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The Wildcat Lord

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Early Morning mist wreathed the treetops of Mossflower Wood, clinging to clumps of fern and heather. Lillum the molemaid sat on the path outside of Redwall Abbey, picking daisies and humming a little tune to herself.

Oi'll pick a flurr fur you
Oi'll pick a flurr fur me
We'll make ourselves sum daisychains
And darnce so purtilee!
Oi'll pick a flurr fur you
Oi'll pick a flurr fur me
We'll sing a likkle song of spring
And sing it 'arpilee!

She looked up at the sound of somebeast clapping and saw an old squirrel dressed in the simple garb of a traveling minstrel with a lute slung over his shoulder.

"Well sung, pretty miss! Well sung! I love the sound of a beautiful voice and yours called me here," he gestured at the tall red sandstone walls, "Well, where exactly is here, miss? I've never been in this neck o' the woods before."

The molemaid dipped a curtsy and said in molespeech, "Thankee zurr. This place bees Redwall H'Abbey an' oi welcumms ee." She rapped on the main gate and there was a noise from within.

"Hurr, oo bees yurr?"
"It' bees thio sister, Lillum, with a visitor to ee H'Abbey so open oop naow!"

The gate was opened by a round little mole indentical to Lillum in every aspect except that he was her brother. His nose crinkled in a friendly smile as he let them through.

"Wot bees yurr name, zurr?" asked Lillum's brother.
"Raulyn minstrel, at your service, sir. An' pray, kind sir, what mayst be thine name and of yon pretty maid?"

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