren’t bloody afore ye grabbed the blade wi’ yore paw. Obviously, ye need a good lesson in sword ‘andlin’.”
Lavender laughed. Broden nodded. “He was a curious fellow, but Ah grew tae like ‘im. He was good at fightin’, but ‘e was near terrible at anything else.”
“Checkmate!” Broden laughed proudly.
The sea otter’s brow furrowed. “What is that?”
“It’s called a victory dance.”
“Well stop it, ye’re scarin’ the birds away.”
“Okay, okay,” Lavender interrupted. “What’s his name?”
“Ach, right, uh, it’s Crew.”
“…Crew?”
“Aye, “ Broden admitted, “It’s an odd name, fur shore, but that’s it. Crew Steampaw.”
“I said flick with yore wrist, Broden! Not yore whole bloody arm!”
The hedgehog in question was having trouble hitting a simple target. He threw his last dagger in frustration at Crew’s house. It stuck point first in the wall.
Crew nodded. “Aye, like that.”
Broden smiled proudly.
Crew’s expression darkened suddenly. “But do that t’my ‘ouse again an’ I’ll beat the daylights outta ye.”
Lavender laughed. “Sounds like you two got along real well.”
Broden smiled fondly. “Aye, we did. But Ah ended up stayin’ fur only two seasons…”
Autumn leaves fell softly around the hills, visible through the windows in Crew’s house. Broden loved to watch them fall. He paused in his work as they caught his attention. Crew would have snapped at the hedgehog for getting distracted and not doing his chores, but there really wasn’t much to do today, and beside that, Crew just didn’t care enough. Let the hedgehog have his fun.
A sudden noise brought Broden out of his trance. He glanced out the window and saw something he wasn’t prepared for. Crew saw the look on the young hedgehog’s face and was immediately on his footpaws. He shoved past Broden to the door. Broden set his bucket of water down and hurried to follow Crew outside. His eyes caught Crew midair.
Time froze.
There were vermin outside Crew’s house. Broden didn’t know why they were there, but clearly, their intentions weren’t amiable. After all, why would Crew be attacking them? On the other paw, maybe they were attacking Crew. The sea otter now had a sword that he didn’t have when he’d left the house, and he was presently bringing it down on an unfortunate stoat’s neck. What followed was the most incredible, most gruesome display of fighting ability Broden had ever witnessed.
Crew kicked a ferret, simultaneously snatching the cutlass from its grasp. He spun around, beheading a rat who had intended to sneak up behind him. The sea otter quickly turned to block a strike from a fox. He took the fox out at the legs with a powerful sweep of his rudder, meanwhile running the ferret through with his own cutlass. Two weasels charged Crew, who pushed the dead ferret onto the first weasel and savagely kicked the second weasel in the stomach, allowing himself time to finish off the fox. Finally, it was just two weasels and the sea otter. All three rose to their footpaws. They charged. Crew ran toward just one, resulting in him running toward one weasel and away from another. This threw them both off, and Crew swiftly disarmed and beheaded the second weasel. But the first did not stop running. Crew did not have time to turn around, so he simply took his sword and spun it around until its point faced the charging weasel. The weasel fell, a blade in his throat. Crew looked down to find the weasel’s blade in his midsection.
Broden’s eyes were glistening with tears now. He was holding them back desperately. He wasn’t about to let Lavender see him cry. “He…he, uh, died protectin’ me. Like Tim did fur Dade. But, uh, Crew…wasnae one tae die lak other beasts.” Broden smiled fondly. “Nae, he went like…it was lak ‘e didnae ken he was dyin’…”
Crew collapsed on top of the weasel, propping himself up with an elbow. “Glad that’s over.” He glanced at Broden. “You. C’mere.” Broden came, paws shaking, tears welling up in his eyes. Crew’s brow furrowed. “Stow that. Wot I need ye t’do is go an’ get my weapons. ‘Specially that broadsword. An’ take ‘em t’Southsward. There’s a fox I want ye t’meet. Tell ‘im Crew sent ye.” The sea otter patted Broden’s back heartily. “Yore a good fighter, hog. ‘S about time ye got some real ‘sperience.”
Broden knew better than to make this a sorrowful parting. He tried to muster up a good half-smile. “Which shield should Ah get?”
Crew shook his head. “No shield… Yore defense sucks.”
Broden laughed. The two carried on the conversation for quite some time, smiling and laughing like nothing was wrong. It had been but two seasons ago that Broden had met Crew, but it had been a long two seasons, a long two seasons Broden would never regret. And so, when Crew closed his eyes for what the otter called “an extended period of time,” Broden did not feel hopelessness or sorrow. Instead, he felt pride in this old sea otter he’d had the privilege of calling his friend for two seasons.
Broden wiped his eyes and turned away from Lavender. “Got somethin' in my eye, jus'…Gimme a second.” And with that, the big hedgehog wandered into the woods.
Lavender let him go. She felt so bad for him now. But at the same time, she respected him immensely. She finally knew. This was what made Broden who he was.
Broden composed himself and returned to the clearing. “Ah’m sorry,” he apologized. “That’s just…not a story Ah like tae tell…” He cleared his throat. “All right, here’s what happened after that. Crew’d told me tae meet a fox in Soouthsward. He an’ that fox had unfinished business tae take care of. Thing is, we talked aboout the fox before, but not in great detail. Ah kenned ‘e had a fort somewhere in Soouthsward, but Ah didnae ken where…” Broden looked up from the snowy ground and smiled almost mirthfully at Lavender. “…Bu’ Ah foound him.”
Broden sat on the other side of the campfire, staring coldly at the fox. “Ah came tae deliver a message, as a favor fur an auld friend.”
The fox grinned evilly. “Aye, and what would that be?”
Broden allowed a half-smile to show on his face. “It’s from Crew.”
The fox’s eyes grew wide. He rose to run, but he didn’t get far…
Lavender’s brow furrowed as she looked at Broden, concerned. “…Broden, you okay?”
“…Aye.”
“You’re worrying me…” She no longer felt comfortable around the hedgehog. He seemed to be enjoying the memory a little too much.
“Sorry,” he lied. Broden shook his head, dispelling the thoughts. “But it, well, aye, Ah killed ‘im. But Ah didnae get away fur free. His friends showed up an’ nearly beat me tae death. But they kept me alive. Ah didn’t know why ‘til they brought me tae their fort. Then, Ah remembered. The fox Ah killed was workin’ furra stoat who wanted tae make ‘is own Redwall fur vermin, but it wasnae goin’ well. It was a small place. Sae, they’d started kidnappin’ beasts tae come an’ work on the fort as slaves. An'…” He stared at the snow gravely. “…An' Ah knew Ah had t’do something.”
Broden stared at the cell bars. There had to be a way out, somehow. Nothing but these bars stood between the slaves and freedom. And the vermin here were incompetent, for the most part. Certainly he could outsmart them? But the fort had been around for seasons, and nobeast had yet escaped. But there had to be a way out, somehow.
“Thinkin’ of an escape plan?” came a voice.
Broden couldn’t see who it was, thanks to the cell walls separating them, but a paw appeared from between the bars. Broden shook it.
“Us too.”
“…While I was there, Ah met this mouse. Well, actually, it was two mice, but the other one never talked t'me. But this one ended up bein' a good friend o' mine. He was preddy big furra mouse. An’ he was constantly getting’ into fights with the guards. ‘Parently, he was a thief…”
“Name’s Jaroah,” said the voice, “What’s yores?”
“Broden Spikediggle.”
“Where are y’from, Broden?”
“Redwall. An’ you?”
“Southsward. Liddle village called…Oh, I forget. Anyway, so, whaddyou do? You a farmer, a healer, a messenger…?”
“Ah’m a fighter.”
Jaroah chuckled. “Even better. Me—I'm a grifter.”
“A what?”
“It means ‘thief with class.’ I’m a thief, ‘cept I steal by actin’. I don’t kill, though. Not my style.”
Broden sighed. Great. He was sleeping next to a thief. “Well, nice tae meet ye, Jaroah,” he said dismissively.
“No, lissen,” Jaroah insisted, “Me an’ my brother got a plan t’get outta here.”
Broden rolled his eyes. “Ach, really? Well, guid luck with that.” The problem was the vermin. There were just too many of them. Even a fighter like Broden hadn't been able to overpower a few of them together.
“We know what we’re doin’. I’m a grifter, Broden. Trickin’ beasts is what I do.”
Broden sighed. “…What’s the plan?”
“The plan was simple…Well, not really, but Ah expected somethin’ a lot more complicated. See, Ah was s’posed t’pretend t’get in a fight with Jaroah…
“What’m Ah s’posed t’say?” Broden whispered urgently.
“I don’t know!” hissed Jaroah, “Jus’ make something up. Be convincing.”
Broden shrugged and just shoved Jaroah. He smirked as the mouse scrambled to his footpaws and glared at him.
Jaroah pushed him back. “You shoved me!”
Broden pushed back harder. “No Ah didnae!”
“Did so!”
Broden wasn’t giving Jaroah much to work with, so the grifter improvised. “This is about that comment I made about your mum, ain’t it?”
“What comment?!”
Jaroah shook his head as though to say, “Not enough.”
In a panic, the hedgehog clenched his fist and swung. Jaroah didn’t see this coming, and so took a hefty blow to the cheek. He growled and returned the blow. Maybe this fight wouldn’t be so hard to fake after all. Broden shrugged off the blow and slugged the thief in the stomach; Jaroah cursed and aimed several punches at Broden’s face.
Somewhere in the ensuing mess, the gatekeeper showed up. Broden didn’t even realize it when he found himself shoving the rat into Tobias.
“The gatekeeper’d come runnin’ up an’ try t’break it up. Ah push the gatekeeper, an’ Tobias helps him back up, but when ‘e does that, he takes the keys off ‘is belt. Then ‘e hides ‘em ‘til everybeast is back t’normal, an’ then, he unlocks the fetters—they made us wear those ‘round our ankles so we woouldn’t escape—an’ then he passes the keys t’Jaroah, who passes the keys t’me, an’ so on…”
The fighters had settled down, and everybeast had returned to their work. Jaroah glared at Broden. “Y’didn’t ‘ave t’hit me so hard, y’know,” he whispered.
Broden shrugged. “Ye said ‘be realistic.’ ”
Jaroah tried to come up with a retort, but Broden wouldn’t let him talk over his chuckle. It was an evil chuckle, and he knew it.
“Once everybeast’s free, we just keep workin’ like nothin’s different, except Tobias sneaks out to the gate an’ opens it. As soon as it’s open…”
Everybeast surged toward the gate. The guards, momentarily stunned by the sheer surprise of it all, stood, mouths agape. But soon, they regained their composure and began chasing after the slaves. Broden strayed to the back of the pack, taking out the guards that got too close. Jaroah fought beside him, and the two were the last to leave the fort, Broden slamming the gate behind them.
“…An’ that’s how we escaped,” Broden concluded, holding up a set of keys, “A couple o’ thieves stole some keys off a rat.”
“Wow.” Lavender was impressed. “That’s amazing, I have to admit…What about the rest of the slaves?”
“Oh,” Broden said, “right, well…Ah don’t wanna go intae much detail wi’ this, but a few weeks later, we broke intae the fort at night an’ basically freed all the slaves as quiet as we coould ‘til one guard heard us. Then, our plan was ‘kill all vermin,’ which we did. Ah got all mah weapons back after the raid, although there was a dagger missin’, but Ah didn’t really miss it. But, uh…”
It was the biggest bonfire in all of Southsward’s history. The slaves had set the fort ablaze, not really considering the possibility that any vermin therein might still be alive. After all, so many seasons of their own lives had been stolen from them—it was only fair.
Broden crossed his arms, ignoring his spines, as he surveyed the great fire. He had done it. He had saved hundreds of lives in less than a month. He had done what Crew and Tim had first inspired him to do. He was a hero. And he liked it.
There came a small tug from the hem of his tunic. Broden found himself looking down into the eyes of a small baby dormouse. Barely old enough to walk. She held her paws up, palms pointed toward Broden. He smiled warmly and lifted her off the ground. She giggled and settled herself on the inside of his forearm, resting her head on his chest. It was too much. His heart melted.
Broden beamed. “It was…the happiest day o’ mah life.”
“After that, Ah went back tae Redwall, mah auld home. Mah dad an’ mum were still alive an’ kickin’—Dad quite literally—an’ they’d both set up a nice liddle tavern in Mossflower. Dad’s partial t’drink, y’know.
“Anyway, Ah got back, an’ they had a big ol’ celebration at the tavern fur me. Mum even brought some scones an’ syrup from the abbey. Good times. Oh, an’ Dad hired a musician—violinist, lak me—t’play. Name was Rook, they tell me. Me an’ him became real close friends real fast. We share a room at the abbey now, ‘cause he don’t seem t’mind mah sleepin’ habits, hahaha,” he laughed, “But, uh, aye, we’re guid friends noo…”
He trailed off and stared into Lavender's eyes. Lavender looked away. She knew where he was going next.
“An’ then…Ah met you.”
Lavender sighed. “Well, you don’t have to tell me the rest. I already know…”
Broden sat beside her, hoping she would make eye contact again. “Aye, but Ah wrote a song fur ye an’ everythin’. Don’t ye want tae hear it?”
Lavender, though terrified to, looked him in the eyes and smiled. “…Sure.”
As a general rule, Broden didn’t sing much, but for Lavender, he made an exception. His mostly-on-key tenor voice began the verse…
“I'm layin’ here, waiting for you
Our season's comin’ ‘round
The weather's cold, next thing I know
The ice is on the ground
Every year, you meet me here,
But you never stay…
…You’re like an angel in the snow
I knew you’d come, but soon you’ll go
You have to leave, but believe you’ll be
Frozen in my mind
And back to life…
Come wintertime…
Nighttime comes, an’ soon it’ll go, an’
Hide behind the light…
I open my eyes, and peek outside.
The ground is colored white…
I hate it when you leave, but I
Love when you arrive…
You’re like an angel in the snow
I knew you’d come, but soon you’ll go.
You have to leave, but believe you’ll be
Frozen in my mind,
And back to life…
Come wintertime…
An’ I don’t why
You have to come and go.
But when the weather gets warm,
And the sun starts to shine
I know it’s time…
To say goodbye…
…You’re like an angel in the snow
I knew you’d come, but soon you’ll go
You have to leave, but believe you’ll be
Frozen in my mind
And back to life…
And back to life, an' back to life…
Come wintertime…"
…Broden surprised himself. That was the best singing he’d done in seasons. He knew it was because of Lavender. She rose to her footpaws, and Broden did the same. She smiled at him softly, but sadness shone through her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to Broden. She hugged him tightly, ignoring his spines. She released him and took a few steps back, looking sorrowfully at him through the snow-laden gusts of wind. And with that, she was gone.
Broden closed his eyes and clenched his paw. Soon, however, he inhaled and, slowly, exhaled. No. She wasn’t gone yet. Not until spring…
Relationships:
Bron and Taera Spikediggle - Parents
Lavender - Close Friend
Lyric "Rook" Dare - Close Friend
Crew Steampaw - Close Friend (deceased)
Timburr - Family Friend (deceased)
Jaroah and Tobias - Acquaintances
Lhiam Coor MacCloud - Close Friend
Most everyone in the abbey - Various Acquaintances and Friends
Other:
- Broden is fascinated with the sea and holds immense respect for sea otters. He would love to go sailing someday, not that that'll ever happen…
- We're pretty sure Broden has the highest falsetto on any hedgehog ever. He loves doing both sides of the conversation when Lavender doesn't feel like talking. That voice of his is notorious for being ridiculously hard to not laugh at.
- Broden doesn't dance. Period.
- Also, I am told by Fawn that "Master at Arms" is a position at Redwall that basically entails teaching the abbeybeasts to fight in case of / preparation for an emergency. As for how Broden got to be Master at Arms at the abbey…He was a good fighter, he knows how to use lots of weapons, so…he was hired/volunteered. ^^
- Oh, and he was 18 when Tim died, 20 when Crew died, and 21 when he returned to the abbey
