Sliddren Musings (Open)

[nue]

The weather in Mossflower wood was fair as was typical for this time of year, the sunlight filtered down through the leaves to create a dappled tapestry of greens and browns which the serpent found pleasing to his aesthetic for reasons beyond the simple warmth it provided for his cold blood or the camouflage it offered his form as he slithered between the trees and through the tall grass. There was nothing to suggest the dangers that lurked within the woods. The only warning given was the slightest sound of swishing grass.

His tongue tasted the air as he contemplated the latest addition to his collection taken from a stoat bandit several days before. The cretin had been trying to read the tome upside down. His death had been swift, the beast never hearing the serpent approaching within striking range.

The tome had turned out to be more of a journal than anything else, containing the essays of an ancient Badgerlord of Salamandastron. Most of which sought to explore the reasoning behind the actions of the typical vermin. The Badgerlord had been of a mind that if he could better understand his enemies perhaps he could more easily defeat them or otherwise simply avoid confrontation altogether. Whomever the author of the journal had been, they'd neither signed nor dated the work, so Sammael had spent much of his time recently exploring the rest of his library in search of who the beast might be.

Salamandastron had a history of great warrior-scholars, though none had explored that which these essays did in nearly so much depth, making the tome unique in his collection. Not to mention the authors penmanship had been excellent. Still, too much of any one thing at a time would spoil it and so it was that he found himself again slithering through the woods of Mossflower.

[Treble Tiderunner]

Fern’s paws were stained, her palms and fingers a darker brown than normal. Her rucksack was bulging alarmingly with walnuts, and it sagged on her shoulders as she pressed between a pair of close growing trees and into a meadow. The grass still stood tall and green, for the first frost hadn’t arrived to send it into its winter sleep.

It was a warm day, and Fern took pains to pick out the perfect grassy knoll to sit on. Shedding her pack, she upended it on the ground, the walnut husks tumbling on each other with soft clacks. She picked up a handful and sat them in her lap, her green dress protected by a white apron, now stained brown from collecting the husked nuts. She hummed, digging her claws into the dry brown husk and pulling it away from the nutshell inside.

Her humming became a song as she worked at husking the tasty nuts.

[nue]

The taste of walnuts upon his forked tongue as he scented the air preceded a steadily growing sound some slight distance off. Someone had been gathering walnuts, and now they were singing. He couldn't make out the lyrics from his position but he had a keen musical ear, enough to know that he'd definitely found someone worth listening to.

Stealthily he slithered through the tall grasses, barely more than a shadow upon the forest floor, the sound of swishing grass no longer accompanying him as he let the song guide him, not wishing to interrupt. Upon a grassy knoll sat an otter maid, shucking walnuts as she sang, their clacking in rhythmic sync with her voice

The grass was shorter near her, and no trees offered shadows for him to hide in. Should she become aware of his presence, the singing would stop, or otherwise become a performance tainted by fear. Not that the minstrel maiden had anything to fear from him, the stoat filled his belly still and he'd be loath to waste such musical talents in exchange for something as paltry as desert.

Silently he moved around the knoll to finally stop a short ways behind the otter maid. Not an ideal hiding place by any means but unless she turned around the pretty little warmblood would just keep singing and he could continue listening.

[Django]

Clar inwardly chuckled at the young ottermaid singing. He enjoyed a good song; he knew few who didn't. From his perch in a nearby tree, he leaned his chin on one paw, simply watching the pretty maiden. Until he'd heard the singing, Clar had been tracking an adder through the woods. The snake was now all but forgotten as the rat focused in on the voice and face; at least, what he could see of her face.

For awhile now, the rat had been checking in on his nephew Django, who lived in Redwall. From his numerous silent visits, he'd seen other faces. At one point, he'd tried to put names to the faces, but he hadn't gotten very far. This ottermaid was certainly familiar, and Clar was almost sure he'd seen her speaking with Django a few times. Could this be an opportunity to get that all-important message to Django?

Clar decided he'd take that chance when it came. For now, he let the otter sing. May haps when she finished her song, he'd introduce himself and ask her to take the message.

[Treble Tiderunner]

“Oh, the frisky little squirrel,
He gathers nuts and seeds,
He hides them for the winter months,
so he'll have all he needs!”

Fern paused a moment to clean under her nails, scraping the brown material away. She couldn’t help but feel very happy that day, it was a beautiful day in the woodlands, and there was no war. How she had hated the war! What it turned her into, how she acted and reacted. She moved her paw through the pile of shucked nuts, laying them out more evenly to dry the hard shells in the strong sun. She picked up another encased nut, her song resuming.

“Oh, up, up, up he goes,
And down, down, down he comes,
He runs around, goes up and down,
His work is never done!”

She tossed the last remnants of the nut’s soft outer covering away. It seemed good here, at this Redwall. She knew many were yet uncomfortable in the home they had won for themselves, but yet they stayed. It gave them a measure of hope, to see their ancient home restored. And she herself had finally found a place to belong, a quiet place filled with knowledge. And Tirael. She could never forget him. She frowned, playing with the nuts.

“Oh, up, up, up he goes,
And down, down, down he comes,
He runs around, goes up and down,
His work is never done.”

It was a paltry amount, but what really mattered was the chance she had to herself. The ottermaid had been raised in a lonely mountain holt, all the hustle still made her uncomfortable. She supposed it always would. She was a solitary beast at heart. She could see herself now, old and bent, among the shelves of a great library. But never alone.

She leaned back on her palms, face tilted up and her eyes closed. No ulterior motive, just enjoying the sun.

[Django]

Clar opened his eyes and sat up ever so slightly from his relaxed position. No more singing filled the air. Looking down at the ottermaid, the rat saw she had finished her song and was now relaxing, her eyes closed. Flaring his nostrils in annoyance, the lithe rat moved into the limbs of another tree, closer to the young creature. Was she taking a nap? Not now! She needed to take his message!

Ever so slowly, he made his way down to the forest floor, keeping low and to the shadows, or, what shadows he could find at whatever time this was, midday, maybe. Coming up to the knoll the otter rested against, he studied her face more closely. Yes, she was definitely from Redwall. Whatever her name was, she'd also talked to Django a bit.

Maybe she wouldn't be too frightened of speaking to a roving rat. Maybe. If he put his bow down over there. Along with his quiver. Hopefully. Inhaling deeply, Clar stepped out of the cover of the foliage and stood in front of the otter. He crouched down, wondering how he should get her attention. Trying a smile, he decided against it, knowing how his smile could easily frighten anybeast, including himself. He decided to just wing it and hope for the best.

"Afternoon, miss," Clar greeted.

[nue]

The ottermaid's song was hardly the epic work of a badger lord, but her voice made the little children's ditty into something special unto itself, and Sammael found himself swaying slightly in the sunlight. A pleasant slumber began falling upon him simultaneously with the young maiden. The taste of the rat settled upon his forked tongue before he saw the vermin approaching. In his position he was hardly what one would consider hidden, simply positioned a short distance behind the ottermaid as he was. Easy striking distance.

Yet the vermin seemed not to have noticed him, his focus completely taken by the woodlander. He was ruining the moment this one. No chance the maiden would begin to sing if she were threatened by a rat. Irritation boiled the serpents cold blood at having his private concert ruined and the talent before him facing potential danger.

Up he rose, sinuous and coiling, high above the pair, dead gaze fixed unerringly upon the vermin. With liquid grace his sheer length became apparent as his shadow blocked the sun from the basking maiden. His tongue flicked out, tasting the air and the foul flavor of the one who'd so irked him. The rat wouldn't taste good, but at least the otter maid would be in no danger, and he'd certainly feel better slaking his ire with the blood of this blackguard. Or perhaps just chasing him off would suffice. The stoat he'd consumed several days ago still sat heavily in his stomach gluttony wasn't something he could bring himself to no matter his vexation.

Only a single sound issued from the adder despite his great size and movement. “Flee,” he hissed softly.

[Django]

"Flee,"

Clar's golden eyes widened at the sight of the serpent. Taking a pace back, he instinctively reached for his missing bow. He cursed, remembering the weapon was hidden a few feet behind him. He retreated further from the snake and the maiden.

"N-no, no, ye don't unnerstan'" Clar stammered, faced with the only thing that made him nervous. "I only need 'er ta bring a message to me nephew! She's fallin' alseep anyway, an' I wasn't gonna 'urt 'er!" He guessed the otter would wake up soon, disturbed by the noise he and the serpent were making. "P-please, serpent, I wasn't gonna do nothin' to 'er! Sh-she'd be singin' agin right after I spoke to 'er!"

Clar backed up more and tripped over a log, falling flat on his tail.

[Treble Tiderunner]

"Afternoon, miss," Clar greeted.

Fern opened her eyes and emitted a short, surprised scream. “Aagh!” She swung a fist at the nose of the creature, a rat. What was a rat doing hovering over her? She sprang to her feet, crouching, her fur on end. Idiot! Just because Lorna was gone didn’t mean the woods were safe! She backed away from the rat, but stopped cold as a long shadow slid over her.

The rat didn’t seem much pleased either, he was backing away and babbling something incoherent she couldn’t hear over the rushing blood in her ears.

“Flee,”

Her blood seemed to freeze cold at the sound of that sibilant voice. She turned slowly, her eyes falling upon what she knew would be there. The creature was a huge adder, coiling and menacing. Fern did the only thing she could be expected to do. Her eyes rolled up and she collapsed on the ground, senseless.

[Django]

Clar finally stopped babbling long enough to realize the otter had fainted. Well, there was at least some reassurance in knowing that the rat wasn't the only one terrified of snakes. Clar's golden eyes darted from the maid to the adder, and he was for once speechless.

Great, this was just perfect. The otter was unconscious, and Clar's only possible way of communication with Django was severed. This was not turning out to be a very nice afternoon. Still, he had been quite stupid in thinking the otter would just wake up and greet him with a warm smile and say, "Oh, hello, what can I do for you, Mister?" Gritting his teeth in annoyance, Clar tried to stand again, still slowly edging away from the snake. Could he reach his bow before the adder struck? No, that was idiotic. The snake was surely ten times as fast as he was.

Indecisive, Clar simply backed off more, hoping his retreat would calm the snake. He took one last longing glance at the maiden on the forest floor, then grabbed his hidden bow and scurried up the trunk of a tree.

[nue]

The otter maid awoke and then was reclaimed by unconsciousness almost immediately upon setting eyes upon the adder. The rat scrambled hastily away. It looked for a moment as though he might go for his bow and Sammael readied himself to strike, but the rat though better of it and fled up a tree. Smart move.

Unfortunately it meant that he could be a target if the rat chose to try and fire upon him from the safety of the tree's bows. Despite his ire, the serpent was in no mood to fight, but wasn't about to leave the otter maid to the tender mercies of some vermin.

Carefully, he coiled his massive body around and beneath her fallen figure. Carrying a beast as large as she was a difficult task, but not impossible. He'd be slow, and stealth would be all but impossible, but what beast would be foolish enough to attack an adder? The vermin had spoken of Redwall in his blatherings, and he himself had heard not so long ago that the fortress had now been reclaimed from the vermin that had infested it for so long.

So it to Redwall that the serpent began to make his way, otter maid carried protectively in his coils. He could simply leave her a short distance from the gate and hide himself until she recovered.

[Django]

Clar cursed under his breath as he silently watched the adder from the treetops. The rat considered shooting a couple arrows, but he realized that the all-important ottermaid might be crushed in the snake's death throws. Cursing again, Clar leapt to another tree branch, nimble as a squirrel. He decided to follow the adder and see what might happen.

This was not turning out exactly as Clar had planned, and he decided to blame the snake. If the blasted reptile hadn't been there in the first place, everything might have gone smoother. Well, that might not be true. That otter could really throw a punch. He rubbed the bruise he'd gotten from the albeit glancing blow she'd given him in her surprise. It was because he was a rat. Or, as most woodlanders would call him, a vermin. Scowling, Clar moved fluidly down the length of another branch, his golden eyes on the adder. Those d*mned Redwallers and their prejudice. They'd taken Django in, and he was half rat, for crying out loud!

The ottermaid had tried to punch Clar even when he had no weapons. Were they really that low? Did every single one of them think, "Oh look, a rat, weasel, ferret, etc. I'll kill him before I even know what he's doing here."? Clar had to resist the urge to growl to himself as he continued tracking the adder.