Salt Water

[Wildrun]

The endless pounding of water upong rock and sand was by now an ordinary sound. Mapel reflected vaguely how odd it would be when the ceaseless drumming was absent, as it would be once she traveled inland again. For now, though, she sat quietly upon a wave-battered, pale boulder with a thin spreading of lichen on the side facing the forest. She had nothing to do, but somewhere to go. She also happened to have a sense of poetry, and was murmuring softly to herself possible phrases to scribble down onto the half-sheet of slightly crumpled parchment in her paws.

"...A restless hum...Immortal swaying...the waltz of the moon and the whispering of the sand? No, that'd be wrong, it's barely past noon. I can't write that. Perhaps when the moon does come up...no, it's a new moon tonight. That'd still make no sense...what I need is a scenario..." Her eyes lighted up. "Yes, that's it! I need a scenario! Heroes, villians, I shall write a saga! Yes!"

Having decided so, she eagerly striaghtened up and painstakingly scanned the shore for any sign of said scene. Perhaps I'll interpret the characters as crabs...the sea, crabs, the loser being swept away by the tide...hmmm...

Happily lost in her meditative brainstorm, Mapel went so far as the scramble upright and balance precariously on top of the boulder, her paws scraping some of the sparse lichen away as she did so. Her eyes raked up and down the miles of shore, hungrily seeking even the smallest hint of a drama...

Nothing.

After a moment, she sunk down again with a small sigh and shook her head as if to clear it. I shouldn't be asking for a battle or misfortune she scowled to herself. Who am I, Oaklea?

The thought of her wayward sister made her laugh good-naturedly, the air of tragic drama leaving her. She stood, swinging her pack onto her shoulders and hoisting her walking stick up in one paw. Best to keep moving, then, if there was nothing to do here...

...Mapel shook herself briskly to dislodge the sudden feeling that there was, indeed, something to do here. That there was someone nearby, watching her...

The mousemaid began walking leisurely across the sand...

[Yves]

The wind blew strong on the beach, determined to leave its mark, even if there was nothing for it to conquer. And there was no challenge for the gale on the beach, no impediment to its progress but sand, jutting rocks, and clouds. They were gray, rainy clouds, which the wind blew over the waves. They descended on the scene like vultures, covering the coast with a murky fog. Soon, they were around the mousemaid, a thick wall which no beast could hope to see through. Far in the distance, perhaps a mile away, hidden amongst the crevices of a particularly tall, black, jagged rock, a rat smiled. He had been watching this mouse, and another like her, but much closer, for some time, and this sudden change in weather was more than a little fortuitous to his designs.

Maximillian was alone again. His latest horde had been foolish at Salamandastron, and, like so many before them, were now little more than so many sacks of fetid flesh, buried in the sand. The leader had died first, and Maximillian never stayed at a fight longer than his master.

So, he was alive. To live is to eat, and eating was an activity Max had not enjoyed for some time. He had plenty of emergency rations, this fruit and that bread, but blood was so much more satisfying. Where the others provided nutrition, warm meat provided life. He had not lived until he first killed, until the day he had first asserted his own existence by extinguishing another's.

The fog rolled onward. Maximillian crept down from the rock. He could no longer see his target, and the roar of the ocean made any sort of aural-tracking impossible. Good. He was just as invisible to her as she was to him.

He slithered forward, following her tracks in the sand. Once he found her, the mouse-maid never had a chance; she was unarmed, a mere fledgling of Salamandastron's society, out for a lonely stroll on the beach. She was completely oblivious to Maximillian until he thrust his saber through her back.

Still, she lived. Maximillian had never been one for the quick death. He liked to draw the event out, to watch as the surprise and hate melted into pathetic, glazed-over despondency, and this mouse was no exception.

She did not fight long. The hate was never in her eye. In life, she had little of that fire, and as the blood poured from her, she had none. She lay back against him, resting on his saber-hilt, trying to suffer as little as possible as she slowly died. If it hadn't been for the blood and steel, she might have looked as though she were trying to fall asleep on the rat.

"So," said Maximillian, in a quiet, almost shy voice, "out for a walk on the beach? I'm guessing we only have a few moments, so if you want to give me your name, strike up a conversation, or anything like that, I'd get on with it if I were you."

The mouse coughed, and shivered as some horrible sensation slid up her spine. Then, to Maximillian's visible surprise, she began, laboriously, to whisper an answer. "I'm F-Fieuline. I was only col... collecting sea-shells, y'know, for the den an... decorating, an.. things like that. Now, You prob..probably think that it's... st-strange that I'm talkin' back t'you, sir, but I've known rats an vermin all my life, even lived with a few... I know this isn't your fault.."

Maximillian laughed quietly, shaking his head. "An original answer, to be sure. My own wife wasn't so open when I finished her off. Fieuline then... Ach, not a bad name. Not a particularly good one either, but I'll remember it." As he spoke, he gave the saber a twist, eliciting a scream from her frail and trembling frame.

As the scream wafted almost delicately into the distance, Maximillian's ear perked. He listened. Yes, he had definitely heard something over the pounding of the ocean. It was the loud, unmasked and therefore ignorant approach of another beast. He wracked his memory. He couldn't remember seeing anyone else on the beach...

He drew the sword out of the mouse, and let her fall, whimpering, to his feet, where she still clung impossibly to life. Weapon at the ready, he stood alert, waiting for the newcomer...

[Sam Gideon]

Sam Gideon had always been a wayward beast. From his conception he never had the capacity to directly follow the orders of another beast. One question always seemed to linger in his mind. "What gives you the right to order me around?" Some beasts Sam respected, like the Father Abbot and his parents. But why should he have to listen to the likes of the simple chef who was always kicking him out of the kitchen with a wooden sthingy? Sam finally had enough.

He couldn't stand it in Redwall anymore so the young squirrel hitched up his bags and left with a few tearful goodbyes from his mum and dad. 5am was always a rough time of the day for Sam. But he felt that if he wanted to make it to Salamandastron, then he best leave as early as possible. Why wait when excitement lay elsewhere? He gathered up all his belongings (including a backpack of food that was big enough to sink a ship) and set out for the West Coast and excitement.

Unknown to many of his friends and family Sam was an assasin in training. He had heard stories about many of the great theives and tricksters in the elder ages. He longed for a break from archery that was so sterotypical of squirells that it began to aggravate him. Therefore, he chose a new profession; an assasin. He always brought 3 knives wherever he went. One was hidden deeply on the top part of his tail fur, another was hidden in his tunic, and a third he carried in his backpack. After venturing onward for what seemed like hours Sam placed his bags down on a beach, exhausted.

Then the fog started to roll in. This was not good, definitely not good. As an assasin he needed to have the greatest visibility of all without being seen, and yet now he was the one who was blind. He withdrew two of his hunting knives without a sound and slung his pack onto his back silently. In the distance he could see a figure moving. From his vantage point it seemed to either be a rat or a mouse. If it was a rat it was very tiny, and if it was a mouse well...it was a mouse.

Then his eyes gave him even more knowledge. Close to this mout was undeniably a rat. However, Sam could not make out the texture of his skin, the color, or his eye color because of the thickness of the fog. All Sam knew for sure was that he had to eliminate this vermin before that innocent mouse got hurt. He knew from past experience what vermin could do to people who were innocent and had no protectors.

Perhaps that was the main reason why he had become an assasin. To protect those who could not protect themselves. At this moment it seemed that the rat was a potential threat, and Sam knew he had to step in and stop him at all costs.

[Wildrun]

Sun shining like a polished coin...

The fog rolled in, as if disappointed that Mapel was still composing such simple lines to describe the day. Her mind happily switched perspectives:

The ground was littered with hardly perforated clouds that had fallen to the level of ground-dwelling life, sinking all in angry banks of swollen mist...That's a bit heavy, but I like it...hopefully I'll remember that line, hmmm...

She strolled on, completely oblivious that she no longer had any sense of where she was going. Mapel plodded forward in what she might have thought was a straight line, and indeed it was straight, but her head was quiet literally in the clouds...

...Cloud Nine? I wonder if Cloud Nine would war with fog clouds...they seem so different in description... Suddenly, she gave a shiver, and thought bitterly, No, I don't like war. I don't think I'd write about that. I'm sure if clouds had to fight they'd do it some other way.

She stopped walking, then smiled and laughed to herself. "Warring clouds," she muttered, still smiling at her own vague daydreams. "Ha ha, I must be more lonely than I thought. ...I really should get out of this bank, though, ha ha." [/i] ...And stop talking to myself...Oh, well.[/i]

She spun on her heel, about to turn towards what she was sure must be the direction of the forest, when a cry reached her ears. Bewildered, Mapel froze, then jumped as her mind realized what that cry reminded her of. Someone dying...What? Murmured, muffled voices came through the fog, and she thought she could see the silhouette of some beast up ahead. Her breathing quickened just barely, and she trotted faster than she meant to in that direction. Her paw clenched almost unconsciously tighter 'round her staff...

A rat... Well, this rat was unharmed. Had there been a fight? His weapon was bloodied...

...the rest of the scene came into view...

Mapel gasped, nearly dropping her staff and recoiling as the acrid rusting smell of blood assaulted her nose. The mouse was bleeding all over the sand, and the rat appeared to be enjoying himself.

Enjoying himself...

Stumbling forward, Mapel swung out once awkwardly with her staff, hitting no one, looking frantically between the mouse and the rat. "You, y-you," she said, voice trembling just slightly. "I don't care if you're the one who caused this. Go--go get help. She's bleeding. She'll die." Mapel bit her lip. She had no medical expertise and had no idea whether the mousemaid would die, but all the blood...she nearly fell over from the smell, and inhaled deeply through her mouth to prevent from doing so.

...A new figure was faintly outlined in the curling mists. Mapel's head jerked upwards, eyes darting between the new shadowy from, the rat, and the mouse. In the very recesses of her mind, she realized what a great tragedy could be written from this...

[Yves]

Maximillian stared into Mapel's terrified face. He saw her tremble and stumble frantically about, as this repulsion, this morbid shock took her. He watched stone-faced, frozen even as Fieuline's blood made mud around his feet.

In Maximillian's private silence, a raindrop fell on his nose. It was cold, and stuck to his fur like a cut sticks to skin. He hadn't even realized that it had been raining before. Now, suddenly, in the sight of this little mouse, he woke up from the game, and found himself suddenly the villain of a brief, demented drama.

Maximillian was a well-practiced murderer. He knew his trade like fishermen know the sea, and through all his experience, after all his trials, he had only yet found one cure to guilt, and that was a master. When the master ordered murder, when he burned towns, and kidnapped dibbuns, it was his will, and the act was no crime of Maximillian's; it was a noble, and unselfish act made out of love or respect for the one he worked for. All responsibility lay on that master, for good or ill.

This time, of course, Maximillian had no such convenience. The murder could have come from no source but his own sadism, his own twisted and broken character, his addiction to pain. He always realized this when he killed on his own. It tormented him afterward, pricked his mind with misgivings about his life, and raised up images of a more pure past, but he never let it all sink in, never let the real agony of his condemned nature get to his core.

Then, the mousemaid told him to get help.

"M-me? But I... I couldn't... I mean... Well, I really honestly couldn't. The only help we could possibly hope to acquire is at Salamandastron, or some hare's den if we're lucky, and anyone like that isn't going to do anything for me, especially... well, with the... blood."

He looked again at the mouse with her disgust. He cringed, and looked down. There, of course, was Fieuline, still trembling, agonized now beyond speech, probably beyond knowing what these two were doing, or even that there were now two. Maximillian bit his lip, and turned toward the ocean.

"It's the blood that will kill her, in the end. There's a hollow between the stomach and the intestines, just below the portal vein. Not much there but some connective tissue, and alot of blood. That's where I hit, where I always hit. They die more slowly that way. If someone stopped the bleeding she... she might survive."

Maximillian cleared his throat, as he wiped his saber in the shore's mud.

"I could do that. I have the know-how but... but I... I won't. Here," he threw a bag from his shoulder at the mouse, "There are bandages, and some packets in there. Don't touch the packets, but you should at least be able to stem the bleeding with that."

The rat simply could not perform the operation. He didn't know why exactly, but some intuitive sense, some demon at the darkest center of his mind, kept him from it. He knew the guilt would dissipate if he just helped Fieuline. All the years of self-hatred would dissolve if he could do but this one good deed, and that, more than anything else, kept him from it. If he was once free from those bonds, would he ever go back to the killing which had sustained him for so long?

As he was thinking, Fieuline kicked something hard and sharp against his leg. It was a curved sword. The rat picked it up, frowning. Before he could think long on the implications of this sword, a sudden thought suggested itself to him, and he whirled around just in time to see the assassin's faint outline emerge from the fog...

[Sam Gideon]

This rat aggravated Sam. Why did he have to turn around just in time to see him? Fortunately because of the fog all he could see was his vague and undefined outline. Sam still couldn't identify his facial features at this distance and that annoyed him. He needed to see the eyes of someone he was killing, he wanted to see his fear. He wanted to instill the type of fear that vermin gave to the innocent.

He had turned around in just enough time to see the blade pointed at his throat. "Hello vermin. Horrible evening out isn't it? Hmmm... let me think here. A mouse dying and a slimy, filth of a vermin and a mouse standing nearby. I wonder who did it? Got any ideas my friend?"

Mocked Sam as he tickled the rats throat with his blade.

"If you make any sudden movements I will have you gutted in 3 separate areas. You were lucky you turned around. I feel in a good mood today so perhaps you can explain to me why this mousemaid on the floor is bleeding. If I don't find your answer suitable then my blade will get a little practice tonight. Would you like to know why I've always chosen knives over blades?"

Asked Sam with a glint in his eye as he recalled all the pain and suffering that vermin had caused over the seasons.

[Wildrun]

Mapel caught hold of the pack numbly, the bulk of it slipping through her paws until the strap caught on her wrist. Her eyes were locked on Fieuline, at the dark red gushing out of her, looking like thick wine that was seeping into the beach, staining the land...She forced her gaze upwards to Maximillian, something bitter flashing in her eyes as she opened her mouth to snap at him that she didn't give two whiskers what he thought he couldn't do, what he thought the Long Patrol would think of him. The words were on the tip of her toungue, about to jump out and pounce on this rat and inform him that if he didn't streak off towards Salamandastron right now, hollering at the top of his lungs for help, then--then--!

The dying mousemaid kicked something feebly against Max's leg, and the rat whirled around to face the shadow Mapel had noticed earlier. The shadow was a squirrel, an assasin without doubt, who was ready to make Max pay...he'd go for help, wouldn't he? Of course he would...and maybe no one, not even the rat, would die today...no, it was bettter if he died. This rat was a murderer. He was vermin...vermin who killed becasue he could, and didn't care to go for help even for a victim who would warn him of danger...Mapel didn't move. Her mouth hung partially open, and she snapped it closed, her eyes widening even further as the bitterness drained out of them. The line of thought floated through her brain again, ...she warned him of the squirrel...

"...I will gut you in 3 separate areas...would you like to know why I've always chosen knives over blades?..."

Suddenly she could move again, and before she could think about how she was moving she'd taken a step forward and brought her staff down in crescent ark, smacking down on Sam's knife and thwocking into Max's footpaw. She lifted it again to chest height, breath heaving as the sense of de ja vu swept over her like a wave, taking any reserve she had with it. "No! Don't kill him! Please don't start fighting!" She sucked in a breath through her nose and swayed bakwards, phobia of the dark liquid around her paws screaming in her ears.

"Don't," she said again faintly, "Don't spill...anymore blood...Please?..."

...Squeezing her eyes shut and opening them again, Mapel took a step back and wordlessly dropped the supplies. Crouching down, she fumbled with the pack and brought out the bandages, plugging her nose and trying to pluck up the courage to ignore the blood long enough the dress the wound. Her outburst suddenly forgotten, Mapel asked them both in a dazed voice, "Could--could one of you....please turn her over...? I need to get a good position...for the--the bandages." No more blood. Please, both of you, no more blood.

[Yves]

((I have half my post written up, but I've realized that it really makes more sense for Sam to respond here. So, I've talked to him, and I'm going to post the first half of my response here, then I'll put the second half after I see how he reacts.

Hope this isn't an inconvenience.))

The knives had an effect on Maximillian that cat paws have on mice. He was pinned, wriggling, trembling, squeaking, but inextricably trapped. His blood ran cold with a deadly, creeping sort of terror, as Fieuline's blade fell feebly into the sand.

"...I feel in a good mood today so perhaps you can explain to me why this mousemaid on the floor is bleeding. If I don't find your answer suitable then my blade will get a little practice tonight..."

A little practice tonight... The words echoed through the corridors of the rat's mind, illuminating a thousand portraits of "a little practice," each more evil than the last, every one an unforgivable crime in his blood-ridden history.

What could he say? He was guilty in every way for every crime this squirrel could accuse him of, and a hundred others. Maximillian's temples throbbed, as a dread-driven migraine dizzied him.

"Please..." He whispered.

And that's where he stopped. Any lie or excuse he could have created caught in his throat. For a terrible eternity, the rat kept silent, paralyzed by this maelstrom of fear, . Then...

Thwock!

Max didn't even feel the staff strike his footpaw.

"No! Don't kill him!"

[Sam Gideon]

Sam glared at the mousemaid. This vermin deserved to die and he wanted to bring about his death. The fact that this.....dying mouse had warned the vermin of Sam annoyed the young squirrel. The question why, lingered in the air. Why would she not let him get rid of such a vile filth on this earth? Save other creatures from his wickedness and spite in the future, but somehow fate had saved this rat's life. Sam's brow furrowed deeply and his shoulders haunced over for a few seconds as he contemplated whether or not he should just crush this vermin anyways. For the sake of the mousemaid he would let him be. For now......

Sam just nodded and let the blade drop from the rats throat as he pushed him out of his way. Then Sam turned to the mouse and said as calmly as his emotions would allow,

"Excuse me miss mouse, but if you'd be interested in first aid I know how to administer it. I've known it ever since I was very young, my mum drilled it into me. I apologize for not mentioning it until now, I was busy getting rid of scum."

Said Sam as he jerked his head in the direction of the rat. From there Sam took over. He took off his tattered jacket and tore a piece from it and used it to cover the blood. From there he used the rest of the jacket to wrap the wound to stem the flow, casually breathing on it from time to time as he went along doing so.

Then he reached in his backpack and pulled out some herbs and applied them to the wound. The young mousemaid groaned outloud with pain, and Sam simply replied "It stings now but trust me, she'll die if she doesn't get treatment to cauterize this wound at the very least." Said Sam trying to keep his voice steady and calm his anger at the rat.

"I don't know if she'll make it. Fate's going to play a definite role on whether or not she lives. This is a bad wound to be sure, but I did the best that I could."

Sam's frustration couldn't take it anymore and he grabbed Max by the scruff of his fur and snarled "Why? Why? Why do you scum of the earth vermin have to cauase so much pain and suffering? Everywhere I go, your race causes pain and suffering. Your worthless!"

He said with clenched teeth as he threw him to the ground and turned around so he wouldn't see his tears of anger and bitterness at the chaos that vermin had caused him.

[Yves]

"Excuse me miss mouse, but if you'd be interested in first aid I know how..."

The voice and its helpful tone were forced, full of a sharp anger, and Maximillian noted it with relish. He smiled with the satisfied contempt of the most arrogant aristocrat, as the would-be assassin turned to tend to his gaurdian mouse-maid. Maximillian knew exactly what he felt. He wanted blood, his blood, desperately, like the convict thirsts for freedom, like the sea-passenger longs for land. The squirrel's was a vengeance-driven lust, supported and created by anger, but in the end, how different was that from mere sadism?

"So, in one hunt, two mice save my life, and I find a squirrel with the same blood-lust as myself...

Maximillian laughed, shaking his head, as he bent down, and picked up Fieuline's sword again. It was a long, crescent blade. If it had not been sharpened on the outer edge, and had the pointed tip not ended in a barbed hook, it could have been an innocuous hand-scythe.

"I remember the design, Fieuline. The swirled, gilded engraving, the caged hilt, the barbs. It's a unique design, isn't it? Or at least, it is now, after the deaths of your peers? Heh. Fieuline... You know, you'd think I would remember a name like that."

The mouse, who was doing her best not to cringe as Sam burned her stomach closed, managed the smallest of smiles. She could hardly hold her eyes open, the sunken, dark pits they had become. A skeletal pallor hung around her head, as the skin seemed to both tighten and loosen around her.

The rat stood awkwardly in the background, an uncertain, guilty look to his face. Sam did everything that anyone, including Max, could possibly do to save the mouse's life, but despite it all, Fieuline simply grew paler, and more distant.

"Useless. I'm absolutely useless here." thought a dejected rat, "I might as well leave, rather than stay to see her--her of all people--die, and by my hand, no less. I have no right, no ability to help..."

And the rat was turning to leave, when the squirrel grabbed him by the fur, and tried to lift him by tearing painfully at the scruff of Maximillian's neck.

"Why? Why? Why do you scum of the earth vermin have to cause so much pain and suffering? Everywhere I go, your race causes pain and suffering. You're worthless!"

This was too much. Maximillian hissed, and pushed away from the squirrel, drawing his saber as he went. Maximillian would have gone on, but at that moment, Fieuline's voice croaked over it all.

The mouse looked better. After she had taken the water, and the medicine, her fur had softened, and some of the sunkeness had come out of her face; but what improved her appearence, more than anything else, was the fire in her eyes. Even when she was healthy, alive and well, there had not been so much energy behind her delicate face... but her words! Broken though they were, Fieuline put every ounce of strength she had behind each syllable, and the strength that was manifest went far beyond the tiny mouse-maid which lay under bandage. She even managed to lift herself enough to look at the squirrel.

"And who are you to speak, assassin? Th-that is what you do, right? You kill rat fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, lovers, sons, daughters, because they're... they're 'vermin? You think that you're any less of a murderer than that rat? What do you know about them... us, our lives, our suffering? Is it possible, woodlander... Th-that... that vermin cause so much pain because scum like you won't... w-won't give... give us the chance to... to..."

After all of it, she couldn't finish. She caught her chest, and heaved a sickening, pitiful gasp, and, trembling, lay back in the sand. As suddenly as it had begun, Fieuline's burst of strength petered out, as she closed her eyes, and held the wound, her face caught in the consernation of some new agony.

[Wildrun]

The bandages fell out of her numb paws and she sat back, dazed eyes not focusing on anything but rather staring beyond Sam and Max and Fieuline at the pastelled gray clouds above. The sand was gray. The sky was gray. The water was gray, the squirrel and the rat and the mouse were gray...even the blood was gray. Some thought vaguely twisted in the back of her mind, nagging and itching her to do something about what was happening. Mapel didn't respond to the little voice. She didn't resist as the squirrel took over helping Fieuline. She couldn't bring herself to stand up and separate Max and Sam, or add her own sentiments to Fieuline's denouncement.

But the look of agony on Fieuline's face--

Mechanically, Mapel moved forward and gently lifted the mousemaid off the sand, trying to ignore the trembling beneath her fur. She rocked Fieuline softly side to side, glaring up at Max and Sam. Some sense of duty trickled back into her shocked mind, and she managed to hiss at them through gritted teeth,

"Stop it. What in the name of Helsgates is wrong with you?" Mapel failed to specify which of the two she was adressing. In all likelihood, both."This is not the time to kill each other. Go ahead and do that later for all I care, when either she's healed or--or dead. I couldn't care less about what morality either of you attaches to murder--there is no circumstance that makes it 'right' or 'correct' or 'justified' to kill another creature. It's wrong. Niether of you understand that! Worse, I don't think either of you care! You--" she shifted her attention to Max, "--you have issues to deal with, undoubtable. But it would benefit the world if you found some other outlet for those issues aside from killing. And you--" Mapel turned to stare down Sam now, "--I'm sure YOU have some dark and terrible past of your own to cope with, or maybe you just thought it was justified to slaughter every ver--every rat or weasle or ferret or stoat that you see because of what others of their kind have done. What sense does that make? In what prejudiced world do either of you find sympathy for yourselves?! In theory, in practice, what does it matter?! The only thing you care about is..."

Her rant went on, a torrent of words that might've been locked inside her mind since a crew of stoats, not caring what they did, led by a leader who thought himself righteous in his actions, attacked her tribe. Mapel's voice swelled and grew in volume until she was almost shouting, her arms still tightly locked around Fieuline, eyes flaming bitterness at Sam and Max. Eventually her voice trailed off and petered out, and an unexpected sob hitched in her voice. Squinching her eys shut angrily against tears, Mapel let out a long sigh.

In a whisper, she recalled old lines from an old song, "...La vie est breve,
Un peu d'espoir,
Un peu de reve,
Et puis bonsoir..."

[Yves]

You think that you're any less of a murderer than that rat?

Typical, naive Fieuline. She had always kept an unrealistically high opinion of her vermin companions, even when... well, when they had shoved a sword through her back. Back then, the only reason this sort of pain didn't visit her daily was Maximillian, and his willingness to defend her. She was too frail, too stupid to take care of herself. How ironic, then, that she had been his most violent master.

And then, there was this other mouse, the loud, erratic one, the pacifist of this band of murderers and rogues. According to her, his murder was the warped result of some "issues" Maximillian had to "deal with." In that respect, at least, she agreed with Fieuline.

"And yet," thought the rat, "Is it really? I was born like every rat, with siblings, a mother who loved me and a father who... well, a father. In every other respect, I was more fortunate, to be raised by mice, to have a home, a wife, respect. No, I don't kill because of that. I kill because... I kill..."

Maximillian still couldn't understand. After that one day he had slit the rat's throat, not out of anger or hate, but mere self-defense, he had lusted for blood insatiably. He could not, or would not, wrench the hook which was now lodged in his very heart, the very pit of his soul, tugging him ever after the next victim, whatever guilt he might have felt, however much he might have hated himself.

"Perhaps, in the end, the squirrel really is right. I kill because I am a rat, and rats, regardless of what they might want to be or do, kill."

"...La vie est brève
un peu d'espoir,
un peu d'amour,
et puis bonsoir..."

Life is short,
a little of hope,
a little of love,
and goodnight.

Maximillian had half-ignored everything the mousemaid had been screaming. He was too caught up in hate for the squirrel, or his own introspection, brought about by Fieuline, but this.... these small, sobbed lines, were like the sun rising. The fog had begun to clear long ago, but Maximillian had not noticed it until now. Now, the beach was bright, the sky was fresh, and the sea was enjoying one of those peculiar moments of peace that come before and after rain. Caught in the spirit of this sudden shift in mood, Max recited his own French verse.

"Non, je ne regrette rien."

No, I regret nothing.

And for a brief moment, he really did regret nothing. Life went on after he had killed, and it was only hurting him to look back. Then, he looked back at Fieuline. She was... Let's not mince words. She looked bad. She looked so bad, that if any stout-hearted, well-meaning member of the Long Patrol had come around about then, he probably would have suggested a mercy killing.

"...And yet, there is more to us than killing. It may be an inextricable, implacable, central drive, but it is not... certainly not everything. Whatever else I may or may not be able to do, I can care about her. She's one of my kind, as much vermin as any of my brothers."

She gave a long, pitiful groan, reeling the arms of the mousemaid. The pathetic whine hit Maximillian like a rogue wave, on a coming tide. All philosophical sophistry, all useless thought on rats and the like vanished, as he decided exactly what he was here to do.

"Mouse, I'm going to be simple. I care about that creature in your arms more than you or any of your woodland compatriots are capable of feeling about anyone. If she dies, she will die with me, and if she lives, it will be because of my care. I am more capable of comforting her than you, and I have more supplies for healing her than any peddling squirrel. Now, if you really don't want any more blood shed, you will give her to me."

"As for you, assassin, if you try to stop me from taking her, one of us will die, and if you really care about that mouse, if you're driven more by love than hate, you don't want that, because if I die, she will certainly die."

His sword was held high at his chest, like gliding hawk, ready to strike the first thing it saw move. His eyes were wide, fierce, ready. He meant what he said about blood, and no one with eyes could doubt it.

((So now we're back to W-Y-S, right? Sorry, I didn't mean to confuse things ))

[Sam Gideon]

"Stop it. What in the name of Helsgates is wrong with you?" Mapel failed to specify which of the two she was adressing. In all likelihood, both."This is not the time to kill each other. Go ahead and do that later for all I care, when either she's healed or--or dead. I couldn't care less about what morality either of you attaches to murder--there is no circumstance that makes it 'right' or 'correct' or 'justified' to kill another creature. It's wrong. Niether of you understand that! Worse, I don't think either of you care! You--" she shifted her attention to Max, "--you have issues to deal with, undoubtable. But it would benefit the world if you found some other outlet for those issues aside from killing. And you--" Mapel turned to stare down Sam now, "--I'm sure YOU have some dark and terrible past of your own to cope with, or maybe you just thought it was justified to slaughter every ver--every rat or weasle or ferret or stoat that you see because of what others of their kind have done. What sense does that make? In what prejudiced world do either of you find sympathy for yourselves?! In theory, in practice, what does it matter?! The only thing you care about is..."

Sam turned to her after waiting for her rant to slow down. Then he spoke quite calmly and clearly and said

"You remind me of my mother and the reasons that I left home. I have already put my daggers away and I believe in justice. Feuline asked if I was any better than him to administer this justice but I am. I have never killed anyone before, and I have a clean slate whereas Maximillion stabbed and almost killed Feuline. I apologize for my anger though it was not right."

Then the rat addressed him. "As for you, assassin, if you try to stop me from taking her, one of us will die, and if you really care about that mouse, if you're driven more by love than hate, you don't want that, because if I die, she will certainly die."

His sword was held high at his chest, like gliding hawk, ready to strike the first thing it saw move.

Sam sighed and put away his daggers. "You can take her, but I'm coming also! I've got nowhere better to go anyways, and if you have her best interests in mind than you won't mind an extra companion coming along with you. Now if you're open to a treaty I am. Please put down your sword."

Then Sam extended his paw outward and asked "I'm willing to work with anyone of any race and forgive them for what they've done. I hope you'll do the same for me. If not that we should at least draw a truce to each other."

Sam had extended his offer of friendship to this unknown rat and was unsure how he was going to respond. All that he knew however was that he had made the first step in making friends with vermin, and if you could do that without killing them then perhaps they weren't so bad after all.

Besides, Sam needed friends and perhaps Max was the right rat to be friends with. Stranger circumstances had occurred before!

((Sorry Wildrun for the long wait. I was busy with studying for school, and with other forums mostly. My apologies, I'll try to be more active from now on.))

[Wildrun]

((Nah, don't apologize, I know how you feel. -.-" ))

As suddenly as she had sunked into this unbalanced state of mind that revolved around blood and conflict and possible death, Mapel laughed. Her voice was strained and shrill, and her eyes felt weary, their warning to her that she was about to cry. She squinched her eyes shut tight and cut off her slightly hysterical laugh, sucking air in slowly through her nose and then choking on the stench of blood--would she never get away from it?--and rubbing furiously at her eyes. Good. The tears hadn't come, but the weary feeling was still there, refusing to leave. Aware that she would be in danger of collapsing into a puddle of conflicting emotions for a decent while, Mapel stood carefully, supporting Fieuline as best she could and propping them both up with her staff. With a footpaw, she prodded at Max's pack, glancing from him to it.

"...I've got my hands full...take your bag, please, and I'll support her..." And breathe through my mouth only. "...Um, you--" she sent an appealing glance towards Sam, "--if you could make sure I don't...collapse...that'd be wonderful...thank--thank you."

Yes, thank you both. Thank you both so much/. Beyond everything else, Mapel was relieved. A feeble smile spread across her face, and she tried to make it reach her eyes, but it didn't quite. The anxiety, the churning feeling in her stomach, wouldn't go away. Hopefully it would when they reached help, when they reached the mountain or met up with someone on the way...

"...Erm, I've, uh, met some of the people who live at Salamandaston. If it comes to that, I'll make sure that we aren't...." it was a force of will that kept her eyes from straying to Max, "...that we aren't mistaken for villians." Mapel sucked in another breath (through her mouth this time) and let it out slowly, forcing the smile wider on her face as she asked, "So, which way first? The mountain, or should we hope to find someone living out here?"

[Skipper of Sea Otters]

((Im not really sure where everybeast is in this so I'm just gonna start off and hope for the best.))



" 'Old it right there, all of ye! " A voice said walking up from the shore as if it had come walking out of the sea. "Whats yer business 'ere in these parts?!" It was an otter. A sea otter to be exact and from the looks of him he meant business. He wore a black tunic which looked to be slightly stained with blood in places here and there. He held a Javelin in one paw and had a readied sling in the other in a steady constant swing. He had a few scars on his forearms and a couple on his legs. He also had a very well made leather haversack that the water simply rolled off of slung over his neck and under his arm.

From around all sides of the small party, otters seemed to appear where they had not be seen before. They were all battle ready, wielding swords and slings and whatever else they felt like carrying. They all seemed to be wearing black as well as if it was some sort of mark of who they were...or perhaps it was strategy.

The small group was now surrounded by an amount of otters which seemed to be uncountable. If the group attempted anything it would be likely to be an unsuccessful attempt. "Im gonna ask ye' one more time...whats 'yer business 'ere in these parts..." The beast said spinning the sling a little quicker this time. The otter's name was Blade and he was the Skipper of Sea Otters first mate. He took what he did very seriously and was not afraid to end lives if it meant keeping the shores safe. The sling began to pick up momentum as he waited for an answer that seemed to never come.

[Yves]

((Welcome to the madness Skipper x3))

The world, and everything in it, no longer made any sense to a certain white rat. Maximillian had brandished his saber. He had not merely drawn his sword, or given to cutting the air in some flashy display, but he had honestly raised the weapon in the black intention of murder, the sordid threat burning true in his heart, thoroughly and not subtly manifested throughout his cold exterior. The others should have cringed, and fallen back in cowardly trepidation, or, if they were more than that, risen to his challenge. Fight or flight, there was no third path.

At least, that was what Maximillian had thought. Then, the so-called assassin came forward with what seemed unbelievably like amicability, a kindly paw, of all things, to meet his blade. The pathetic mouse, Fieuline, lay dying in a pool of dead-brown blood, while the other, this Mapel, overcome by the morbidity and horror of everything which had so suddenly thrust itself on her, slipped into some sort of half-conscious emotional collapse. Meanwhile he, Maximillian, the villain and author of this murky scene, prepared to kidnap the damsel and kill anyone in his way, and the squirrel, the "killer," tried to put on a happy face and be a friend.

The reaction so shocked the rat, so perturbed his mind, however sharply focused it may have previously been, that he could not and did not respond. He simply stood, his sword-paw shivering angrily, at once an insecure response and weak threat.

And of course, there was still Mapel, that mouse who reacted to danger and death as the uneasy stomach does to raw eggs. Before, she had been the very picture of terror. Now, he cringed as she laughed at him. She laughed at his trembling little blade, his furious scowl, his complete impotence. And he had been so sure that he would frighten her.

Confusion led to a sense of inexplicable humiliation, which led to irrational anger. To resist running someone through then required a supreme effort of will.

"Stiff upper lip. Maybe you do make a laughable sight with your little stick, but they're going to let you take Fieuline. Just take her, and take off..."

So, he shoved past the squirrel to take his old master, muttering something about the nearest den and the stupidity of even thinking about Salamandastron. He drew close to the now-sacred mouse-maid, near enough that his long whiskers tickled her face, and the struggling creature, trapped in a twilight of life and death, was practically in his arms.

" 'Old it right there, all of ye! "

Of course. Life disdained the simple, particularly the conveniently simple, and it would not let him simply take the girl, even if it meant bringing an otter out of no where.

Actually, ten otters.

Nope, twenty. Twenty heavily armed-otters.

"Wait... No... Well, alot of otters, anyway."

"Whats yer business 'ere in these parts?!"

And so, the otters which came as one soldier and then somehow divided into twenty surrounded Maximillian. Yet this would not distract him. He would not succumb to the idle fancies of fate. He would have Fieuline under his control, whether the gods liked it or not, and with that in mind, he wrenched the mouse-maid away from her semi-sane care-taker, and turned to face the untimely sea-goers.

"Our business, sir, centrally involves the care of a particularly desperate young mouse-maid, who has commit no crime, and who will die in very short order unless I am allowed to see to her. Don't be an idiot. I have had enough of being detained by idiots."

Maximillian was nothing like he was before. When he had first come on the scene, when Fieuline was nothing more than an empty shell, some nothing which he could kill, he was nothing, a mere puppet with naught but air within him. He had been a vacillating, cruel, cowardly, aimless imbecile. Now, he knew who Fieuline was, and what he owed her. Now, there was a paw in the puppet, even if it was an unconscious hand attached to a dying body. It gave him direction, purpose, clarity of thought, and above all, courage. He had more to protect, more to die for, than merely himself now.

"So, if you please, otter... beaver, whatever you are, I have a well-practiced sword, and you have a ready sling, and there's plenty of killing to be done if you order it. It's needless. I've had enough of death for today, and if you chose to allow it, I desire only to be on my way... with the mouse, you understand."

[Sam Gideon]

If the situation hadn't been so dire it could almost be considered a soap opera. In one corner you have an emotionally traumatic mouse who is currently having an emotional break-down, in another you have a mouse who is dying because of a stab to her back, and finally you have a squirrel with half the fur on his tail gone trying to make friends with a traiterous rat!

Oh my the ironies in life......

Max didn't respond and simply shoved past muttering unnatural things. It was quite an unusal circumstance and as he grabbed Fieuline it seemed that he wanted to take her away from him, and Sam was preparing to run to follow him wherever he went because he was a trained assasin and could catch up with him in a matter of days. So that was no problem. Unfortunately the Sea Otters were. No one in the strange trio had noticed the Otters sneak up behind them.

"Whats yer business 'ere in these parts?!" Asked the Otter with a stern glance at the group. "Uh oh.....No way are these relatively-sane group of Otters going to believe this poppycock!"
Thought Sam nervously.

Sam turned to him politely and said "Well I was on a journey because my mum and dad kicked me out of Redwall for being too rebellious and whatnot so I'm out here on my own, and I found this rat and mouse bundled together here accompanied by this dying mousemaid!

It's a very interesting and unusual scenario and I have done my best to heal this wounded one and extend an offer of friendship to this rat so that we could heal the mouse before she passes out and goes into some sort of terrible sickness."

This story was basically the truth. He had left out the part where he wanted to run Max through with a sword because he had stabbed the mouse, and he had left out the bickering that occurred with their group but besides for that everything matched up pretty well! For the sake of time and to prevent arguing Sam simply ignored Max's rude quip about being detained by a bunch of idiots and he knew who that was directed at!

He had to tone down the queerness of the story. He knew that a bunch of Otters would not believe that he had simply tried to make friends with a rat at first glance, but how do you explain a virtually impossible circumstance? This was ludicrous by Sam's standards but then again normal life at Redwall was drastically different than life out in the wild. Out in the wild anything could happen; squirrels could even make friends with rats!

[Skipper of Sea Otters]

Blade's sling shot around few more times very quickly before the stone was loosed into Maximillian's footpaw. Everybeast's weapon was now on Maximillian. "Shut yer' snout! I have no problem killin' ya' here and now and yer' not goin' nowhere with that mouse until I say so..." This otter wasn't in the mood for threats or suggestions from anybeast. He could obviously handle this himself. He looked at Fieuline "Step behind me Miss..."

He turned to Sam. "I suggest you do the same my friend... Tell me your name and get be'ind me..." he said loading another stone into his sling and beginning the steady spin again.

((sorry for the short post...))

[Wildrun]

That was enough.

Mapel drew herself up tp full height, which, compared to Blade wasn't very tall at all, but her back was rimrod striaght and her brown eyes blazed indignation and righteous impatience. Snatching Max's pack off the ground now that Fieuline was out of her paws, she marched up to Blade and shook the pack in front of him, digging her staff firmly into the ground.

"Would you all get out of our way!" she cried, voice still shrill, now with anger. "Let him pass! Let us all pass! For the gods' sakes, if you want to help the situation then either step aside and leave us be or direct us somewhere we can find an infirmary, or anything close! She is in no condition to move at all, and I believe Mister--" she gestured at Sam, as she still didn't know his name, "--has just explained the situation well enough for you standards! I refuse to--to--I don't know what I'm refusing!" Mapel threw her paws up in the air, the strap of Max's pack sliding down to catch in the crook of her elbow and her staff snapped out, swinging side to side like the time keeper on a dangerous grandfather clock*.

Glaring hard at Blade, her eyes locked on the swinging sling, loaded again with another stone. A disgusted sounding noise burst from between her teeth, and she switched her staff to the other paw, nearly falling flat on her face as the sling snapped around it. Jaw clenched, Mapel manipulated Max's pack onto her back and locked both paws around the staff, hoping desperately that it wasn't too obvious she didn't know how to use it as a weapon.

((Short post on my part too, sorry about that...and the granfather clock thing:

* = that pendulum that swings inside the glass door of grandfather clocks. It has an offical name, but I can't remember what it is.

Oaklea: Yay, Mapel has a backbone after all!
Mapel: You're next, dearest sister of mine. ))

[Sam Gideon]

Feb 21, 2009 23:24:54 GMT -5 Skipper of Sea Otters said:

He turned to Sam. "I suggest you do the same my friend... Tell me your name and get be'ind me..." he said loading another stone into his sling and beginning the steady spin again.

"I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself." Said Sam to the mousemaid and to the Blade. He had completely forgotten, and was slightly embaressed because that was a courtesy that most people expected from a Redwaller. "My name is Sam Gideon of Redwall." Said Sam answering his question while stepping behind him as the Sea Otter wanted him to do.

Then he watched the mousemaid sling Max's pack onto her shoulders and he snickered to himself. What was this little missy going to attempt to do to a trained fighter like Blade? From the looks of it, she didn't even know how to use that staff that she was using! This mouse made him chuckle but she did have a point and he nudged the Otter to tell him so

"Mista Blade Fieuline can't stand behind you given the fact that she's bleeding from a gouge in her back right now. I'd suggest that you let me and Max go and heal her otherwise she might bleed to death."


Hopefully this would convince the Sea Otter that the situation was dire. Sam didn't trust Max alone with Fieuline despite the fact that he seemed to be something like a servant to her. The situation was too strange to explain at the moment and that was why Sam wanted to ensure that everything was allright before he left her alone with him. He knew however, that at all costs he would follow this rat to make sure that he would bring no harm to Redwall because even with the many fights that he had gotten into with his family he still loved them and wanted to make sure that they came to no harm because of one simpleton rat.