Ad blocker interference detected!
Wikia is a free-to-use site that makes money from advertising. We have a modified experience for viewers using ad blockers
Wikia is not accessible if you’ve made further modifications. Remove the custom ad blocker rule(s) and the page will load as expected.
To Ethrim seeing the sun again was like seeing the place that could not be reached. Him and his family had been walking west, now, for about a season, hoping that Vastavus's army of ferrets, rats, foxes, martens, weasels and other vermin had lost their trail and were now marching back to Fort Gnosog.
“How much further is it?” asked the tired vole.
“Hard t’ tell Ethrim, could be spruce’s length, could be a fir’s length, could be ” answered his older brother Narvassal or Narve for short.
“Well, can we stop,” Ethrim’s older sister, Athra said exhaustedly.
“No,” said the oldest of the bunch, Rartigon, better known as Rarti or Rart, “We ‘ave to keep movin’ or Vastavus’s hordes will catch us.”
And so, having faith in their older brother, each one mustered all the energy they had and pushed on, through the bright and sunny early morning, the day to them of pure torture.
Abbot Sergius was just waking up from his slumber when Brother Samuel burst into his chambers.
“Father Abbot, Father Abbot Sergius!” said the clearly-excited squirrel “come quick, you have to see this, it’s about Demburr, that mole Dibbun. Hurry!”
As they rushed down to Great Hall, the elderly Abbot mouse stopped to rest as he asked “Slow, down, Brother Samuel. Now, what’s this all about, is Demburr in trouble.”
“Oh, no, Father Abbot, he’s not in trouble, but he needs you attention.” the Brother said.
When they got to Great Hall, the Abbot was genuinely amazed be the sight he had just laid his eyes upon, Demburr the mole-Dibbun, nephew of Trubb the Foremole, was juggling three moderately sized chestnuts.
“Ho hurr, Favva Serjus, lookit oi, oi c’n jujjel many a-ches’nuts a’’ at wonce toime. Lookit, lookit Favva Serjus,” Demburr said in his molespeech.
“Yes, yes, I see Demburr. I don’t think there’s been better juggling from any Abbey-dweller since Acrulo the Juggler. Brother Petario, look through your records and pull out any that concern Acrulo. Looks to me like Demburr’ll be performing that at the Jubilee Feast.” the Abbot said.
Just then, Demburr stopped short of his juggling and looked like he was about to faint, “Oooh, nay Favva, oi’m be too ‘fraid to do moi jujjelin’ perfoirmince in froint o’ a’’ the Abboiy-dereller’s at thois ‘ears Jubilee Feest.” the frightened mole said.
And just as Demburr was about to collapse into a frightened heap of a mole, Sister Katelyn, the Infirmary Sister and the favorite among the Dibbuns came over to Demburr’s aid.
“Oh, it’s okay Demburr, it’s okay really, could you do it for me, please.” the kindly Sister said in a soothing voice.
“Oh, oikay, oi’ll do it, jus’ fer ye Soister Kateelin, jus’ fer ye” the uneasy mole said.
Sister Katelyn could read any Dibbun like an open book, and easily she could see the nervousness in Demburr’s eyes, and so in a just-so-slightly melodious voice she said,
“Come on now, Demburr, let’s go and practice your juggling skills.” and so off they went into the Orchard.
Brother Petario, had taken over Brother Fottlink as Recorder, the Brother was an expert at Mossflower history, he knew everything from the Story of St. Ninian’s Church to the entire Brock Family Line. Now he was rummaging through hundreds of old parchments and manuscripts written by past Recorders.
“No, not Abbot Saxus’s recipe for the Redwall Abbot’s Cake, but, my my that sure would taste mighty fine.”
“Not Brother Hubert’s recorder of that young mouse-maid, Mariel Gullwhacker.”
“No, no, no where is it, ahh, what’s this? Ohh, could it be, well no, just Friar Bellows’s recipe for shrimp and bulrush soup with watercress and hotroot pepper.”
“What? What’s this... oh, just the treatise on Bee Folk of Redwall. Wow! Nobeast has seen that since Brother Methuselah.”
“Ahh. Well, I guess it’s gone... wait what’s this,” he glanced towards the westward shelf, and on top of it was a bark-covered, vine-stitched book, the Recorder put his spectacles on and focused in on the title, etched into the spine, it read Famos Moles o Mosflw’r Wods.
“What, what is this, Famos Moles o Mosflw’r Wods, only word I can read is Moles. I know, I’ll take this to Foremole Trubb, he’ll know what it says.”
Foremole Trubb wasn’t hard to find. In a matter of minuets Foremole was already explaining the mysterious title to the Recorder.
“Foimous Moles o’ Mossflow’r Woods, et says. Yup zurr, ther’ be nay denoinin’ et, et be ‘ritten in Molescrpit,” Foremole sensed the Brother’s puzzled face “Be ‘ritten in th’ loinguage o’ th’ Moles.”
“Well Foremole, does it say anything about Acrulo?” Recorder Petario inquired anxiously.
“Roight ‘ere et says ‘bout Acrulo.” the Foremole said.
Brother Petario motioned him to speak, and speak he did.
Foremole cleared his throat and began to read from the ancient text.