It was a beautiful day (Skipper and Tampa)

[Treble Tiderunner]

It was a bleak day in the tunnels, dark and somehow more diminished than usual, and not only because the day was beautiful on the surface. A sunny day always seemed to steal the light from the tunnels, and today was no different. It was a different pall that tainted this spring morning.

The tunnel and rooms nearest the infirmary were overflowing, with both the injured and the loved ones of the injured. A small, slightly chubby young otter wove through the thong, fur sticking every which way and a slightly desperate look in her eyes.

"Nunca! Nunca! Nunca!" Tampa, having checked all the other rooms, finally burst through the main infirmary's doorway, finally spying her searched-for uncle and running to him. "Nunca Treb! I can't find Ma or Da anywhere!" The five year old wailed, clutching her uncle's arm.

Treble winced, both from the pain of the mousewife sewing up his leg and the question. How did anyone go about telling a five year old her mother and father were lying cold and lifeless in the next room?

[Treble Tiderunner]

"There, Treble, that should hold ye."

The mousewife patted his shoulder and left to attend the next patient. Treble shifted, gently lowering his legs off the smooth wood of the bench and patting the place cleared. Tampa scrambled up, a thumb slipping into her mouth as she snuggled against his side. "'urts?" She turned big eyes to her uncle as she spoke around her thumb.

Treble smiled fondly down at his niece. Poor dibbun, now she would be an orphan. He smoothed her fur, running his paw through it in lieu of a comb. "Were ye wrestlin' again, lil' matey?" He asked, tugging one of her ears. She giggled and pulled away, questions momentarily forgotten. But a five year old is not easily put off, and she soon asked again, this time thumbless.

"Nunca Trebby, wheres ma?"

[Treble Tiderunner]

"Nunca Trebby, wheres ma?"

“Well…ah.” Treble found he couldn’t form the words. He rubbed his face, thinking back to earlier.

Tagyr! Treble rushed forward, dropping to his knees where his brother sat on the green moss, now stained red. They were alone, the gathering party scattered by the vermin. He scowled, hate flaring in his eyes, thinking of the slaughter there had been. “Tagyr?” He asked hesitantly, putting a paw on his big brother’s shoulder. Suddenly he was young again, and a giant gap seemed to separate him and Tagyr, who seemed to have remained adult for some reason. Then he looked at the bundle his brother was cradling as he stared blankly across the sun-kissed clearing. Shock struck like a hammer blow of lightning, rushing him back to the present. “Rosewater?” He whispered at last, hoarsely. The name seemed to bring Tagyr about, he lifted his head towards his brother. “Dead.” He said hoarsely. They sat in silence for seasons, or maybe merely moments. Treble reached a shaking paw to touch his sister in law, closing her staring eyes forever. “Tampa?” He asked, gently taking Rosie from his brother. It was then he saw the blood, and he felt cold, as ice moved his veins.

Dropping Rosie, he pulled his tunic off, placing it against the gash in Tagyr’s belly. “We’ll get ye back, Heather’ll heal you up right, I know she will. And you’ll live for a long time, and watch Tam grow up—“ He was babbling, he realized as Tagyr gripped his wrist in a desperation of strength. “Tampa… my Tam. Take care o’ her. Promise… “ Tagyr said, gritting past the pain and staring into his brother’s eyes with the brightness of fever and the determination of madness. Treble swallowed hard and nodded, placing a paw over Tagyr’s, refusing to believe. “I will, but you’ll be there too Tag, you won’t die. I—“ He swallowed the words down.

“No… I’m dyin' Treb. Goin’ to…” He paused, gathering strength, “see Rosie. Tell Tam… I love ‘er.” His grip loosened, his head swung between the sprawled form of his wife and the slain vermin. “got ‘em all… thanks Treb, best… brother… ever. Be strong, beat out those bastards, get the abbey back.” His eyes glazed over in death, Tagyr slumped forward, almost as if reaching for Rosewater. But dead bodies do not reach, and the living are left to mourn. And Treble did, finally extracting his wrist from his brother’s dead grasp to wipe his eyes. He would not permit himself to weep and wail, the war still went on. His eyes roamed the clearing, and he stood, finding two unbroken spears which he lashed together with Tag and Rosie’s slings and a cloak taken from a dead fox. Working carefully, he loaded the drag with the dead bodies of his family.

It was later that he stumbled into the camp, helped by another otter. From the looks of the camp, they all felt as stunned as he did, in shock creatures moved about their business… it had been a devastating blow, but they would recover, for that spirit of freedom and determination drove them to conquer the horde and gain back their abbey.

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