Fish smells better to me - [OPEN]

[Rasthur Grassrunner]

It was a quiet morning in the Abbey, the rare sort that the residents often quickly forgot about amidst the morning dash towards the kitchens and the evening rush to wash the dibbuns.

Of course, it was no coincidence that these mornings existed for a brief, fickle period between the sunrise and the rising of the inhabitants. The rays were filtering themselves through the cloudy over-cast slowly and found themselves reflecting upon the grey, worn fur of Rasthur, a blind, elder fox of the Abbey, whom was notorious for his morning strolls that often taught the dibbuns a few words - that their parents would find questionable - as a result of his knack for finding large rocks and pebbles in the dusted paths.

What the residents didn't realise however, was in that brief period before they rose to carry out their duties, was that he often awoke an hour before the sun rose. Time was an important aspect to the fox and without the warmth of the sun beating down upon his fur, he would never completely realise when one day ended and another began.

And who would be able to listen to his rants then?

Unfortunately, his senses were never completely in tune with the sun, some days he awoke and rose at midnight, at others midday. But there was always something consistent about his routine; his trips to the pond.

If the sun was still rising, he would make his way to the pond, for a seat that changed with every session by the side of the small mass of sparkling water; and drop his aching feet into the rejuvenating coolness of the pond.

And he would sit there. His thoughts his own. His breathing steady. his lips pursed and his whiskers occasionally twitching.

If one didn't know any better, they would think him dead. For what blind creature in their right mind went near water?

Then again, Rasthur was never quite the best of friends with sanity.

Today wasn't an exception to his erratic routine, today he had seated himself at what he had judged to be not too far away from the path, amongst some thin reeds and grass. His paws finding a place in the cold, near freezing water; but it was a refreshing change from the hot, painful aches he so often felt.

Rasthur breathed a contented sigh and almost stared pensively into the water, as if his blindfolded eyes could see the fish swimming about between his paws. His cane had been cast at his side, the gnarled wood slightly submerged at the tips and constantly prodding his side; that piece of drift wood was as big a part of him as his paws or whiskers or even his eyes.

In a twisted way, it was.

[Sigurd]

(i'll join with scront as soon as hes reaproved)

[Wildrun]

((Mind if a mole joins?))

"Hurr...waterycress, ee Frior sez..." A short, round-face mole was peering into her basket, coming the closest she ever did to a frown. "Burr hurr, Oi must've forgotten eet whoile moi barsket fell in ee pond..."

Nodding curtly, Cavvy Gravspakz hefted her basket over her shoulder again and trundled in the direction of the pond. Waving a digging claw good-naturedly at a pair of kitchen assitants--they themselves scurring to collect fresh fruit foor the friar--she rubbed her nose and yawned, doing a brief mental checklist to ensure she hadn't forgotten anything else.

"Moi whiskers must be a-turning grey," she murmured, sighing. "Ee Frior will have a fit with Oi ifn Oi'm late for ee brekkist rush." She smiled to herself, picturing the Friar's undoubtably comical dance of exasperation if she was late. To avoid giving the dibbuns a reason to join him, Cavvy picked up the pace and emerged from the path onto the pond's shore.

An old, recognizable but not entirely familiar figure was already there, dabbling his paws in the cool water. Cavvy smiled, set her basket down and politely tapped Rasthur on the shoulder.

"Hurr, e'scuse Oi, zurr, but could ee do Oi a favor and scoot over a bit? You'm paws 'r in ee way of ee watercress, zurr."

[Rasthur Grassrunner]

The fox's face crinkled up in a frown, the previous look of focused contemplation having been cast to the winds and banished to another plane entirely.

That was a mole's accent, that ever indecipherable gruff series of loose tongued ramblings that seemingly translated into a coherent language; at least that was how the Redwallers told it.

Rasthur had better things to do than waste time decrypt such a tongue. So he when found himself being tapped on the shoulder by such a brazen creature, he - with a little more than a grunt - began shuffling a little to the right, placing his paws out in front, carefully feeling the boundaries between the damp yet solid ground and the wet, eternal depths of the pond. It was a slow, painstaking process to which his bones objected audibly and frequently.

His ears twitched uneasily as he felt the hackles of his fur rise slightly, he was never one for close quarters; that opened him up to an attack that would likely never come. Unconsciously, he found himself piecing together what little fragments of the mole's speech together in an effort to gain some understanding of the creature's intentions.

Then he could set about ridding himself of the pestering presence.

"Watercresses?" The word was foreign, it rolled off his tongue as well as a cube on the path, "They are a fish?" His tone wavered slightly at the mention of the word, the idea of an unseen animal playing with his paws wasn't very appealing.

And for all he knew, these fish weren't the docile sort he had eaten, when the sky was still blue and the grass wasn't just a cushioned sensation beneath his paws.

[Wildrun]

Cavvy smiled again, beaming on Rasthur and disregarding that he could not see it. "Hurr no, zurr. Watercresses be an 'erb. Ee Frior be arsking fur 'em, see, and Oi 'ave to get 'im some."

He had moved his footpaws, and Cavvy deftly extracted the green plant from beneath the surface of the water. Tucking them small bundle into her basket, she snapped off a separate piece and put near the fox's paw. "Burr, it 'as an odd taste to it, zurr, but not a bad 'un. You'm can troi it, if you'm loike."

Wisely, the mole held her tongue on the subject of a blind beast sitting at the edge of the Abbey pond. She decided the Friai could wait a bit--after all, the pond was deep, and it was bad enough when a Dibbun fell in. Trying to fish Rasthur out would be that much more of a headache.

[Rasthur Grassrunner]

((Blah; I'll take some liberties with describing the herb, shoot me if I get it wrong.))

Herb...Friar

That was most of what Rasthur could piece together in his half-hearted efforts at translation, there the sounds of movement and splashing in the water and he felt himself stiffen as every frail muscle in his body tensed to hold onto what little of the ground they could dig into.

Death by water was the worst fate he could imagine; and his imagination concerning these things was not limited by petty moral's and an uneasy conscious.

"Eat?" He took a wild stab at attempting to make conversation with the Mole, when conversations ended, beasts tended to part ways, "We eat this?"

Mentally, he cursed inside; now he looked blind and demented.

There was a new smell now, it was foreign and dampened by something. Almost bitter in a sense, yet muffled by a much more neutral odour; if his nose was to be believed, it would be near the paws resting on his knees. Slowly and with much reluctance, he felt around with one paw, with only his nose and the Mole's riddles to guide him, he supposed he had found his answer.

The tips of his paws brushed past the edge of the blunt digging claws of the creature and he felt himself stiffen momentarily, he knew the purpose of those would-be tools - but he still didn't like the feeling, they were just as potentially bad as an Eagle's talons as far as he was concerned.

But something lay beyond the claws, a small, damp and soggy mush, his paw was repelled by it at first, but his cursed curiosity drew him further; eventually clasping a chunk of the small mush and bringing it to his nose.

To say it smelled pleasant in his eyes, was a stretch of the truth; in more ways than one. He wrinkled in his features and moved back slightly, but he was curious as to why they ate such a bizarre plant.

He raised the herb to his mouth, than his lips and parted them slightly, allowing a small piece entry into his canines and then on to his tongue.

Bitter...

The herb rolled about in his mouth as he slowly chewed and he eventually gave his verdict, "Bitter."

[Wildrun]

((I really have no idea what it's like. I just looked it up on wikipedia. ^^" ))

The mole nodded wisely, refusing to admit it was a somewhat wasted movement. "Burr. That it be, zurr. Alt'o eet gets put in ee zoup all ee toime, an ee can 'ardly tell ee diffrunce, can ee?" She shrugged, mostly to herself. "Ho aye, but ee Frior demands eet fur ee brekkist. Oi down't know wot ee needs eet fur, Oi'm shur, bot oh well."

She sloshed about a bit more, making sure she would have enough of the herb to deliver to the Friar and make up for her inevitable lateness. Checking the position of the shadows that reached across the ground in the morning sun, Cavvy made a rough guess--it was still about half an hour until breakfast. The Friar could wait.

Seating herself beside Rasthur , she set her basket down on the sandier part of the small pond shore. "So, zurr, if'n you down't moind moi arsking, but wot be ee doin' out here?"

Honestly the mole didn't expect a full answer. The fox seemed tense, as if considering her an enemy until further notice. Cavvy sat calmly, folding her paws her lap and waiting. She could wrestle dibbuns into the bathtub after a day of berry picking--a reluctant fox was no match for her powers of patience.

((Bleh. I cannot write molespeak to save my life. ^^" ))

[Rasthur Grassrunner]

((That'll do me XD.

And if your writing speech that takes me about a minute to completely get the gist of - it's probably good mole speak.))

This goes in their soup? This bitter plant? That was truly brazen to the eccentric fox, in the world he grew up in; a plant will warn you of it's poison by it's smell, failing that, there was the taste.

And if he knew his poisons - which he almost certainly did as far as he was concerned - this plant couldn't be healthy.

"This?" He motioned to the damp plant in his paws as he had an incredulous look about his features, "This is what we eat?" The part where he mentioned that was probably why everyone was unbearable remained mostly unsaid.

"It is his way of...How do you Abbey-creatures say it?" He paused, feigning ignorance while he decoded a little more of the Mole's speech, "Getting back at me for my tongue." Rasthur stated coolly, almost as if he was proud of his will to speak his mind; regardless of how often it got him into trouble.

Ears twitched and the tension in the muscles strengthened as he heard a brief rustling then silence; the mole had sat next to him. Completely at odds with what he had originally intended.

"I enjoy the laughter of the dibbuns and the cries of the early morning song." Rasthur replied solemnly, so much so that for even a second he almost believed himself.

Almost.

He gave a harsh laugh, as if imagining the look on the mole's face as best he could, "No, that is a lie." He said with a proud smirk.