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A Collection of Short Stories

Revision as of 09:22, July 31, 2012 by Mewtworules (wall | contribs)

Introduction

This is a collection of short stories I'll be writing. It's cumulative, so don't expect an epilogue. It's Redwall themed (obviously) and they will all have different moods. (Funny, sad, happy, scary, serious, the list goes on! I will even take suggestions in the comments!)

Remember, this is a storybook for Redwall beasts. You will find things like shamans who perform occult rituals and animals not in the canonical universe.

Prologue

"Hey, Oakley! Look what I found in the attic!"

The young squirrel came rushing down the stairs. She had a book in her hand; the cover was covered in dust and the pages were yellowish. Oakley the hare came to meet the squirrel at the foot of the stairs. He saw the book, all covered in dust.

"Elaine, dust it off! Let's see what the cover says...aa...aaa....achoo! How long has the bally thing been in the attic? Looks smaller now, half the bally thing was dust, wot wot!"

Elaine smiled at her friend's usual show of exaggerating things to a comic level. She read the title.

"Swiftcloud's Tales of Adventures from Redwall Abbey," she read.

"Let's read it!"

Fishing Day

"Fishing rod, net, lures, pocket knife, bread, and blueberry jelly, all in my bag. I'm ready to go, mum!" Pwill the otter called out to his mother as he gathered up his fishing equipment. It was Fisherbeasts' day; the day young otters like him (about 11 to 19 seasons old) from Redwall Abbey went to bodies of water in Mossflower to catch fish and some shrimp. It was more a strengthening experience and a declaration of (partial) independence than something that lands food on the table, as half the otters returned empty-pawed. As he and his otter friends gathered at the gates, Abbot Skye addressed the band of thirty or so otters.

"As I let you all go to Mossflower woods unaccompanied, I want you to remember that your safety is most important. Don't go looking for trouble, and stay away from the sea. If you run into danger, run, don't fight. Now, ye young otterfolk, go and catch yerself some grub!"

As the gates were opened, the otters gleefully dashed into Mossflower woods, heading to their favorite spots. This was a weekly event. The adventure lasted the whole day, with the otters leaving after breakfast and coming back before supper. The otters carried lunch with them, and usually went to the same spot every Fisherbeasts' day. Pwill was the oldest and most experienced of the group, but also quite reckless for a nineteen-season beast.

"Pwill, Darren, wait. Come here," The Abbot called. Pwill sighed. Another lecture on recklessness? But why Darren?

"Darren, it's your first time going alone to Mossflower woods. You are eleven seasons old, and you will need a guide."

"Skipper?" Darren asked.

"No, not Skipper, he's busy. I would have suggested Flinscer or Pantale, but the best guide for you would be Pwill."

Pwill was taken aback. Fisherbeasts' day was a solo activity for him. He didn't want an immature tag-along encroaching on his peace.

"Abbot Skye! I–I can't be his guide! I don't want this–this distraction!" Pwill cried in despair.

"You will, Pwill, because you are the only one that can," said the Abbot.

"What does he mean? I'm probably his worst choice! I'm the least social person around here! And besides, I hate teaching others!" Pwill silently thought this.

"Go now, and Pwill, no trophy collecting while Darren's there."

Grudgingly, Pwill led Darren out of the abbey.

                                  * * *

"Pwill, where are we headed?" Darren asked innocently.

"Where do ye think? A place to fish!" Pwill responded.

"Pwill, is it hard?"

Pwill sighed. "Maybe, if you used rocks as lures and rotting wood as your rod."

"Oh, heehee! Hahaha!" Darren started laughing uncontrollably.

"Shuddup! Vermin gangs will rip us to pieces!"

Darren fell quiet. "V-v-v-vermin?"

"Yes, vermin, cannibals! They roast you over a fire!" Pwill exclaimed.

And Darren was quiet until they reached their destination!

                               * * *

"Here we are," Pwill unceremoniously announced. The place was near a stream, and apparently, it was the right season to catch trout. Pwill had arranged a hammock between two trees and a small wooden shed was built near a fire pit. Even with the unwanted intrusion of Darren, Pwill still smiled at the place. When he was eleven seasons old, he himself was a tag-along of a group of older otters. Together, they designed this place. Finally, the older otters grew up, and became wanderers, leaving Redwall abbey. Pwill was given the place and for six seasons of Fisherbeasts' days, this was his spot. He intended to use it even after he grew up.

"Are there vermin?" Darren asked.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Look here." Pwill showed him a full skeleton of a rat, hung with wires on a tree. "I found the poor bugger dead, but vermin don't think so," Pwill said with a smirk.

Darren nearly fainted.


They returned to the stream. Pwill took out his fishing rod. It was a lovely piece of art, with carvings on the handle. He cast the line into the stream.

"Pwill? What should I do?"

"Wait...I feel a tug...okay!" Pwill reeled the line in, and beheld his quarry with disgust. "A minnow!"

Pwill spat. He threw the minnow onto the bank. "If we're lucky, there's a school of fish. Grab my net and get us some fish," he commanded Darren. "I'll have another go."

                                   * * *

"Look! The net's full o' minnows!"

"And look here! Three trout!" exclaimed Pwill. "Put the minnows in this sack, along with the trout. And it's just midday!"

"I guess it's lunchtime," said Darren.

"I brought blueberry jam and bread, what did you bring?"

"Deeper 'n' ever turnip 'n' tater 'n' beet root pie, Foremole made it for me. He's a nice beast, when the dibbuns don't go stealing his candied chestnuts."

They both laughed as they began eating.

When they finished their meal, they suddenly heard voices.

"Darkeye! It isn't a real skeleton!"

"Hellgates it is, but no threat, Rotfoot."

"Shuddup and get in here! I smell food!"

"Let's go, Skar!"

Pwill and Darren looked at each other. They were frozen with shock, confronted by vermin with no place to hide.

"Otters? Darkeye, Rotfoot, let's kill them and eat their remains!

"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH! Don't eat me! Don't–"

"Darren, what in heaven is wrong with you?!" Pwill snapped, breaking Darren out of his nightmare. "I admit it! There ain't no vermin!"

"Oh...thank heaven!"

"Now grab your fishing rod and get us some trout!"

                                    * * * 

By the end of the day, the duo had caught four trout and a net full of minnows.

"Shall we head back now?" asked Pwill.

"Pwill...look up now."

In the sky, there was a bird. The bird was...hovering.

"It's hovering. The thing is hovering." Pwill was in disbelief as he said this. The bird flew down a level and resumed hovering.

"Pwill. I know what it is. I read it in Cloudeye's Book of Birds. It's a black-shouldered kite, and I think it's hungry."

The kite swooped down and disappeared. A loud scream was heard, after which the bird flew back up, holding a rat in its talons.

"So there were vermin," said Darren.

"It was hovering," said Pwill. "Anyway, ye wanna come fish with me next week on Fisherbeasts' day?"

"Yes, why not?"

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