Author:
Geminya and Kaylar Streamrudder of AA (tired)
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Date Posted: 02:13:23 10/27/07 Sat
In reply to:
Geminya and Kaylar of AA
's message, "The Squirrel Heir: Chapter Six" on 00:04:33 10/15/07 Mon
Roseapple stood at the end of the tunnel. The mole had almost finished and were arguing over where would be best to come up. The sound of the queer molespeech drifted back to her on the light zephyrs she felt. Then there was a crash and a bunch of disgruntled mole grunts. Apperantly the tunnel had decided where the entrance was going to be. Motioning to her hand picked crew, she bounded up the tunnel to see what had truly happened.
Sure enough the tunnel roof had collapsed at the weakest point. Smells of salt and ocean breezes drifted down through the hole. Tearing herself away from the sight of a hint of sky she turned her attention to the half buried moles. Digging away at the rubble, she and Oaktail soon unearthed the Foremole while the others set to work unearthing the rest of the moles. As she was digging, Roseapple noticed something strange about the mixture of rubble. Bits of pottery was mixed with the rocky bits that had fallen, cloth was also to be found. As soon as the Foremole and the crew had cleared a way up, Oaktail bounded up. His voice floated down, a note of sorrow in his voice.
“Roseapple, I think you should see this.”
As she climbed through the hole Oaktail lent a paw to help her out. Looking around, they stood in silence as the rest of the crew came up behind them.
“Squirrels, Hares, go look for survivors. Two mice stand guard at the entrance. The other two help bring up supplies. Otters, you should stay here.”
As the creatures carried out their duties, the squirrels and the otters surveyed the cave they were in. Sleeping ledges were carved upon the sides of the walls. Ashy fire pits remained in the center of the floors, surrounded by bits of pottery. By the way the cave was disturbed; a great battle had been fought there. The only hope now was that the whole group was not slain.
One of the otters had walked into a corner near one of the abandoned fireplaces. He motioned for them to come closer. In the floor, the stones were disturbed. A crude marker stood against the wall. It read “Streambank” Roseapple drew in her breath sharply upon remembering. Streambank was Spearstream’s sister. They were the only family members they had, so their bond was as strong as iron. He would be crushed to here this.
“Somebody,” she paused to control her feelings, “Somebody should take a message to Spearstream. He’d want to know.”
A voice penetrated from the entryway they had entered in. “Hurr, oi’ll be agladdened to carry ur message marm. Oi be closer than any to zurr Spearstream.” Formole’s small glittering eyes appeared from the tunnel entrance.
Roseapple nodded her approval as a voice hailed them from outside. “Roseapple, you would want to see this.” The voice of the squirrel who was sent to look for survivors. Grimly she walked out into the sunshine.
The squirrel led them to a grassy sward on top of a cliff. Only parts of it weren’t grassy. Fresh mounds of dirt marred the uninterrupted plain of grass. The squirrel heir bent to read the most prominent marker. “Here lies the Skipper of Otters. Our last hope; fallen. The last hope is the hares, if they have fallen, nowhere is safe.” Roseapple quickly counted the graves. Just over a score.
Oakatil was tuning into her wavelength. “They left with two score and a half. No vermin placed these markers. The remainder of the otters must have fled to the Northern mountains. That is where we must go.” Roseapple nodded and turned to the assembled group. “No vermin buried our comrades. Many survived and must have fled to the Northern Mountains. If they found sanctuary with the hares, we do not know. But we must find out who the rebellion lives on in. To the Northern Mountains!” As the group exploded with consent Oaktail waved a cautionary paw, motioning towards the fire mountain looming in the distance. They all fell silently into ranks and moved out to the even more distant Northern Mountains.
It was a quarter of a season later when they reached the foothills. That late night, a small celebration was held around the campfire. Roseapple and Oaktail, drawn and weary from the harsh travels cautioned them not to loose their wits.
Shadows crept close to the firelight. At Roseapple’s discreet nod, a fighting circle stood close to the firelight.
“Who goes there! Friends don’t sneek through the night, but foes do!” Oaktail and half a score wielded torches thrust out to the blackness.
A strange voice came from the darkness. “Och, cannae we be askin the same question of yea? We be friend to gentlebeasts but to foe we be death!” Roseapple unnotched the arrow from her bow. Laying bow and arrow upon the ground she motioned for her company to do the same. “We are seeking the hares and otters form the South. We have reason to believe they are here. What have you to say to that?”
The strange voice answered “Och, if yea cannae prove yea are friend, answer this: Who was the leader of the rebel forces?”
Roseapple’s tail stood erect and bushy as she shouted her challenge into the inky darkness of night. “Was the leader? Why do you say was! I am the leader Roseapple of Hemlocks! I escaped from the warlord and sorrow to fulfill the prophecy! My fire burns through the pain to light the way! Challenge me not beast of shadows!” The company stood still as stone while a company of mountain hares appeared from the darkness. “Yea have spoke well and wisely Roseapple Squirrelheir. Had yea not challenged us, Och we would have challenged yea as bairns.”
“I shan’t take offense at that. Where are the southern hares staying?”
The leader, a big brawny hare with scars crossing his paws answered. “Can yea walk farther, they be just over yon rise?”
The squirrel looked at her compatriots who nodded. “We can journey a bit further. Please take us there.”
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