Homesick (Enon/Open)

[Tirael]

The tree seemed as nice a place to think as any. Shade, a nice breeze, and relative quiet--all things Brush desperately needed right now. Ever since they'd won this battle, regained the Abbey, he'd started to feel torn. It was sunny and breezy, the days were getting longer, and the path in front of Redwall was calling to him. When he'd stayed at Camp Moss, he'd told himself it was only until the rebels had taken back their home, then he'd continue his journey, seeing all those places he'd meant to see. Now, his duty fulfilled, he was filled with an insatiable desire to hit the trail again, whether to visit home or see someplace new.

But every time he resolved to pack up and go, he stalled.

He knew what was stopping him, but that knowledge didn't help any. After all, it wasn't like he could fix her, and he certainly couldn't just abandon her. Nor did he think she could come along; not now. Not handicapped as she was.

Brush leaned against the trunk, staring skyward through the branches as thoughts of home began seeping into his mind. Castle Floret towering over a forest more lush than Mossflower. The family and friends that had since grown accustomed to his absence. His mother, his father, his brother; Sylvana, whom he'd never quite had the heart to turn down. It was odd to think what Southsward must be like when he wasn't there, and suddenly he felt another strong urge for home.

But again, he stalled.

Irritably muttering a curse, he flung a twig at nothing in particular. This was going to drive him insane if he didn't figure it out soon.

[Enon // SoMtW]

There was a squeak, then a deep mole voice spoke. “Hurr, thurr b’aint no reason t’chuck sticks ‘bout, zurr Brush!” the owner of the voice, the sturdy molelad Murrth, came into view below Brush. He grinned, his black eyes crinkling in his dark brown fur, an anomaly that made him stand out in his family.

“Boi ‘okey, zurr, don’t ee git dizzy oop thurr?” He inquired in his quaint molespeech. There seemed to be something missing, but one would not be sure what, until it dawned-- he was alone! Woodlanders were so used to the sight of the young mole following his old uncle around, that it was a singularly odd event to see him without the mute carpenter.

[Tirael]

“Hurr, thurr b’aint no reason t’chuck sticks ‘bout, zurr Brush!”

Slightly startled by the voice, Brush peered down from his perch to find Murrth below him. "Did it hit you? Sorry..." he called, feeling somewhat embarrassed to have been caught in a fit of anger. At least it wasn't somebeast else that had been the one to discover him.

“Boi ‘okey, zurr, don’t ee git dizzy oop thurr?”

Grinning, Brush shook his head. "Not for a squirrel." Savoring the height and breeze for one last moment, he descended rapidly, landing neatly beside Murrth. "Now," he said as he dusted himself off, "Where's your uncle? You're usually with him, aren't you?" Though he was genuinely curious, the question was mainly meant as a distraction; he still needed to think, and he somehow doubted that Murrth would be able to help him much.

[Enon // SoMtW]

"Did it hit you? Sorry..."

The heavy dark head shook in the negative. “Nay, I be not hurted.”

"Now," he said as he dusted himself off, "Where's your uncle? You're usually with him, aren't you?"

Murrth shrugged, falling into step with the taller squirrel. He was growing out of his baby fat, but he still was a rather short and squat mole, whereas the squirrel was taller and leaner. He watched as Brush touched a few trees, muttering about their poor condition. Used to interpreting every nuance of meaning from body movements and posture, it was easy for him to conclude the squirrel wanderer was brooding over something.

“Wot ‘ee thinken on, Brrush?” He finally asked, growing more disturbed about the warrior’s mutterings.

[Tirael]

“Nay, I be not hurted.”

"Good, good," he said, deciding to be very interested in the trees they were passing. Having gone through various forests and woods, it depressed him how sickly many of the plants within the Abbey's grounds were. He already felt confined by all the stone walls; the fact that everything looked dead only made matters worse, and he grumbled darkly about them. Though it did upset him a little, most of his displeasure was still derived from his uncertainty of whether to stay or go, and it was all he could do to cover that up in complaints about something unrelated.

“Wot ‘ee thinken on, Brrush?”

The question cut through the squirrel's mood like a pair of scissors, and he looked mildly startled as he glanced at Murrth. The young mole looked somewhat disconcerted, and Brush felt a mixture of guilt and irritation. As much as he disliked making a young one feel uneasy, he hadn't asked for Murrth to come along when he was unhappy; it was just bad timing, though that didn't make it any less annoying.

Brush sighed. How was he supposed to explain this? Was he supposed to explain this? "It's, uh...it's complicated, Murrth." But that felt wrong, he knew he should say at least something. He could leave out specifics. "Let's just say I have two choices to pick from, and both of them will make me unhappy." He gave Murrth a resigned look. "You're lucky you're not an adult yet."

[Grath]

"It's, uh...it's complicated, Murrth." But that felt wrong, he knew he should say at least something. He could leave out specifics. "Let's just say I have two choices to pick from, and both of them will make me unhappy." He gave Murrth a resigned look. "You're lucky you're not an adult yet."

Murrth tugged at his snout, considering the squirrel’s words, spoken and unspoken. They wandered a mite more before the molelad spoke again, stepping daintily over the slumbering body of a mouse babe. His paws were stained with jam, his thumb in his mouth. It was no difficulty divining what he was doing out here. Brush, on the other paw…

“Hurr.” Murrth said, unconvinced of Brush’s explanation, and allowing the squirrel to speak up about whatever was bothering him. He might be young, but he wasn’t stupid, sticking so close to his uncle throughout his childhood gave him unusual insight into the lives and motivations of others.

[Tirael]

“Hurr.”

Brush suppressed an urge to glare at the tiny mole; instead, he vented his frustration through an irritated sigh. "Okay, here we go," he grunted as he picked up the mousebabe; it shifted, but otherwise remained contently sucking its thumb. He wasn't entirely certain where the rest of the Dibbuns would be, but decided the dormitories were as good a spot to check as any, and set off in that direction. Murrth was still there, however, and the silence began to chafe.

"Fine. Fine. I miss my home, and I'd like to go back," the squirrel finally admitted. "But if I go...then I have to leave--" Still unwilling to fully reveal everything he was thinking, he amended his thoughts for Murrth. "...leave everybeast here. And then I'd miss them, too." Glancing sidelong at the mole, he decided he might as well take advantage of the situation. "What would you pick?"