It was almost
midnight in the vast expanses of Mossflower Woods. Lurking beneath a tall elm
tree were seven brigands---two stoats, a weasel, and four foxes. "Shh, 'ere they
come, mates," the weasel hissed. Instantly, the seven hit the forest floor,
partly covering themselves with loam. Slowly inching a knife from its sheath,
one of the foxes gave an evil chuckle. "Booty," he murmured, "Terror n'
triumph." Several hundred feet away from the bandits walked a hare, a
sleepy-looking shrew, and a fuzzy brown mole. "I say, wake up, Tullydab old lad!
Open those peepers now, there's a good shrew," the lanky hare admonished, giving
his shrew companion several heavy smacks on the back. "Maister Wuddsorrel zurr,
doant you think we'm oughter sleep soon? Poor zurr Dabtully be all toired out,
'ee knaow," said the stout mole, swinging his sling experimentally. Stopping
every other moment to give Tullydab a swift whack on the back, the hare twitched
his ears as he gazed into the misty haze that hung on the trees. "Well, the way
I see it, the sooner we reach the Abbey, the sooner we get a decent meal, wot?
Besides, I don't see a resting spot worth its salt anywhere near." "Oh, aren't
there? Seems to me we could just sleep up a tree, Trubbs," Tullydab mumbled
grumpily. He did not appreciate the keep-awake swats the tall hare kept giving
him; they made him extremely irritable. "Terribly sorry, doncha know, but dozing
in trees is for squirrels, not hares. I prefer to take my shut-eye safely on the
ground, thank you," Trubbs said lightly, but his keen eyes were searching the
underbrush closely. He smelled vermin-stench in the air, and the source seemed
to be quite close by. Underneath the elm tree, the weasel's eyes glinted
cruelly. "Here they are. Ready, set---" he leaped from the loam, shouting
"NOW!!!" The foxes and stoats followed quickly, brandishing their assortment of
knives, clubs, and spears. "TERROR AN' TRIUUUUUUUUUUUMPH!" they howled, charging
directly at the trio of goodbeasts. "To arms!" Trubbs shouted, and everyone drew
their weapons. Soilfurrer, the mole, had already loosed a stone, catching a fox
in the jaw and knocking it senseless. Tullydab drew his shrew sword, and Trubbs
produced his bowstave. Forming a tight triangle, they fought hard and fast.
"EULALIAAAAA! 'S death on the wind! Give 'em blood n' vinegar, chaps!
EULALIAAA!" Trubbs yelled, taking out a stoat with a swift crack on the skull.
Seeing Soilfurrer pressed from both sides, he gave a mighty leap and landed just
in time to receive a knife thrust in his left arm. Tullydab fought with the
strength of five shrews, slaying a fox and a stoat with speed and skill.
Maneuvering his way over to help Trubbs and Soilfurrer, he injured the weasel
with a jab at the knees. "I'm comin', mates! 'Old on, fight 'em off!" he
bellowed. Feeling the blood welling out of his wound, Trubbs fought desperately.
The remaining two foxes were by far the toughest vermin they had fought with
yet. One of them, called Wrecker, though badly bruised on both his legs and
arms, drove Trubbs back mercilessly. The other fox, Jagged, was chasing
Soilfurrer, who was running round and round on his stubby brown legs, chucking
stones at the fox as he ran. "Come 'ere, ya stinkin' worm-eaten, flea-bitten,
dirtyfaced mole! Blast you a thousand times over! Arr---" he ducked to avoid a
flying pebble---"You come 'ere, an' I'll give ye what-for!" Pausing a second to
pull out his tiny ears and waggle his tongue at Jagged, Soilfurrer shouted,
"Urr, go boil 'ee stinkin''ead, vermint!" Now in a mad fight for his life,
Trubbs struck out again and again with his stave. "How'd you like a taste o' my
gourmet stave, vermin? Prime vittles, wot wot! Lemme hit you in the jaw, hit you
in the stomach, haha---owch!---old bean, didn't quite stop that 'un, eh wot!"
Tullydab, trying to get a blade in edgewise, danced madly around the fox and the
hare. "Hey! Lemme in, lemme in!" he shouted. Laughing triumphantly, Wrecker
slashed Trubbs deeply in the cheek and on the shoulder. "I've got you now,
hare!" he yelled. Just then, a deep rage like nothing he had ever felt before
took over Trubbs. "EULALIAAAA! LONG LIVE THE FIRE MOUNTAIN! EULALIAAAA!" He
struck out violently, once, twice, thrice, red mist filming his vision, power
surging through his battered body. And then, it was gone, as quickly as it had
come, and before him lay a dead fox. The forest was quiet. Blinking, Trubbs
looked about. Seven dead vermin were strewn across the forest floor "I say,
chaps, is it over?" Tullydab, who was industriously cleaning his blade, nodded
grimly. "Aye, and you are badly injured, my friend. Sit down. Soilfurrer will
bury the scum---though it's more than they deserve, the rotten tadpoles." "Ooo,"
Soilfurrer said, wrinkling his button nose in a droll way. " 'Ee say a bad wurd,
you'm in gurt trubble naow, hurrhurrhurr!"