Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A gray haze—

The entire world was covered in a gray haze, a touch grayer than other parts of the woods he'd explored while never being a true dark like some of the darkest recesses. Despite or in spite of, making out his surroundings proved difficult, with the trees constantly shifting, never keeping their shape as he moved forward, continually searching, never finding what he was looking for.

Leaves crunched. Water—there was the sound of water, yet the sound wasn't like the rain or the sound of paw steps through puddles of murky gray water. Leaves drifted around in the puddled water as he continued his search for not only what alluded him in the gray haze, but what exactly it was that he was looking for, as he didn't remember what it was.

There was another sound, almost like the wind, but not the wind, making the young mouse turn around, trying to find that one thing that always seemed outside of the grasp of his paw. The sound continued, becoming more precise and less like the wind and more like a voice calling out his name.

"Martin," the voice called out to the young mouse warrior. "Martin." There was something haunting about the way they called out to him. "Martin."

There was something that made him turn in the direction of the voice, trying to figure out what precisely he was looking for, let alone what the voice might have to do with whatever kept evading the grasp of his mind. And in turning, he saw—

—a mousemaiden with a broken body, her dress decaying as her thin digits of her front paws reached out to point at him. He stared, confused, before saying. "I don't understand."

Her cold and lifeless eyes continued to stare at him, and then she said, "You have no idea who I am, do you?"

Panic began to set in, his mind knowing he should remember her, remember her face yet a name—a name never came to his lips before he woke up in a cold sweat. A firm paw gripped his shoulder, shaking him, the nightmare quickly fading as he stared out into the dark room, feeling completely unsure of his surroundings. His whiskers twitched in panic as his back muscles spasmed.

He felt another beast's breath upon one of his ears, calming him, drawing him back into reality by saying his name while the memory of the dream—no, nightmare, quickly faded from his broken mind. "Martin," the beast nudged him. "Martin, it's alright."

Martin's eyes blinked. One paw reached up to brush some of the furs next to his ear straight while he turned to look at the other mouse. "T.B.."

"You're here with me. In the dorms," Timballisto muttered, sitting down on the warm bed next to him.

Martin's head turned, his eyes blinking in confusion while the digits of his forepaws twisted into the sheets, taking in the warm bed he found himself in. The smells were familiar, having taken on the feeling of home, although that concept still felt foreign in his mind at the same time. "The dorms?"

"It's one of the first buildings we constructed for the abbey so that the workers would have a place to stay. Or at least, the first set of dorms that you helped Abbess Germaine plan out. Remember?" The older mouse moved closer, gently pulling Martin into a hug that Martin leaned into.

"Remember. I remember, I think. Not Brockhall anymore," Martin said, the pieces of his memories still not coming together. One paw reached up to touch his brow, massaging the pad in to try and ease the train of thought that these days never seemed to come. "I'm sorry for always forgetting."

Timballisto shifted his weight, catching onto the younger mouse's tone of voice. "Hey. We've been over this. That you shouldn't talk like that, and I think any beast wouldn't remember where they were in the dark like this."

"I keep feeling as if I've forgotten something important. A lot of important things, actually," Martin said. "Particularly—sometimes you'll say something, and the answer I give you. I apologized for something, didn't I? Back when we saw each other again, after so many years. You and I talked, said something about going into it when the time was right, but..."

"Martin," Timbalissto sighed, reached a paw up to ruffle the fur on top of Martin's head before rubbing one of the ears. "Please don't."

"I can't remember what it was we were supposed to talk about, and I feel like I need to remember. These dreams..."

"Nightmares. You've been having nightmares," Timballisto corrected, continuing to let Martin lean into him. Martin heard him sigh. "What I wake you from at night is definitely a nightmare."

"One I can't remember," Martin sighed, one paw reaching to tug at the nightgown. Things were different from how they were in the past, although there was in the back of his mind the memory of another warm bed and another place of safety, yet his mind could never come to grip with that place, beyond the feeling of being there was something short-lived. "Why can't I remember?"

"Martin," Timballisto sighed, pulling him closer. He rested his head on the top of the other's head. "It's okay not to remember."

"It doesn't feel okay," Marin sighed, hearing a nighttime cough coming from one of the other dorm rooms. "And if I woke everybeast again..."

"Just me. It's why I started sharing a dorm room with you, just the two of us."

"Because we share a past, a past I've forgotten." Martin bit slightly on his lip, trying to purse out the puzzle he constantly struggled to figure out, yet the answers always evaded him.

He felt Timballisto grab his shoulder blades, squeezing as he let out a sigh. The older mouse rested his forehead on the back of Martin's head. "Martin. Please don't do this to yourself."

"But..." Martin wanted to protest whatever it was that he was doing to his dibbunhood mate despite not knowing precisely what he'd done.

"Come on. Let me get you tucked back into bed," Timballisto said. "And don't worry about not remembering. It doesn't bother me."

"You're..."

"What bothers me is that I'm worried about you," Timballisto sighed. "Letting this 'not remembering' eat you up as you are."

"I don't want to be a burden," Martin mutters as Timballisto purposefully sits up and starts to stroke the top of his head, knowing it will lull Martin into a peaceful sleep. He'd thought of doing it at night before Martin went to bed, yet at the same time, he didn't want to infantize his friend, making him feel like a small dibbun despite everything.

"You're not a burden," Timballisto sighed. "But we are ever so grateful that you're alive. We almost lost you. I almost lost you, the last member of my tribe, my last kin. Blood-related, we may not be, but you've always been my brother. Nothing, nothing will ever change that, but let me be that older brother to you for once."

"For once?" Martin didn't follow, stiffening slightly, as if Timballisto was hinting at something he'd long forgotten. The fact the other mouse, the older mouse, tensed and made him the thing that, yes, indeed, he had forgotten something important.

"Just..." Timballisto stopped speaking, and for a moment, Martin thought the older mouse wouldn't say anything. "Let's just say I wasn't there for you when you needed me the most. And I wanted to be."

Martin paused in thought. "Isn't that because I was too stubborn? Wasn't it? I remember that much. And I can be stubborn at times, can't I?"

"You mean like how you're stubbornly refusing to go to sleep?" Timballisto sighed, shaking his head while continuing to stroke the fur on top of Martin's head. "You'll be the death of me, Martin, making me worry about you like this." The other mouse leaned forward, whispering into his ear. "Please. I'm far more worried about your health than whatever it is you've forgotten, but the past is the past."

Yet, in Martin's mind, there was that thing from his past he kept missing, that he couldn't place his paw on. "Is it?"

"Yes, Martin, so put those nightmares behind you. I'll even stay with you through the night, old friend. Just get some sleep, but know you're safe, with me watching over you."

Somehow, Martin managed to fall back asleep into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

Brome awoke to the sound of birds chirping and sunlight streaming through the window of his room. The young mouse stretched his limbs, blinking back the sleep in his eyes before shifting in his bed and placing his paws onto the ground. Taking a deep breath, the smell of flowers drifted in from just outside the window as a smile spread across his muzzle. "It's a nice day to be alive."

He reminded himself of this every morning when he woke, remembering all too well the sights and smells of Marshank, the clang of battle, and the smell of death. A quick tug on the front of his nightclothes from his own paws brought a breath as he reminded himself not to overthink the past, lest it gets the better of him.

"Get the better of me," Brome thought to himself, his head turning to look out the window. "Wonder what Martin's up to now. Hopefully, that warrior spirit of his has found some kind of peace." The young mouse swallowed. "Without Rose, though? And not knowing..." Brome shook his head, rousting himself from bed and changing his clothes before heading out to the fountain, taking his time to brush back his fur to make himself look presentable.

"Gudd morning," came the deep rumbling baritones of a mole.

Brome looked up, smiling at the mole in question. "Good morning Grumm. It's a rather nice day today, isn't it?"

"That it be. It be a gudd day for Miz Rose to vensure outside," the mole hummed, patting Brome on the back. "Let us'ns get her."

"Yes. Let's," Brome smiled at the mole. "You're a good friend, Grumm."

"Miz Rose be the gudd friend, zurr. Same be Marthen 'ee Wurrier, bless es soul. Wunder what 'e be up to."

"Me too. Let's not bring him in front of Rose, though. Or father for that matter," Brome muttered, looking at the various gardens spread across the Noonvale, the bright summer flowers and cociding floral sent belying just how much of a haven Noonvale was for good beasts—unless, of course, you were a warrior like Martin. The young mouse brushed aside the thought, another thing which went unsaid.

Martin, despite not being dead, was dead to them.

There were some days Brome wanted to yell at Rose for being fine with her lot in life and his father for making Martin feel as if he couldn't return, though the fact—Brome shook his head, trying not to think of how Martin was left grieving for someone who'd not died. At the same time, they were also left grieving for someone who wasn't dead, simply because there felt like no chance of the mouse returning to Noonvale, that mouse who was almost his brother-in-law.

Brome never yelled at Urran Voh. There was his mother and sister to think about, and he'd left behind his rebellious nature in the ruins of Marshank. There was also the look of guilt on Urran Voh's face whenever Martin's name accidentally slipped from another beasts tongue always made Brome feel guilty for even thinking of yelling at the graying mouse, constantly reminding him of the conversation he'd had with his father right after they learned Martin had left before they could relay to him the good news.

"It's what you wanted, wasn't it? You didn't feel like he belonged."

That was the first time Urran Voh gave him the look of guilt, the guilt of a father who simply wanted his children to be happy and live fulfilled lives. Everybeast in Noonvale knew that while Laterose was alive and a part of their lives, they no longer heard her voice breaking into song as she had prior to the war, her longing for lost love all too evident and not something even her father could fix.

Brome closed his eyes, remembering how they'd carried her broken body home, gently despite thinking she was indeed lost to them, his mind constantly worrying how Martin would handle waking up from his healing slumber to learn she was gone, actually gone, when someone jostled the stretcher his sister was on and in that moment a breath of air came from his sister's still body which in turn startled him from his thought, beginning the aide his sister would need.

The long journey back was after that was long enough for Martin to have left Polleekin, who sent a message along with news of Martin leaving that, "It be meanen to happen. You'm wait and see."

"Still not seeing it, Polleekin," Brome thought to himself as he headed with Brome to his sister's room. By the time he arrived, he had found her sitting on the edge of the bed, already changed into the dress laid out for her the night before, a sparkle in her eye despite that definite longing there for a particular young mouse.

"He wouldn't want me to be wasting the life granted to me, you know," she'd once told Brome, back when he'd still every so often brought up Martin. Now, the only one who spoke of Martin with any level of frequency was Laterose. Kind of like she did today, her mood light and airy.

"I wonder what kind of mousemaiden Martin's found for himself," Rose said, making Brome flinch, her muzzle twisted into a smile.

"Zurr Marthen wuud not, burr no!" Grumm laughed.

Brome sighed, pushing over the contraption Barkjon made for Rose, the old squirrel noting as he made the "chair with wheels" that Martin paid more attention to such things than his Felldoh ever did. It still felt too soon, way too soon after Martin had left. "Don't speak like that. Please."

"Oh. Come on. I just want him to be happy," Rose laughed, her arms wrapping around Grumm and Brome as they helped her into the chair. "A lot of little ones as well, eventually. You know he deserves it, a bunch of little dibbuns, sweet little ones."

Brome looked over at Grumm as they settled Rose into the wheelchair. The mole shook his head, indicating Brome shouldn't push the matter, not to ask questions such as, "How can you not be jealous," or "I don't want that. Not Martin." For, even though he'd given up his days of rebellion, he still looked up to Martin despite having seen how the older mouse could get in the heat of battle. And some days, he worried because of that, just that, that perhaps Martin's bones were lying somewhere, with nobody to mourn him.

"Cheer up, Brome," Rose said, patting his head as he bent over, a smile still crossing her muzzle. "Martin wouldn't die that easily. That's not who he is."

Brome let out a gurgling sound, his eyes darting up to meet his sister's, his jaw going slack. "I—um, I..."

"We be all thinken it mizzy," Grumm noted. "We be all mizzen our Marthen, gudd mouse 'e be."

"Polleekin promised Martin a happy ending," Rose said.

Brome let out a deep breath. "Yes. Polleekin did, though we don't know what that means, do we?"

At that moment, he saw Rose shift, straightening out her fur slightly, her eyes drifting towards the doorway of her room, making Brome look up to see their father and mother, the latter coming in to help Rose in straightening out her fur a bit more before leaving the house. She smiled at them, "Good morning."

"Father." Brome kept his tone cold, though this probably wasn't lost on anyone in the room. The look on his father's face—the look of guilt on his face, made Brome look down at the bare floor of Rose's room. Gone was the rose-colored rug, having become a hindrance for the wheelchair, but at least she was alive. "At least she's alive, though—"

"I want to believe Martin's found the happiness we couldn't give him," his father said before turning to leave.

Chapter Text

Rays of sunlight scattered thoughts of nightmares from the night before into the shadowy corners of the dorm room as if they'd not happened at all.

Martin stirring, stretching his limbs, woke Timballisto, who'd not left his friend's side during the night, instead opting to slumber next to the younger mouse and keeping his promise. His back was to Martin when Martin shifted, reaching out to poke him in the spine while speaking cheerfully. "Did you have a nightmare, T.B.?"

"Yes," Timballisto said, stretching his forelegs over his head as his hindpaws stretched out to the foot of the bed. He felt Martin sit up, nudging his shoulder. He turned onto his back and tucked his forepaws behind his head, taking in the worried look on Martin's face. "Don't worry. I had a good night's sleep. How about you?"

"Oh." A smile appeared on Martin's muzzle. "Good. And yes, I slept well. Thank you for asking. Do you want to talk about it?"

"No?" Timballisto closed his eyes, letting out a deep breath.

"Are you sure? I mean, you'd be there for me if I were in the same situation."

"I know." Except they were in a situation where Timballisto couldn't listen to whatever was causing Martin's nightmares, for the simple fact Martin couldn't remember whatever was causing his nightmares. And the last thing he wanted, what Timballisto wanted, was for him to say something regarding matters that might cause him nightmares that might potentially trigger Martin somehow. "How about you go ahead and get ready for the day? And don't forget Abbess Germain still has you on restricted duties."

"Oh aye, matey," Martin said, mimicking the speech of the otters as he practically bounced out of bed.

"Oi! What I'd say about the Abbesses orders?" Timballisto sighed, opening one eye while watching Martin give him a rather cheeky grin. There was no denying Gonff, and the other creatures of Mossflower had a positive effect on Martin.

"I know, I know. I promise I'll be careful," Martin laughed before leaving the room.

Timballisto sighed, closing his eyes, muttering to himself. "I'd rather you not remember."

He could, after all, remember quite well the day Martin and Windred were taken away from their tribe.

That day was a nightmare, starting off with him and Martin arguing yet again about Timballisto telling Martin what to do, rather than asking Martin to do something, the younger mouse pointedly telling Timballisto he wasn't a dibbun anymore and not to treat him as such. At the same time, Timballisto had other concerns on his mind that day, ones he would later come to regret.

"How could he possibly have known I'd been approached by some of the older members of the tribes voicing their concerns that he—Martin out of all goodbeasts—would lead some kind of rebellion, what with how he kept challenging my authority. It didn't matter to them that it was never my authority over the tribe he challenged, but my authority as the one entrusted by Luke to protect his family, to protect Martin. And I failed that day."

There were nights even after being taken as a slave where he'd not listened to Windred when she asked that she went after Martin alone and nights when he thought he might not be able to do anything, might have been taken himself. He'd grown worried after a while and headed out, looking for the young mouse he'd considered family since the day Martin was born, that feeling of dread not going away.

And he, and the few he'd taken with him, found the spot they'd been taken from. Someone held the light as he examined the markings, markings which indicated the smaller of the two—Martin, had been dragged away, Windred with him. His family had been taken simply because he'd been overprotective of Martin, who'd always been on the smaller side of things. He'd lost what he'd not wanted to lose, but he didn't want to lose it again.

Letting out a deep breath, having gathered his thoughts, Timballisto sat up and did his own freshening up for the day before heading downstairs, taking the time to observe Martin, keeping an eye out to make sure the younger mouse didn't overexert himself, his gut lurching knowing full well he'd become overprotective again.

He wrung his paws, frowning, planning on letting his mouth twist into a smile lest Martin looked up, causing the younger mouse to worry needlessly about him. He also kept the frown hidden from the likes of Gonff, who might alert Martin to what he'd observed.

He'd made that mistake before, and a worried Martin was—

"Another rough night?"

Timballisto turned his head to look at Columbine, smiling despite knowing she wasn't one of the ones he needed to worry about. She did, after all, help Abbess Germaine heal Martin, yet he still said, "How'd you know?"

"When is it not a difficult night for Martin?" Columbine smiled. "Tis more often than not, isn't it?"

Timballisto let out a sigh, watching as Gonff led Martin in keeping the dibbun busy while breakfast was prepared, which kept Martin from overexerting himself. He smiled—couldn't help it as Martin was happy during the day, free from the nightmares which plagued him during the night.

"When are you going to tell Martin the truth?"

Timballisto startled, turning his head to stare at her. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean, T.B,. that it's him who's been having the nightmares and not you? That he's the one startling everybeast awake some nights, and not you?" Columbine placed her hands on her hips, and he looked away, sighing. "Surely you don't enjoy lying to him?"

"How is it a lie when his nightmares are my nightmare?" Timballisto said. Gonff looked up at that moment, and he smiled, waving as Martin continued playing with the young dibbun.

"I'll try to remember that if the need to explain ever comes up," Columbine said.

"Meaning?" He turned to look at her.

"In case you're not here," she smiled.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because you never know," the young mousemaid smiled. "How do you plan on handling his nightmares should he find out it's him?" The question made him stare at Columbine, but she caught on, her smile fading. "You've not?"

"I don't want him to remember."

Her eyes blinked. "You don't want him to remember? Remember what?"

Timballisto let out a deep sigh. "Oh, nothing."

He felt Columbine poke him in the ribs, but when he turned to look at her, he saw that Gonff's wife was puffing out her cheeks. "Nothing? Be honest with me."

"I can't. I..." Timballisto turned to look at Martin. "It involves things I think Martin's not said to you, but should he remember..."

"What will happen if he remembers or is told what he doesn't remember?"

"He'll blame himself. He's stubborn like that. Always stubborn like that. Drove our tribe's elders crazy, to be honest. Drove me crazy how stubborn he could be."

"Stubborn, like a young mouse deciding to go off on an adventure?"

Timballisto felt his blood run cold, knowing full well that wasn't the case— that Martin hadn't decided one day to go on an adventure, that Martin had lied to the goodbeasts of Mossflower regarding what actually led to him leaving. "He likely blames himself for Windred's death."

"T.B?."

He started, looking at Cornflower. He smiled before firmly saying, "It's nothing."

The look on her face—something told him she might have guessed he wasn't telling the truth. Thankfully, she shrugged it off, letting their conversation die off so she could help finish the breakfast preparations.

Chapter Text

Brome closed the front door of his parents' home behind Rose, her paws pushing at the wheels of her chair, carefully noting the wheels weren't turning as smoothly as when the chair was first made. "We should get Barkjon to check your chair out."

"Barkjon's already noticed," Rose turned her head to look at him, smiling. "He's actually building a second chair so that I can remain mobile if repairs are ever needed.

A mousemaiden and a female hedgehog walked past them towards the Council Lodge. Still, as the two passed them by, they waved, and Brome waved back, his mind noting how everyone now went about their business as if the tragedy of Marshanks had never touched them. "Which is true, as only a small handful of our goodbeasts went to Marshanks with Martin and Rose."

But then—

The mousemaiden turned to her friend and said as if Rose and he weren't listening, "And to think. Last autumn, we didn't know if our dear Laterose would wake when our Brome returned with her."

Brome's jaw dropped watching the hedgehog nod her head in agreement before heading on towards the Council Lodge, the mousemaiden's words making him feel ill. "The idea the tragedy has not touched them is a lie. Not when everyone can see the chieftain's daughter is unable to walk on her own."

It also felt like the mousemaid purposefully avoided bringing up Martin while emphasizing that he and Rose belonged.

"Autumn's around the corner, isn't it?" Rose said, her bell-like voice drawing him out of his thoughts. He turned his head, wondering how she could so quickly go about her own life as if she'd not lost the love of her life. "It was this time last summer I'd say that Martin helped us uproot the giant dead sycamore. That was a lot of fun."

"I missed out," Brome said, wiggling the digits of his paw, staring at them. "I missed out on seeing that. It must have been..." He couldn't finish.

Rose did instead. "Amazing."

Her paws reached down and turned the wheels, sending her off to the Council Lodge where various beasts were preparing breakfast for everyone in the community, young and old included.

"The summer flowers will soon fade and wilt, while the leaves will turn bright colors. I'm looking forward to seeing that, given the fact I completely missed out on an entire season of autumn activities." She paused turned her head to look at him. "Are you coming, Brome?"

you coming, Brome?"

"Coming!" He called out, hurrying after her, attempting to smile while also trying to keep his tail and whiskers from drooping. Today certainly wasn't his day, but Rose got ahead of him, having become quite skilled at moving her chair, even with the way they didn't turn as smoothly as they did when Barkjon presented her with the chair this Spring.

So, when he got into the Council Lodge, he heard a squirrelmaid—not Celandine as she hated the meal-making routine, call out to Rose. "Good morning Miss Rose!"

"Good morning Twistle," Rose laughed, smiling as she always did despite everything that happened to her, which in some ways Brome admired about his older sister and yet—

"Would you mind helping me today, Miss Rose?" the squirrelmaid asked, motioning with her paws over to the table where some of the other beasts were preparing that morning's meal. "I would greatly love to have your help."

This meant that Rose's help wasn't needed; the other beasts had everything handled, and yet they still enjoyed including her, letting her do what she was able to do still, and Rose went along with it.

"Master Brome? Old Thornspike could use one of your poultices for his aching knee."

"Ah. Yes." Brome turned, glad to be distracted from his worries regarding how the rest of Noonvale treated his sister, almost as if they were still dancing on eggshells around her even though they didn't try anymore. "Or are we walking on eggshells for another reason? Because we don't know who blames Martin for what happened?"

He watched a few dibbuns rush past, likely wanting to climb up into Rose's lap for a ride and a snuggle. He set about his task as a healer, tacking old Thornspike's knee problem before finding a spot where he could enjoy his breakfast while musing over how autumn was nearly upon them, with Martin nary ever mentioned on any of their lips. "It feels wrong?"

A sharp slap on his back made Brome nearly drop his mug of sweat pear cider, his eyes looking up at Ballaw de Quincewold, who grinned ear to ear. Which, one of the hare's ears twitched, as did his nose and whiskers. "So, wot is a bloomin' chap doing overhear looking so glum?"

"Thinking," Brome said. He still felt ill regarding how the one mousemaid brought up how last autumn they didn't know whether Rose would wake, which happened sometime during the winter, yet looking around the Council Lodge where everyone in Noonvale could meet up at the place used as the community gathering place. "Martin and Rose would have been married here. It would have been..."

"Banish such thoughts from that noggin laddie," Ballaw said, clapping him on the back, almost making Brome spill his drink again.

Brome let out a sigh and tried to brush it aside. "What thoughts?"

"You know to wot I mean."

"If I had never left Noonvale, then Rose would never have lost her ability to walk," Brome muttered, knowing full well Ballaw would follow up by telling him it was neither his nor Martin's fault. "I've never blamed Martin. Not like some others." He swallowed, looking at his father, still unsure what his father thought as they'd not really talked, and instead avoided the topic altogether.

"And your sister would never have met Martin." Barkjon hobbled over, the old squirrel reaching out to squeeze Brome's shoulder. "And Martin would be dead as well as your sister wouldn't have been there to save him. We, those of us who lived, wouldn't be free to live lives of peace."

Brome swallowed, looking down at his bowl of soup. Hearing the warrior's name made his chest ache, his throat tighten. "Why is it we talk more about the actual dead than we do about Martin?"

"You mean like my Felldoh?"

"Sorry. I didn't..."

"Grieving for someone who's already passed on is different than grieving for someone who's still alive because when someone dies, you know you're never going to see them again, but when someone's alive, there's always that thought you might."

Which was the logical train of thought for those who cared about Martin, yet he couldn't help and think that wasn't the case for everybody in Noonvale. He looked up at his sister, who was pushing some of the dibbun around, a smile on her face. "Nobody brings up his name lest someone say something about him that Rose won't like to hear."

Chapter Text

Laughter.

The sound of Dibbun’s laughing as they played outside wasn’t something Martin heard when he first arrived in Mossflower. Doing so during Tsarmina’s reign made the little ones easy targets to be taken away from their parents be used by the wildcat as an enslaved workforce.

And there was something about that—the newfound freedom the young Dibbun were experiencing, being able to play outside, free from the fear of being snatched away while enjoying the sun which pounded which delighted Martin; there was that voice in that back of the young mouse’s head which said he could relate to how they felt, that he wouldn’t wish that kind of life upon anyone.

Memories—

“Did we ever laugh like that?” Martin asked as Timballisto approached, likely to tell him, Gonff, and the young Dibbun that breakfast was ready. There was no reason for asking such a thing of his Dibbunhood friend, yet that question was there.

“I’m sure you were quite an adorable Dibbun.” Gonff laughed.

“He was. And quite cheeky as well,” Timballisto responded.

“Oh? Martin the Warrior was cheeky? Like Me?”

Martin looked towards his friend as the Dibbun suddenly followed Gonff’s example, asking Timballisto what Martin was like when he was little, and at that moment, Martin saw Timballisto flinch. The young mouse tensed, recognizing the look—a look which always appeared on Timballisto’s face when there was something Martin didn’t remember, something he didn’t want to discuss with Martin as if he didn’t want him to know.

“Well. No. Not cheeky like our resident mousethief.” Timballisto smiled, reaching out so he could pat the head of the closest Dibbun. “And it’s time for breakfast, so go wash your paws now.”

And with that, the Dibbun were off, ignoring his instructions to go and wash their paws before eating, something Martin was sure Bella their Badger Mother or Columbine would remind them of when they arrived at the outdoor tables. Gonff elbowed Martin in the ribs. “So you were a cheeky one, huh?”

“I don’t really remember,” Martin said while thinking, “There are a lot of things I don’t remember.”

“He was, and I rather missed it when he left,” Timballisto said.

“Was his leaving part of that cheek?” Gonff left.

“You could say that.”

And there Timballisto was, avoiding something. Martin sighed, following after his friends, wishing there wasn’t that buzzing sensation of forgetting something important—multiple essential things, really. “ In fact, I feel like I woke up this morning having forgotten something important. ” He quickened his step so he could keep up with the two. “Hey, Timballisto?”

“Yeah?”

“Have I forgotten something?”

And with that, Timballisto froze. Gonff stopped, glancing back. There was no mistaking the looks of worry on both of their furry faces.

“Have I?” Marin asked again.

“Yeah, matey,” Gonff said.

Martin watched Timballisto flinch, his head turning to look at Gonff as if—almost as if Gonff had figured out something, that something Timballisto was trying to keep from Martin. Martin crossed his forelegs across his chest, his mouth opening, wondering what he should do, what he should say in response, yet nothing came to mind.

“I mean, you just asked T.B. whether the two of you laughed like that as Dibbun,” Gonff said.

Timballisto swallowed, giving Gonff a half-hearted smile. “I think he meant something else.”

Gonff paused, then waved. “Well, I’m off to see my lovely wife! That way, the two of you can talk?”

“Wonderful,” Timballisto said, his words coming out all muttered.

“Because now you can’t avoid the subject?” Martin said. He tried smiling. “Am I wrong in thinking you have?”

Timballisto turned to look at him, eyes wide.

“You have then, haven’t you?”

“It’s not so much I’ve been avoiding the subject, so much as it’s difficult to talk about things you’ve forgotten. And…” Timballisto smiled. “The past is the past.”

The words were familiar as if Timballisto had said them to him before; the cogs in Martin’s mind turned as he attempted to figure out the riddle of his forgotten memories.

“Come on. Don’t overthink it. When I say that the past is the past, I mean there’s nothing I hold against you, so there is no use fretting over the matter.” Timballisto turned to look at where the other creatures were gathering. “We’d best hurry over; else Gonff won’t leave us anything to eat.”

“Of course,” Martin laughed, hurrying after his friend. The fare was hearty, good-tasting—the result of what goodbeasts could do if given the freedom. There was also talk of food to come, such as the cordial and ales made in the cellar planned for the abbey, along with what crops they might crow within the abbey grounds.

It was peaceful, nor did it feel as if anything could possibly go wrong, even though there was that inkling in the back of his mind of things forgotten that he needed to remember, that he wanted to remember. “ Even though Timballisto says the past is the past, I can ’t help but feel that past is important, that I’ve forgotten something quite important. ”

Timballisto nudged him in the side. “Come on, Martin. Eat. You’re still recovering, and it wouldn’t do the future Redwall any good for its resident warrior to look so sickly.”

“I do not,” Martin shook his head. “You over exaggerate, but I’m sure Abbess Germaine would tell you that I’m quite fine and healthy.”

“Restricted from heavy labor.”

“True, but otherwise quite healthy. It’s not as if we have to worry about any hoardbeast any time soon.”

“You can’t say that,” Timballisto sighed.

Martin looked into his beaker; his furry face reflected back at him. At that moment, the face in front of him felt like a stranger, someone he didn’t quite know, as his voice lowered to a mutter. “I think I can.”

Timballisto stiffened, the look on his face reminding him of how some reacted to the fact a mouse like him was susceptible to the Bloodwrath. Yet,—there was no getting around the fact Martin wasn’t sure who’d been taken aback, his mind attempting to wrap around that thought.

“It’s not what we have to worry about.”

“Martin?”

“Huh?” Martin’s head bolted up, his eyes on Timballisto.

“What did you mean by that?”

“About what?” Martin stared. “Actually, what were we talking about?”

“You’ve already forgotten?”

“I was lost in thought.”

“About what?”

“About…” Martin frowned. “It was a haze.”

“You said something about how you knew that an attack by vermin anytime soon wasn’t what we have to worry about.”

“Oh.”

Timballisto sighed. “You honestly have no idea why you said that, did you?”

“Why did I say that?” Martin frowned. “Well, Tsarmina forces were sent away with the threat of death if they ever came back, though I guess there are other directions vermin might come from. I think there would be signs, though.”

“Signs?” Timballisto asked.

“Yes. Signs.” Martin continued staring at his drink, not paying any attention to the mousemaid who approached Timballisto or the conversation that ensued. He instead went back into that haze, nobody paying attention to him. “Beware the breaking of laughter and a blight called forth. The flower you need go after, henceforth journey to the North.”

“Martin!”

Again, Martin found himself drawn out of the haze, his head turning to look at Timballisto, who yet again was giving him that particular look that indicated he’d done something to disturb him. The young mousemaid standing nearby did as well, his head tilting slightly as his ear twitched while trying to remember when she’d arrived.

“Seriously. And right in front of a mousemaid trying to get your attention.”

“Why?”

“Why—good grief. Can you be so oblivious?”

“If you’re talking about me being lost in thought again while the two of you were talking…” Martin tilted his head. “Was I supposed to be paying attention for some reason?”

“Apologizes, Madeline. Martin can be quite…”

It was then that the sound of coughing breaking through the sound of laughter made Martin turn his head, his gray eyes settling on an older mouse who’d arrived recently as that feeling of dread set in. A tug at his tunic from Timballisto made him realize he’d stood up, his gray eyes watching as Abbess Germain and Columbine hurried over, the good creatures nearby attempting to support the old mouse.

Something wasn’t right.

Chapter Text

Laughter was replaced by silence, a silence that weighed heavily on Martin’s mind.

Every so often, there was a tiny squeak of a Dibbun followed by one of the adults hushing them, telling them to be patient as they waited to see what was going on, yet seeing the elderly mouse bend over must have been frightening for the young ones, mainly when even Martin felt so unsure of the situation.

Abbess Germaine and Columbine quickly hurried to the elderly mouse ’s side and escorted him to the second set of dorms near the kitchen they were currently constructing. Something in the back of his mind told him it would serve as a temporary infirmary, which they’d planned on building over one of the first set of dorms. Martin lifted a paw this his furry brow, his mind wondering if they’d decided on the order of building things correctly, what with so much to do.

“Drawing came first, then measuring and marking out where each building would go. And…” Martin ground his teeth together in frustration, feeling the infirmary was needed sooner than he planned, that he should have somehow known. However, the order of when things needed to be built wasn’t his decision, despite having helped the Abbess draw up the plans.

Breakfast was undoubtedly forgotten, as were any of those days ’ plans for constructing Redwall. He sat there, looking out over what was left to be built, thinking.

“What is wrong with him?” Martin discerned the voice as that of the young mousemaid Timbalisto, identified as Madeline. She had been trying to get his attention moments before the elderly mouse showed signs of being unwell.

“I’m not a healer,” Timballisto said. “That’s Abbess Germain and…”

“I’m talking about him,” she said. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her pointing a paw right at him. “He was just a moment ago talking about laughter being broken as if he knew that would happen.”

Which in itself was an interesting concept, although Martin had seen the carvings at Salamandastron predicting the arrival of him and his friends. And in his mind, that didn ’t seem to be the first time he’d heard someone expect things. “ But for me. ” Martin turned his head; gray eyes focused on Timballisto. “I don’t remember saying anything.”

Which, of course, left Timballisto looking at him, obviously bothered by one more thing Martin wasn ’t remembering. “You don ’t remember saying something about laughter breaking and some other stuff. ”

“No,” Martin said truthfully. “I’m not gifted like that.”

“Not…” Timballisto’s eyes widened. “You…”

“I’m saying if I said something, it was just coincidence.”

“That didn’t seem like a coincidence,” Madeline said firmly. “But never mind. I’d best go and see what’s going on with my father.”

“And that would be precisely why the young mousemaid interested in you is suddenly creeped out, but the last thing we need getting out…” Suddenly, Timballisto stood, tugging on Martin’s sleeve, indicating he should follow. Martin followed after, willingly, so they could speak privately, away from the eyes that were suddenly staring.

“Something the matter T.B.?” Martin asked, attempting to smile at his friend. “Something definitely is, given that look on that ugly furry mug of yours.”

“Please be serious about this, Martin. This is a serious issue,” Timballisto said, while in the back of his head Martin heard, perhaps remembered Timballisto saying something like, “Why can’t you take things more seriously?”

Martin felt his ears tilt back, his eyes darkening. “I am taking this seriously. ”

“You’re really taking it seriously that to anyone close enough to hear you; it sounds like you predicted that elderly mouse becoming ill like that?”

Martin frowned, leaning up against the wall of the building, the first dorm area they had built. “I told you, I’m not gifted like that.”

And Timballisto looked at him, obviously baffled by what he said. “What?”

“It’s not a gift I would want.”

“Hold on…” Timballisto wasn’t smiling. His paws were on Martin’s shoulders, tight. “You’ve encountered individuals with such a gift?”

“Boar. And…” Martin frowned. “And someone else. I can’t remember who, but it’s not a pleasant gift.”

“I doubt it was pleasant for that mousemaid that was interested in you either,” Timballisto muttered. “And it wasn’t just what…”

“Interested?” Martin frowned, realizing precisely what his friend meant.

“Yes.”

“I’m not.” The statement was blunt, yet it was the truth.

“Can I ask why?”

“Because there’s someone else.” As Martin said that, he started fidgetting, not looking Timballisto in the eye because there was a definite problem with what he said.

“Can I ask who?”

Martin looked at him, his entire head filled with panic. “I can’t remember. I know there ’s someone, but I can ’t remember. That ’s just the feeling I have.”

“Feeling?” Timballisto folded his arms across his chest. “Or is that mind of yours worried there might be someone else?”

“I…” Martin looked at the ground, at his paws. “Was there anybody…” He shook his head, looking up at Timballisto. “Sorry. So sorry. I shouldn’t…”

“I guess. She died when your mum did, so I wasn’t very old and didn’t have a chance to see if I felt that way about her. Still…”

“Martin?”

Martin looked up at the badger looming over them. “Bella?”

“Do you two mind coming to my place to talk for a bit?”

“If this is about what Martin said…” Timballisto said, stepping between her and Martin.

“It is. But it’s not about how the other critters feel, particularly after another from that party—one of the other elderly creatures has also fallen ill. And from the look on your furry face Martin, it’s bothering you, but I’m probably the best person to talk this over with you.”

“I—sure.” Martin tried smiling, yet he didn’t want to talk about it, the gift. He followed after, Timballisto following close behind. He nearly jumped out of his fur when a foreleg wrapped around his back, his head jolting up. “Gonff?”

“Oi be a yurr ars well, zurr Marthen, so no need to wurry them head of you’s.”

The thank-you became lodged in Martin ’s throat as Dinny hurried over to walk beside Timballisto while Gonff continued hanging off Martin’s shoulders. “So?”

“I said something weird.”

“And?”

“I don’t remember saying it, kind of like…” Martin worried his bottom lip with his teeth, thinking about what he’d said to Timballisto as a somewhat hazy memory from a dream attempted to resurface.

“Hey, matey. You know that you and I can talk, right?”

“Is T.B. the one having the nightmares?” Martin asked before thinking to himself. “Or is it me?”

“He says it is.” Gonff continued to hang on. “Why would he lie?”

“To protect me. From not remembering things, I should.”

“He’s preventing you from remembering? That doesn’t make sense.”

“I mean, he’s protecting me from the fact I can’t remember certain things.”

“Ah. That makes more sense and does sound like something T.B. would do. Having watched the two of you, he definitely thinks of you as a brother.”

“Younger brother.”

“What?”

“T.B. is actually older than me.”

“Ah. Come. Let’s not make Bella wait. Right?”

“Yeah.”

Chapter Text

He’d not thought much about what Martin said, beyond Martin’s words coinciding with Martin’s loss of memories from his battle with Tsarmina. Martin, after all, couldn’t possibly have that gift he’d only ever heard about.

Only, Martin said something else a moment later that his friend also didn ’t remember saying, while openly declaring to the poor mousemaid who’d definitely taken a shine to his friend was somewhat taken aback by his declaration that he didn’t have such a gift.

And, Timballisto found it odd that someone would be so quick to declare something, particularly when nobody around him had yet brought up the gift beyond the fact that what he said was almost as if he knew it would happen. “ He could, after all, have just said it was a mere coincidence. He didn ’t have to get every beast thinking there’s more to it than that. ”

What worried him even more was how candidly Martin talked about such a gift as if predicting the future wasn ’t some foreign concept only heard about in folktales passed down through generations. To Martin, being able to predict the future was an actual reality—a reality Martin didn’t want for himself, yet the way Bella approached them—

Martin can predict the future was actual reality, which left an unsettling feeling in Timballisto ’s gut. He followed the Badger Mother to her dorm room, thankful that Dinny and Gonff had made their way over, meaning they weren’t alone in her room.

Stepping into her room, the first thing any good creature would notice was the scale of her furniture. As a badger, Bella needed larger furniture than the furniture other creatures would need, yet somehow they ’d managed to squeeze not only a bed the size she needed into the room but an overstuffed chair.

“We should have finished this dorm wing first,” Martin had said the other day. “It’s where the infirmary will be located, but also Bella’s room near the Dibbun dorm. That’s on the top floor, as Dibbun have a lot of energy.”

Yet building the lower level of the second dorm took precedence as they ’d not yet made the equipment that would allow them to start in on the upper levels despite Martin having drawn clear-cut plans for such instruments, almost as if he’d seen them before. Which, Timballisto suspected that was a part of his past that Martin didn’t want to talk about—couldn’t talk about.

“It’s as if he said what he did, knowing even then….” Timballisto shook his head, catching sight of Bella lifting Martin into a vast stuffed chair that engulfed the young mouse, albeit he didn’t care that it did. Bella sat on the edge of the bed while Gonff climbed up next to Martin and pretended to nap.

“So, I suspect you don’t remember what you said?”

“No. Sorry.” Martin was worrying his bottom lip, almost waiting for Bella to drop the bombshell.

“T.B.? You were next to Martin.” And yet, he found himself standing there, unable to open his mouth, his mind still struggling with the idea of Martin being able to predict things. Martin, after all, insisted he didn’t have the gift.

“Martin said he doesn’t have the gift.”

“Well, that’s doubtful,” Bella said.

“Because of what I said?” Martin said, fidgetting while Gonff continued taking a nap, although Dinny was now squeezing in between them so he could pat Martin on the back. “I don’t want that gift.”

“Martin, from what you’ve told me, you’re the only creature who isn’t a badger to be listed upon Salamandastron’s walls. Do you understand the significance of that?”

Timballisto watched Martin glance away as if he knew the significance. Bella shifted on her bed. “I thought so.”

And he let out a sigh. “Okay. So, I’m a bit lost here.”

“So am I, to be honest,” Gonff said in response.”

“Burr aye,” Dinny said.

“Are you aware that Martin is afflicted with the Bloodwrath?”

“Aye. Like Luke before him. What of it?”

“That would be one of the traits Martin shares with the Badger Lords of Salamandastron, but that’s not the only thing.”

“Yeah. Martin fights like a Badger as well,” Gonff laughed. “Only mouse to…”

Dinny elbowed Gonff, shaking his head. Martin glanced away. Bella let out a rumbling laugh. “I was referring to the fact Badger Lords are also seers. That’s how a previous Badger Lord predicted Martin would come to Salamandastron.”

“And how Boar predicted his death,” Martin muttered.

“Which would explain why he said the gift was one he didn’t want.” Timballisto took a deep breath. “And so you want to know what he said because he didn’t remember?”

A knock came at the door. Gonff slid from the overstuffed chair and hurried over to the door, allowing Abbess Germaine to step in. “I hope I’m not too late for this conversation, Bella.”

“Oh no. You’re not.”

“I’m so sorry,” Martin said, looking at her. “I didn’t want this.”

“I know. But that’s why remembering what you said is important.”

Timballisto stiffened. “You know as well? About this Badger Lord stuff?”

“Yes. It is something Bella and I have discussed. In particular, she’d always been interested in what Martin said about Boar, knowing he would be arriving. But right now…” The abbess headed over to a footstool and sat down, smiling.

“So, T.B., do you remember exactly what he said. It is important.”

“What he said—he said something like bewaring the breaking of laughter, blight being called forth. And then a flower that we need, but we need to travel North to get it. But…”

“Then let’s go,” Martin said. “If they need…”

“Stop.” Abbess Germaine held up her hand. “You are going nowhere, as you’ve still not fully recovered. Plus, those instructions are quite vague, young mouse. I’ll look in my notes to see what I can find, but there are others capable of making the journey, though I know where your heart lies.”

“Why don’t you stay the night here, in my chair Martin?” Bella asked, making Timballisto flinch as he thought of Martin’s reoccurring nightmare that he couldn’t remember.

“So that I not go off and do something on my own?”

“Well, since you put in that way, I think it’s a brilliant idea,” Abbess Germaine glanced at Timballisto. “And he’ll be fine.” She then looked at him, as if thinking, before saying, “Why don’t you come and help me look through my books to see if you can’t help me? Columbine is taking in symptoms, but it might take a bit of time to figure out exactly what plant we need to cure this.”

Timballisto followed after, sighing. “My attention span isn’t much better than Martin’s is when it comes to books.”

“But you can read?”

“Aye. I’d say I like it even less than he.”

“But you’re not as restless as he is, which I guess comes with age,” the abbess said. “And, it’s obvious you’re worried about him. The nightmares?”

“Columbine said something similar. And yes. I am worried about them.”

“Bella is also aware, but eventually…”

“I know. I know. He’s going to find out soon.”

“The real reason I asked you to come was to distract you from worrying about Martin and keep a mischievous mousethief who would prove quite distracting.”

“Ah. Yes. Gonff would follow Martin, wouldn’t he?”

“Most definitely.” The abbess smiled, though there was a definite sadness in her eyes. “And he knows better than to bother Columbine when she’s with patients.”

Chapter Text

Martin found himself surrounded by a gray haze again.

“Again.”

To say he was bothered by the fact there was that peculiar feeling he’d been there, in that place, in his dreams before was possibly an understatement. Yet, his mind couldn’t wrap around the significance of that particular feeling or the importance of the feeling he was there looking for something—something that was important.

His ears twitched, attempting to pick up any sound as he stood there, not moving. There was, of course, the sound of water, ever faint, from the water which, for some strange reason, pooled around his paws. He could also feel leaves floating there, his confusion growing.

He could also hear—

“Wind?”

Martin continued listening.

“No, someone is calling my name. They’re…” He turned, hearing the leaves crunch under his paw as he did, along with the sound of water shifting around his paws. And he turned and turned and—

He stared.

He woke with a start, yet again not remembering he’d seen a mousemaiden looking at him with cold dead eyes, pointing at him and accusing him of something. However, Martin did find himself thinking like many times before that whatever he forgot of the nightmare that woke him up was, in fact, essential.

Martin looked around, his eyes taking in how he wasn’t in the dorm he usually slept in but in Bella’s room. She was sitting there on her bed, watching, looking like she’d been writing something by the candlelight. His head tilted, and his whiskers twitched. “Apologizes for disturbing you.”

“What do you mean?” The badger looked at him, not at all phased by the situation. “You didn’t disturb me at all.”

His eyes shifted from her black and white muzzle to the paper. “Can I ask what you’re writing?”

“I was writing what you said in your sleep.”

This was an unsettling thought, as he’d said that morning he didn’t want that particular gift, yet hearing what Bella said—Martin knew there was the only reason for her recording what he said while he was sleeping. He glanced away. “I see. Did you learn anything new? Other than going north searching for the flower the abbess will need?”

“Yes, but you need not worry about that,” Bella said, holding the paper.

Martin’s ears twitched, thinking what she said over, for there was plenty of reason for him to worry about whether the abbesses worries because of words that came out of his mouth were of any consequence. He wasn’t one—something in the back of his mind, something he’d forgotten and couldn’t place one of his digits on—bothered him.

“Get some sleep,” Bella said, rolling up the paper, indicating the ink on the paper had dried as she wanted. She didn’t say anything about talking about it in the morning. Instead, she said, “It’s a bit chilly, so be sure to stay wrapped up in the blanket.”

“You as well,” Martin said, sinking down into the oversized chair which, while it drawfed him, was, in fact, perfect for her. His whiskers twitched, that nagging feeling in his head that despite knowing they would need to go North, and him providing whatever words they would need, he was likely to be left out of the conversation.

Still—

“Bella told me to sleep, and I shouldn’t disobey her or the abbess.” Soon, he drifted off, unsure of what dreams awaited him, but eventually, he awoke and found Bella gone from her room, having left him there. At the same time, his mind worked its way around what happened the night before—remembering that Bella had written something.

Letting out a sigh, Martin slipped from the chair, deciding he would go and find any beast on his own, to try and piece together what was going on. Yet, stepping out of the dorm room, his blood went cold, and his eyes widened as his ears discerned a silence that felt eerily like a nightmare.

“Hey,” Martin called out to a hedgehog walking past. “It’s awful quiet.”

“Oh. Martin,” the hedgehog said, knowing his name despite Martin not knowing the other beast’s name. “A few more beasts have become ill.”

“Do you know where Bella is?”

“Talking with the abbess and another mouse. By the tables used for eating.”

“Another mouse?”

“Not that one that calls himself a mousethief. The other one.”

“T.B., I guess,” Martin said, watching the other creature shift from one paw to another.

“Well, bye,” the hedgehog took off, brushing back his head spikes as he did so.

Martin frowned, watching, before heading over to where the hedgehog said the three were talking when another beast tackled him from behind, but he recognized that cheeky voice in his ear. “So. Did you sleep well in Bella’s room?”

He continued walking forward. “Good morning Gonff.”

However, it didn’t feel like a good morning with the nagging worries. He turned his head, worrying his teeth as he looked over in the direction of the tables generally used for eating, not liking how he didn’t see much of anybody.

“Everyone is holing up right now,” Gonff said. “Making their own meals to try and prevent the spread of illness. Particularly since we don’t yet have a working kitchen.”

“It makes sense,” Martin said, though there was still a nagging feeling in the back of his head. There was no sound of Dibbun as he approached the three, watching as Timballisto tucked away a piece of paper, the one Bella likely wrote on from the night before, almost as if confirming the idea in his head that she didn’t want him to know whatever it was that he said the night before.

“Did you sleep well?” Timballisto asked.

“Better than some others,” Gonff said in his usual cheeky manner, although it didn’t feel like the moment to be cheeky.

“Well enough, I guess,” Martin said. “What’s going on?”

There came a pause, almost as if they didn’t want to tell them, so—

“You’re going North, T.B.?” Martin asked.

“Yes,” Timballisto said. “That’s what we were discussing.”

“So, we are going North?” Gonff asked, still hanging off Martin. “Wait until…”

“I’m not, though, am I?”

Gonff stopped. “Wait. Why not?”

Abbess Germaine looked at Martin; a frown was evident. “While it is true that Martin’s injuries have healed, he’s not yet physically recovered to make such a journey.”

“It’s important, though,” Martin said, letting out a sigh while feeling dejected that he, himself, couldn’t go with Timballisto. “…that you and Dinny go with T.B., and help him out. Please. Like you did with me before.”

“It’s not the same,” Timballisto said. “And you need to promise me that you’ll take care of yourself, Martin. While I’m gone.”

“As I said, Columbine and I will see to it that he stays well or can be given the circumstances.”

“You worry about getting the cure. Do you know what you’re looking for?”

“While Bella was doing her part, I was doing her mine, and…” Germaine frowned. “More patients meant more symptoms appeared, so Columbine and I were able to figure it out.”

“It’s quite far North we have to go, but we’ll make haste Martin. I promise I’ll be back.”

“Yeah.” Martin—he felt left out.

Chapter Text

And yet another uneventful day in Noonvale passed by, with nothing changing. It left Brome feeling restless, frustrated as his thoughts mulled over the young warrior mouse whose ghost of a presence lingered around the place despite nobody ever saying anything, whether they believed he should be there with them or good riddance that they never came back.

Not knowing how everyone felt, or practically everyone, left Brome feeling even more frustrated that particular day.

Rose, of course, was one of the ones for whom the young mouse knew how she felt. “ I can ’t blame her for wanting the best for him rather than dreaming about the worst, yet I’d have thought she would at least be a little bitter over him meeting another mousemaid who he falls head over paw for, particularly so soon after Marshank. I mean, I know only four seasons have passed… ”

“Lost in thought, Brome?”

His eyes blinked, looking up from shuffling through the medicinal plants he’d gone out and gathered, which these days settled that urge that sprung up to wander quite well, mainly when his mind often wandered to the death that had followed in the wake of his taking off. “ Don ’t blame yourself, though. You should be able to remind yourself that there would have been dead either way. As Rose said yesterday, Martin would be dead had I not gone wandering. ”

“I miss him.”

“I do, too,” Rose said, her paws on the wheels of her chair. “Heading to the gardens to gather more?”

“The stuff I don’t need to go into the wild to gather,” Brome said, frowning as he continued along the path, Rose rolling alongside him as if that were normal—it had become customary for them as the seasons changed, just as it had become customary for Martin not to be there. “So, no need to worry about me wandering off somewhere.”

And at that moment, Brome thought he sounded bitter. He stopped walking, one paw tightening around the strap of the pouch he used to gather the medicinal plants he prepared for the medicines he made. His ear twitched, and he turned to look at Rose, who—she smiled at him as if there hadn’t been a bitter tone to his voice.

He let the corner of his muzzle twist up while one paw ran through his whiskers sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“What for?”

“I sounded nasty just then. I really won’t be wandering off anywhere.”

“Father, I think, is more worried about that than I am, but I think that if you did ever go anywhere, you would be inclined to be more cautious than before, and you’d do it for the right reasons.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I mean, you and I both know that if our future chieftain were to hear about goodbeasts outside of Noonvale in need of healters, he would go, and I for certain wouldn’t hold it against him. Nor would father, to be honest. This you becoming a healer wasn’t something he’d expected.”

“Where did this come from all of a sudden?” Brome asked what Rose said, suddenly amusing him.

A frown appeared, and she said, “I don’t know, really. Maybe it’s because I talked to Martin last night.”

Brome stiffened, staring at her wide-eyed, gaping at her. “You…”

“I didn’t mean for real. And I don’t remember what he said,” Rose titled her head. “Though something about the conversation did bother me.”

“Rose!”

“Didn’t I tell you it was a dream?” Rose laughed, which made him gape at her. “And it makes me believe even more that he is doing alright for himself. Something about…” She tilted her head, placing a paw on her muzzle. “Weird.”

“What’s weird.”

“The one thing I remember him talking about was something to do with red walls. And he was excited to tell me about these red walls, but…” There was sadness in her eyes.

“Rose, what’s the matter.”

“Seeing me. I think it was hard for him,” Rose said, suddenly pushing her chair down the path.

Brome’s paw tightened around the strap, his teeth gritting, before running after her—she was quick in that chair when she was on the paths that allowed it to be used. “Hey. Don’t say that. He’d be happy to see you, glad to see you’re alive.”

Rose turned, smiling at him, yet there was a hint of sadness in her eyes. “I think he blames himself.”

“You mean you think he would blame himself,” Brome sighed. “And he’d still be…”

“No. I think—I think he does blame himself, Brome.”

“Well, that would be because he doesn’t know,” Brome said. “He doesn’t know you’re alive, so of course he’d…” Brome frowned. He swallowed, looking at his paws as they continued to the gardens where he would gather the medicinal herbs. His tone of voice became less optimistic, though Brome felt he might have already been there before. “Of course, he’d blame himself. This is Martin we’re talking about.”

“And even if he were alive, he’d blame himself. I don’t want that for him. He—life for him was hard enough as it was.”

“Did the two of you ever talk about it?” Brome tilted his head. “I mean, if the other slaves from Marshank are anything to go on, I guess it wouldn’t have been something he’d want to talk about, right?”

“I think he wanted to tell me. When everything was done, and we didn’t have Marshank hanging over our heads,” Rose said. “Yet, I also don’t think he focused on the past much. Instead, he was the type to keep moving forward, to keep fighting.”

“You might not want to tell father about your dream, Rose,” Brome said.

“Why not?”

“Because…” Brome didn’t know how to finish voicing his worry that Uranvoh wouldn’t have liked to hear his daughter talking of Martin.

“He was amused. I mean, father, when I told him I dreamed of Martin. Kind of happy and sad at the same time. He was—I admit he wasn’t fond of Martin when he first got here, being that Martin was a warrior and Noonvale is about peace, but—I don’t know how to put it.”

“I wish I could see that. I mean, father being that way about Martin. He doesn’t like talking about him, and it makes me angry. So angry that he doesn’t.”

“I think he does so because of me and not because he blames Martin. He just doesn’t want to make me sad, thinking of the future for me and Martin that ended up not being. Do you understand that, Brome?”

“Not really. I wish he’d say it to my face, how he feels about Martin.” Brome stiffened, then turned. “Though, how do you feel about talking about Martin? I didn’t…”

“I believe I’m the one who brought him up, but I wouldn’t have mentioned that I dreamed about him last night if I wasn’t okay with talking about him.”

“Okay then.” Brome sighed, watching butterflies flit across the path, the sun shining down, as Noonvale clamored forth.

Chapter Text

“From what I’ve deduced from the riddle, you need to head North,” Abbess said. “Following the path for as long as you can heading North.” She rolled up the paper. “You’ll need to figure out the rest of the riddle.”

“Well, from the sounds of things, there’s a part of it involving crossing the land that’s to the East of the caves we grew up in, though there are some parts between I’m not so sure of, other than needing to continue heading north,” Timballistto said.

“The other thing is, Martin can’t come with you. I fear what might happen to him if he were to attempt such a journey so soon as much as I fear what might happen to him staying, particularly since these aren’t the first series injuries he’s sufferred. And, to be honest, it was from the North he came, or so I’ve heard from the recollection of the Stickles.”

“That…” Timballistto paused. “You think…”

“I don’t know. You may not have to travel that far North,” Abbess Germaine said. “Just continue heading North as you said, and hopefully you’ll find the flowers we need. That too is indicated in the books I’ve looked into, and I’ve written the name and drawn the flower, so you should be able to find them.”

“I’ll prepare to be off,” Timballistto said, before following up. “I’ll go alone if I need to.”

“You think that will be the case?”

“Gonff is loyal to Martin, and I appreciate that. And Dinny is friends with Gonff, so it would make sense. Nor do I want to argue about it, as this is urgent.”

“I don’t like it, so I’ll talk to them if need be.”

“In the mean time, I’ll see Columbine for supplies,” Timballistto said, grinning despite feeling the anxiousness which hung in the air around the building site for the abbey they were building. The illness—he didn’t know what to think of it, given among Luke’s tribe they’d never faced anything worse than the seasonal sniffles. “Martin will be okay?”

“I’ll see to it,” Abbess Germaine smiled, having caught the twitch of his whiskers.

“Good. Because he’s all the family I have left,” Timballistto said, heading off to see Columbine, but not before Martin showing and Germaine telling him he couldn’t go North. And he knew that Martin had asked Gonff to go with him, but still, when he saw Columbine—

She grinned, albeit looking slightly tired. “Hello warrior. Goody and I have already started packing supplies for you, Gonff and Dinny. And Gonff will go, even if Martin isn’t. Martin is sure to ask, I’m sure to ask, but he’s just as invested in making sure Martin is well as you are, and this could touch any of us here.”

Columbine reached out, hugging him. “And you don’t have to ask. I’ll take care of Martin for you. You’re both the brothers I never had. For Gonff as well.”

“Do you remember telling me you’d how you’d remember I said that his nightmares are my nightmare?” Timballisto said. “There’s something I need to tell you, while Gonff’s not here. In case it comes up while I’m gone. It’s likely to.”

Columbine pulled away, her whiskers twitching as she looked at him. “What is it?”

“Do you remember how Martin told you one day he grew bored and he left the caves to adventure out on his own?” Timballisto said.

“Yes. He told Gonff the day he met.”

“That was a lie. Martin didn’t leave of his free will.”

Columbine frowned. “Do you mean he was asked to leave? He’s not the type to cause trouble.”

“Oh, there was a bit of trouble between him and the elders as I’d been the one places in charge of the tribe until he became old enough, but no. Well, we did have an arguement that day, one I’m glad he doesn’t remember. That he doesn’t remember any of what happened, but he might. It was about how stubborn he could be going off and doing his own thing, which you should be aware of that he might try to do something on his own.”

“Oh, I’m already aware of that, warrior. About our champion.”

“Well, as I said, Martin didn’t leave of his own. He was too small. Too young to have gotten far back then, particularly hauling around a sword he still couldn’t lift.”

“Wait. How old was Martin?”

“Right at the cusp of shifting from being a Dibbun to being a young adult creature,” Timballisto said. “And it was slavers who took him away from us.”

“But that’s nothing to be ashamed of. He was a little one.”

“That’s not what I think he’s ashamed of, if he is ashamed. They also took his grandmother who’d gone out looking for him before we did. Before I did, because there was a risk of us having another one of our stupid arguments. But it wasn’t his fault. None of it was. And even if he’s not ashamed. I don’t think he wants to talk about her death. Windred, she was the only mother he ever knew.”

“He had it hard, didn’t he.”

“And I don’t even know all of it,” Timballisto said. “Actually. Something he said to me worries me.”

“What would that be?”

“I was talking to Martin about how that mousemaid was interested in him, right?”

“Yes.”

“And he said he wasn’t.”

“Did he give an answer why?”

“He did. He said that there was someone else, but the scary part Columbine is he couldn’t tell me who. Which makes me think it’s not the way that he left our tribe, or Windred’s death that’s causing his memory loss. And it’s been haunting him, in those nightmares, and I can’t do anything about them. About any of what happened, but I want to protect him.”

“From remembering.”

“From what happens when he remembers. I don’t want to lose him.”

“Yes. Because you did lose him before.” Columbine looked at the ground. “You really did think, back then that you’d never see him again, didn’t you?”

“I mean, Martin’s strong, but he was quite young. And you saw how cruel Greeneyes was. Which…” Timballisto took a deep breath. “Luke’s tribe. We’re not from the North, Columbine. We’re from here, here in Mossflower. But there has to be something for the grandson of the previous Martin to have come back home, so I don’t think he’s meant to die. So please, take care of my brother, albeit he is from another mother and another father.”

“I will. I’ll take care of our brother from different siring,” Columbine smiled, before hugging him again.

“Wait. Where’s my hug,” came the sound of the cheeky mousethief.”

Timballisto turned his head. “Oh. Gonff. You’re coming.”

“Even if Martin hadn’t asked, I would go. Actually, you heard him ask, but don’t look worried. Columbine will take care of him, but hopefully the two of you had a good chat?”

“Yes. Columbine said she’ll take care of him, and I gave her some information that will help?”

“Care share?”

“Sorry, but if Martin remembers he’ll tell you. I was told because I’m to be caring for him, and the knowledge will come in handy. But, it’s nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing.”

Timballisto let out a sigh, before helping Columbine and Goody finish packing. The sooner they found the plants they needed, the better.

Chapter Text

The passage of time for good creatures seemed to move too fast.

More importantly, Martin wished he’d gone with him, his body becoming more and more fidgety. The Dibbun he’d played with kept occupied. At the same time, while their parents' work was now being kept inside, away from the illness in hopes of them not catching it, something he understood pretty well while he struggled with the overall arching dilemma in his head of not knowing what was going on his friends.

And it made for some very sleepless nights.

“You really need to get some sleep,” Columbine said a few days after they’d left, leaving what she outright said was a very bored warrior, to which she prompted him to practice some of the sword dancing he’d decided to take on—a way to make his use of the sword peaceful while retaining the muscle movement, or more of building it back up as he moved.

She said it was beautiful, so there must be something to what he was doing, even though she and Germaine were the only ones to see. Yet, isolation didn’t prevent more in Mossflower from coming down with it, nor was he allowed to help care for the ill. In the back of his mind, he knew, “ They are afraid of me coming down with it, what with how close to the Dark Forest I ’d been only at the beginning of this season. ”

“They’re going North,” Martin said. “Past the lake. To the left of the mountains.”

“Oh? You remember your journey South?”

“My journey South?” Martin thought to himself. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do for you and the Abbess?”

“Well, you’re helping to gather wood along with the Skipper and his crew.”

“Except the Skipper can handle that. He’s lucky this hasn’t touched his crew, but then they weren’t there when it first started appearing and have kept their distance, though I’m not sure if that is the reason for it spreading as it does. It might also have to do them not coming down with it, at least not yet, with the way they live in and around the water.”

“Possibly. What about your journey South do you remember?”

“Outside of coming out of a vast stretching land heading to the west of some mountains and that lake. Nothing. My mind draws a blank as if the further back I go, the closer I get to something I don’t want to remember, but…”

“But what?”

“I need to remember,” Martin said. “I need to remember…”

“Remember what?”

“Her?” It was a question more to himself than it was to Columbine.

“Have you slept at all, Martin?”

“No. I’ve not been able to sleep except for a few winks since they left.”

“Are you avoiding the dreams, or are you avoiding making more prophetic riddles for us to solve while they are gone?” Columbine asked.

“I never asked for that ability. Are those who have it cursed? Boar died. And Polleekin. None of her family were left, were they?”

“Who’s Polleekin.”

“A molemum. Very kindly. I wonder what has happened to her. Should I have left her alone?” Martin shook his head, laughing suddenly. “No. I think we both knew when I left, for whatever reason I did, for whatever reason I couldn’t stay, that I was supposed to go South. That it was meant to be, for me to come here.”

“Funny. Timballisto said something similar to me before he left,” Columbine said. “And, while I’d love to give you herbs to grind and other tasks, I first want you to get some sleep. Goodness knows the Abbess has already ordered it to be so.”

“Sleep,” Martin muttered, frustrated, wishing he could know more regarding what was going on. He hated being still, remembering wandering—through his mind kept going back to traveling down the path and the face of a molemum which was kind to him, a thought crossing his mind. “You know. I think she knew?”

“Knew what?”

“Well, about what I was supposed to do here, but I also had the gift. Yet she couldn’t tell me because I had to find my gifts on my own.”

“Gifts?”

“I wasn’t exactly…” Martin pondered for a bit. “Boar taught me how to fight better. Better than I had. I’d had nobody to teach me. I don’t know why I say that. I mean, I had Timballisto to teach me, right?”

Columbine startled, her ears twitching before she ran a paw through her whiskers. “You really need to sleep, Martin, but it sounds like you’re starting to remember things.”

“Is that a good thing,” Martin said. “And what did Timballisto mean when he said he felt it was meant to be? Me coming here? He’s not got the ability. I’m sure of that. You can kind of sense it in others, you know. At least, I think you can. I could sense it in Boar. And in Polleekin. But not anyone else. So maybe that’s why my memories of them are so strong.”

“Perhaps,” Columbine said. “You know what he meant by that. Do you remember where your father’s tribe is from?”

“Well, the North, right?” Martin said, turning his head. “That’s what…” He paused. “Someone told me. It’s what everyone told me, but I only ever remember those caves. And…” He paused. “Even that is vague. I mean, my father would have told me if there was something else. My father and…”

“Other family members.”

“Yeah, that. So I guess Timballisto would. I mean, unless they were trying to hide it from us younger generation for some reason.” Martin sighed. “Though, to be honest, I don’t feel like I can go back there. I have this strange feeling I did something wrong.”

“Timballisto said you didn’t,” Columbine said. “Although, in saying that, I’m also going to say he’d said you’d likely blame yourself for something you were blameless in. But then, that’s just who you are, trying to take everything onto your own paws. And you’re trying to do that now, Martin, even though you’re not traveling with them, our dear champion. So please. Get some rest? She will force you to drink before Abbess Germaine finds the need to knock you out cold with some nasty tasting concoction.”

“Oh. I so do not want that, so that I will try. I think…” Martin pondered going to Bella’s quarters to sleep in the oversized chair but shook it off. “Maybe I’ll get to dream of how they’re doing. Maybe I’ll talk to them in my dreams.”

“Is that even possible?”

“Possible?” Martin let out a hum, then said in an almost sing-song voice as if to make up for Gonff not being there, “I-don’t-know,” before following up with, “Off to bed. Good luck to you and Germaine in regards to your patience.”

“Well, try not to become one.”

“Yes, mam!”

Chapter Text

“Rain, go away so Rose can go out and play,” Brome muttered to himself as he looked out the family home window. Rainwater dripped off his ears as they flicked in an attempt to dry off faster while he started pulling off the wet robes.

“Come, Brome. Get something warm to drink, my dear.”

Brome turned to look at his mother, smiling before wiping his nose. “How is Rose doing?”

“She’s been enjoying watching it rain. So it’s not that bad for her,” their mother said.

“Yes. But we won’t know what kind of damage is done to the paths until after the rain and then they have to be fixed so they can use them. It’s so frustrating seeing her freedom cut off like this. And…” Brome looked at the ground. “I blame nobody but the vermin that did that to her.”

“Good. Good. I’d overheard from Barkjon that you were, in fact, blaming yourself. Not only for her but for what happened to Martin.”

“Yes. Well, he set me straight and reminded me that Martin would be dead had I not wandered off. But…” Brome let out a deep breath. “Why couldn’t he have come to live with us?”

“Too many memories.”

“I mean, why was it that Rose didn’t wake up before we left. Or that we didn’t jostle her sooner and get a response. I don’t know how that kind of miracle even happened. But then, she’s told me about Polleekin, and I’d never heard of that before. No, I heard but never believed. And Martin. He’s a miracle in his own right, one that I can’t explain. But is it fair that he has to suffer? And I know he is. I was afraid he was like Feldoh, but he’s not.”

“We know that, dear.” His mother handed him a cup of ginger tea while looking out the window. “And I wish he could be here. Also, I agree with you that with the rain pouring down the way it is, we’ll need to do quite a bit of cleanup tomorrow, but it could be worse.”

“Worse,” Brome sighed, knowing there were far worse things. “Like tyrants wanting to enslave everybody or illness that you don’t have the right medicine for.”

He sat down, staring into some oat flans and some strawberry jam. With the sound of the door opening and closing, he didn ’t look up at his father. His father went and sat down at the table, taking an oat flan himself while his wife poured him some tea. “So. How are your studies coming?”

“Well, the old hedgehog who’s been in charge of healing all this time here in Noonvale is a wonderful teacher; glad that I can take over for her as she needs some of the treatments for aching old joints. I hadn’t known that we’d not had a trained healer for some time now. Didn’t anybody take an interest?”

“Well, healers tend to be wanderers, at least in their younger years,” his father said. “Which isn’t surprising, given that the very nature that causes them to become healers is that they want to help others. And they have a mind for memorizing all those facts in those books so that they simply have to recollect and look it up, sometimes even remembering it for the road.”

“Interesting. How come you never suggested it before?”

“Because while you were very good-natured and kind-hearted, you were still a bit hotheaded for becoming a healer. Never thought were you hotheaded enough to become a warrior.”

“Martin’s not hotheaded.”

“No. He’s not,” Uranvoh suddenly chuckled. “I bet we’d get the work of cleaning up tomorrow done a lot faster if he were here, don’t you think.”

And Brome found himself looking at his father, wondering why of all times, his father decided to speak, but then a quick glance around, he noticed something. “Rose isn’t here.”

“No. She’s still in her room, I see.”

“You don’t like talking about him when Rose is around?”

Uranvoh frowned. “No. I do not. And it’s not Martin or anything he’s done, Brome. Though, I do imagine some in Noonvale do think I blame him. I don’t. I can’t. I hope his talents aren’t wasted. No, I hope that more than his talent as a warrior is appreciated wherever that young mouse is. Did he tell you anything about where he came from?”

“No. I mean, nothing beyond being the son of Luke the warrior. That’s, I think, the most Rose has ever gotten as well. Right?”

“To which I’ve been wondering. Given the way he was, and those leadership skills he had…”

“He would have been a good leader for Noonvale?” Brome asked.

“Brome, I don’t seek to replace you.”

“No, but Rose is the eldest, and it would have allowed Noonvale to continue through her line, which everyone, including myself, would have preferred. I may be able to heal the body, but her voice used to heal the soul.” Brome frowned. “Is there a way you think that she might return to that without Martin?”

“That her own gifts won’t go to waste. I don’t know. And there are days I wish he’d just suddenly show up out of the blue, saying he tried looking for a home elsewhere, but…” Uranvoh frowned. “I may not be a seer like that minimum, but there’s this thought in my head that this was not the place for him. That he was destined for greater things.”

“That fate was guiding him.”

“Fate is cruel,” Brome said. “To take away the one you loved, to do what? And maybe I might not think it so cruel if I actually knew where fate took him and what it had him do. But it’s not that way. It…” A sudden thunder flashing made Brome let out a sigh. “Well, I guess everyone will be stuck inside until at least the thunder passes. I pity any creature traveling out there, but this means there will be even more to clean up tomorrow, won’t there?”

“Yes. Unfortunately,” Uranvoh sighed. “But our good creatures are good workers, willing to work.” He picked up an oat flan and munched on it, savoring it. He then said. “Well, if you should ever find the need to wander—healers do like to go off and find useful herbs and all, do know we still have an experienced healer here that can take care of us in the meantime.”

“What?” Brome startled.

“I don’t know. Rose can’t leave on her own, can she? To go looking for him? I mean, I’d give it a bit more time before you leave, as there is no clear plan on where you’d go. While the healer, with the help of some of the other young ones, could take care of us over this coming winter which would mean you’d have some helpers of your own when the time came for you to take over officially, it would be better for you to start wandering in search of him with time so you can return home during the winter months, don’t you think? So after winter.”

“I’d not thought of that,” Brome said, staring.

“I didn’t think so because you know how I feel about you are wandering,” Uranvoh said. “And it’s not that your mother or I would be happy with it, but you’d have a goal this time. And if you could find where Martin is. If you found that place, then maybe Rose can go there, and find her voice, even if it isn’t here. And if something did happen to him, so he’s not in the realm of the living anymore, she can have closure.”

“Thank you,” Brome said.

“And think about who you’d take with you after winter,” Uranvoh said. “It will be a good chance to build your leadership skills.”

Which they both knew he still needed to work on. Brome looked at the table. “You know. I thought I admired him because he was a warrior, but it was in reality because he was a leader.”

“I think he gets it from his father, but I think his father was the leader of his clan.”

“Would definitely explain a lot why he was so fixated on honor and getting the sword back. Perhaps he went there? To the caves?”

“That would be a place to start.”

“It would.”

Chapter Text

“This is too easy,” Timballisto thought to himself, remembering all too well the trepidation of constantly being on edge in case some form of vermin might attack at any moment, having grown up not only on the coast but also having grown up having fled from the place they now were, his memories of Mossflower being a distant memory.

And yet, he wondered if Martin, even when he remembered, actually knew the significance, as they ’d never really discussed how Luke’s tribe was initially from Mossflower, nor had he heard any word from anyone in Mossflower of their tribe ever having been there as if they’d been forgotten in the time that had passed since Greeneyes first came to Mossflower.

They ’d traveled North, quickly crossing the River Moss when the time came, heading east around the lake and continuing along the long winding path to the North before heading around the mountains to the west and across the open land and nothing happened. Not until they hit another river, and Timballisto wished he’d not thought how easy it all was as the rain began to fall.

The party of three took shelter, wondering about the next part of the riddle that they ’d followed North. Timballisto frowned, repeating the riddle repeatedly in his head, not risking bringing it out in the rain so the only thing leading them to where they needed to go would be lost, yet he knew what they ’d interpreted there to be.

And there they were, listening to Gonff sing as he had the entire time as they traveled north, none of them talking about how they ’d figured the riddle to mean they’d find some kind of crossing there at the river, only to find none. “ Surely this is the route that Martin took to get to Mossflower, so he ’d have known if there was a bridge here or something else allowing one to cross. And it was less than a year since he came down from the North, so was that enough time for a bridge to have disappeared? ”

Thunder and lightning began crackling in the sky as Timballisto continued looking up, letting out a deep sigh, when suddenly, out of nowhere, a large bolt of lightning flew out of the sky, making him jump as no vermin could. A paw lifted, touching his heart as he started, going over the riddle in his head again as there came the sound of something creaking, something crashing and—

“Oh. I think that’s our bridge,” Gonff said.

“Burr aye,” Dinny replied.

“We’ll cross at first light,” Timballisto said. “After the storm passes, and we know for sure it is safe to cross.”

And so they waited. They waited for the rain to stop and the sun to come out. Hesitantly, Timballisto approached the rather large tree, hesitantly giving it a shove only to find it secure. Gonff stood nearby, hands-on hip. “I wonder. Was there ever a crossing here?”

“What?” Timballisto asked.

“I don’t think this is a place where creatures crossed.”

“Perhaps,” Timballisto said. “But crossing we are.”

He climbed up, walking across the bridge created by the fallen tree, hitching his pack as he continued, his paw steps echoing through the tree while he mentally checked for any sound of the tree is rotten and prone to breaking as they crossed, but there was none. He jumped down, catching Dinny as he jumped so that the mole wouldn ’t hurt his digging paws, which they might need later on, as Gonff tumbled to a somewhat clumsy and probably purposeful landing.

“So, what’s next.”

Timballisto opened up the parchment. “I can’t make sense of it. I mean, roses don’t sing. And it ends despite us needing herbs from the mountain. But North we still go.”

So they walked. And walked when they came upon a place, a place so not touched by outsiders. Timballisto found himself freezing, watching as the creatures bustled about their daily lives as if nothing were happening, cleaning up the paths and flower beds of debris from the storm, yet the place seemed like a paradise.

Their sudden appearance made the good creatures of the place freeze, as did they, staring. He sucked in a deep breath. A mole came forward, laughing as he did. “Thus be a surproise. Welcome ee to Noonvale.”

Timballisto ’s eyes blinked, watching some of the other creatures hurry away as if to get the leader of the place. “What is this place?” He was then startled. “Wait. Do you have a healer? Someone who knows herbs which might know what we’re looking for?”

“Yes, zurr. Follow me, guddbeast,” the mole said, waving a digging claw, and Timballisto followed after them, glancing around as everyone stared, hand nervously going to his weapon not because he thought he needed to use it, but because he thought that must be making the residents of the place feel nervous.

“Gudd zurr Brome. We be haven surproise guests. They be looken for herbs. You’m specialty.”

“Oh. This is…” The young mouse stared at them. “Wait. How did you find Noonvale at all? Did someone tell you?”

“We followed a riddle.” Timballisto cleared his throat. “There’s not supposed to be a crossing to the South of here, is there? And that tree fell last night so we could cross. That wasn’t to replace a crossing, was it.”

“No. A seers poem?” the young mouse said. “That’s happened before.”

“It has?”

“It—I’d rather not talk about it,” Brome said. “Not to strangers. And,” Brome looked at Timballisto’s weapon. “Can I ask that you give up your weapon? No, hang up your weapon while you’re here?”

“Not a problem,” Timballisto said, wondering why the young mouse quickly changed the words from the give to hang.

“Then let me take you to the house of Noonvale’s chief, my father, to hang your blade, and you can tell him what brings you to Noonvale, good sir,” Brome said before taking off, expecting Timballisto to follow. To which he looked at his companions and shrugged his shoulders.

It still felt too easy, but he was also missing Martin, worried about him.

Chapter Text

“More are falling ill, yet what am I doing?”

There was nobody to answer the question but himself as he looked up at the ceiling of his dorm room.

“Nothing, but trying to sleep.”

The weather blew the wind with an uncomfortable warmth in their direction, making Martin feel even more agitated in the room, which had warmed up slightly, becoming slightly humid even as he continued looking at the ceiling, trying to sleep, trying to piece together the thoughts in his mind while fighting off that urge not to sleep, knowing full well one of Germaine ’s concoctions lay in store if he did not.

And his eyes closed.

They closed and—

Someone was calling his name.

His ear twitched, recognizing the bell-like sound of the voice, knowing it was drawing him in, making him want to remember something as he stood there in the puddling waters, the strange haze of the area overtaking him as his ears continued twitching, trying to listen for that voice. He lifted a paw, wanting to reach for the vote, yet—

The voice wasn ’t in front of him, which in turn perplexed him. “ Why can ’t I remember? Did I do something wrong? ” He turned. He then repeated what he thought out loud. “Hey. Who are you? Why can’t I remember what I can’t seem to remember? Did I do something wrong?”

And it was then that he found himself staring into the cold dead eyes of a mousemaiden, her clothing falling off her as she continued looking at him, and he found himself taking a step backward, not because he was revolted by what he saw in that nightmare, but because of the guilt he felt for some reason—

“You have no idea who I am, do you?” the mousemaiden said, stepping forward, a rose in her hands. And he, the courageous warrior he was, wanted to run.

Because he didn ’t know who she was or why he felt so guilty for her being in the state that she was in. The digests of his paws opened and closed as another mouse, an older one, stepped forward. “You don’t know who I am either, do you?”

There, in his head, was the urge to cry, the desire to remember, but the fear of what kind of pain remembering would bring him. “ The guilt, right? ”

“Why?” Another voice said, the broken squirrel, one eye-popping out of his dead body, walking forward. “Why don’t you remember us?”

“I don’t know,” Martin said. “I don’t know; I don’t know.”

“Brave warrior that you are,” the squirrel said. “And you are afraid to remember? Cursed be you. Curse be on you, Martin, and you know it.”

“You have no idea of who I am,” the mousemaiden said, continuing forward, rose in hand, somehow seeming less threatening than the squirrel as a sudden urge to step close to her, to join her started up in his head, one that he couldn’t explain.

It was then—

He saw the good creatures of Mossflower, except they were not well. Nor were they ill as they were, but dead, decaying.

“It’s your fault, Martin. You sent them there, to the place you can’t remember. The place of promises long forgotten. It’s your fault, Martin.”

To which he covered his ears, and he was screaming. Screaming for it all to stop, for the nightmares to go away. “ Why? Why must this happen to me! Why! ”

“Martin!”

He trembled in his dream.

“Martin!”

He tried looking up, trying to face the visions in his dreams as he would Greeneyes in battle, when he saw the dead mousemaiden in front of her, her dead hollow eyes and the rose.

“Martin, you need to wake up!”

It was then he sat up straight in the bed, sobbing. His entire body trembled, but Timballisto wasn ’t there this time to comfort him, yet there was the distinct realization in his mind that it hadn ’t been Timballisto who ’d been having the nightmares, but instead him. And Timballisto had been hiding this from him as a sob escaped. “T.B. What have you done?”

Martin clutched his ears, his body trembling, his fur standing on end from the dream as his blood went cold, realizing suddenly that Timballisto had been keeping the dreams away. Without his Dibbinhood friend, he couldn ’t stop the nightmares by himself without his brother.

“I don’t blame T.B. I mean, he didn’t mean to leave me like this, to make it, so I didn’t know, but now I don’t know what to do! And if anyone heard…”

“Martin?”

Martin ’s head shot up, realizing someone else was in the room, as wet tears fell down his face, soaking the fur around his eyes and muzzle. He stared, feeling at first as if he didn’t recognize the good creature in front of him as he’d not recognized the good creature in front of him in the dream, making him suddenly fear, forgetting those around him who were alive. But then—

“Martin, are…”

“Bella,” Martin said, sounding very much like a Dibbun, something he wasn’t anymore. “I am so sorry!”

The Badger Mother stepped forward. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, but it is no wonder that you’re having nightmares, given what you’ve been through.”

“But it’s not about the fight with Tsarmina! Or anyone else I’ve fought!” Martin said, closing his eyes and clenching the sheets, feeling ever so pitiful.

“It’s worse, isn’t it?” Bella said.

To which he looked up at her, taking a deep breath.

“It’s the ones who you’ve lost.”

“But Boar wasn’t among them!” Martin cried out, watching Bella’s muzzle twist in curiosity. “It’s—it’s…”

“Who are they, Martin? The ones coming to you in your dreams?”

“I can’t remember! I can’t remember!” His eyes were closed. Sure that everyone else could hear, he was screaming, suddenly hating himself for being so weak. “I can’t remember who they are!” The tears were coming, and grief for those he didn’t remember overwhelmed him. “Why’d I have to be such an idiot and forget something so important! I’m no champion! No hero! I…”

“Stop.”

The bark from Bella was sharp, culling the tears, culling the yelling. Martin flopped backward, taking a deep breath and then saying as he calmed himself. “Why? Why did T.B. hide from me? It was me having the nightmares and not him?”

“Because he couldn’t protect you from these nightmares anymore than I can,” Bella said. “Well, Germaine might be able to draw up some medicine so that you’ll have sleepless nights if need be. But maybe feeling useful might help you out more?”

“I don’t know. I’m feeling pretty useless right now as if the only thing I’m good at is being a warrior, and I’m not that good, right?”

“Because you lost loved ones?” Bella shook her head, laughing. “With the ones I’ve lost, I must be much of a failure, dear warrior. Let me fetch you some tea in my quarters, but you can sleep knowing I’m there. From what I observed, your nightmares didn’t come when T.B. was with you, so that might be tied into what you’ve been feeling.”

“Maybe. I’m such an embarrassment to you. And the Abbess.”

“She’ll chastise you if she hears that,” Bella said firmly. “So don’t say it.”

“Yes, mam,” Martin said, taking a deep breath.

Chapter Text

A feeling of unease erased the sense of comfort brought on by the smell of rain after a rainstorm at the sight of the three strangers, something Brome had not been expecting.

One was of the mole folk, and mole folk was always trustworthy, down to earth, and wise, though some good creatures might snub them for the way they spoke, so Brome didn ’t take another look at that particular companion. Of the two mice, there was a chubby one with a glint of mischievousness in his eyes that Brome felt he should, for some reason, be wary of. But the other—

He was a warrior, not like Feldoh, but one like Martin.

And he was the leader. “My name is Brome.”

“I’m Gonff the Mousetheif, and this is Dinny of Mossflower.”

“A thief?” Brome asked.

“Pies and supplies from Greeneyes,”

“That would be the tyrant who ruled over Mossflower long ago.”

“And Mossflower is to the south?” Brome asked. He then paused in his trail, thinking carefully. “I thought you came here through a seers poem?”

“Oh. Yes.” The still-unnamed mouse said, reaching into his pack and pulling out the parchment. “You can see it as well as the list of herbs.”

“Martin wouldn’t break his promise. He isn’t that kind of mouse.” Brome took the poem, frowning, seeing it was written as one would expect a seers poem to be written. “And how did you come by this?”

“Our resident warrior and seer,” Gonff chirped, only to be elbowed by the still-unnamed mouse.

“He’s a warrior and a seer.”

“Predicted the illness coming and that it was to the north, we would need to go.”

“This warrior,” Brome rolled up the parchment. “Why is he not with you? Surely…”

“Martin is still recovering from his injuries from fighting Greeneyes, the wildcat, so Abbess said no, he couldn’t come,” Gonff said, while—

Brome was sure that warrior mouse was overseeing him as if he suspected something, yet Brome—he couldn ’t possibly think about how his father would react if he thought Martin broke his promise. “I see.”

“He may never fully recover,” the warrior mouse said, looking away.

“Perhaps I could be of help?” Brome asked. “I…”

“Abbess Germaine is a healer,” the mouse said. “But even a healer can’t heal injuries of the mind.”

“What do you mean by that?” Brome asked. Then he drew in his breath. “Sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“Oh. Don’t mind, T.B! It’s just hard on him because Martin can’t remember anything from between when he left their tribe all those seasons ago to when he first came to Mossflower from the north,” Gonff said.

“Which, T.B. is Gonff is shorting Timballisto to that. Cheeky thing. But we promise, we mean no harm. We just need help, if you can, in finding those herbs.”

“The two of you are from the same tribe?” Brome asked.

“Luke’s tribe. Martin’s father,” Timballisto said. “Your questions are a bit personal, you know.”

“Oh! I’m sorry.”

“Come on, T.B., and lighten up! What young mouse wouldn’t want to hear stories of our Martin, how he left the caves and came south to Mossflower and saved us from Greeneyes.”

Brome watched the way Timballisto turned his head away. “ That ’s what Martin said? But that’s a lie. ” His eyes widened, still watching Timballisto. “ Wait! That mouse knows it ’s a lie! That Martin lied to… ” Brome looked at the ground. “ He lied to protect us, keep his promise, never once thinking it would come back to bite him. Because he never expected to see a member of his tribe again. I ’ve heard that he felt ashamed of losing his father’s sword. The sword of—oh, he did say Martin’s father was the leader of the tribe. ”

“So, can we speak to your father and apologize for intruding?” Timballisto said as they continued along.

“Yes,” Brome said, stepping into the house, knowing a messenger had gone off to fetch his father if he wasn’t there, but it wasn’t Uranvoh who greeted him when he entered.

“Rose?”

“We’ve visitors,” Rose said while their mother—

Brome stared at their mother, who stared, surprised, only to realize that the lunchtime table was set up so six could lunch. She took a deep sigh. “Rose insisted.”

To which the three startled, looking at her. Rose simply smiled, still in her chair. “You were expected. You’ll want to hang your blade up at the door. It would make father pleased to see it done before he got here.”

“Yes,” the warrior agreed, hanging it up. “We weren’t planning on a meal. Particularly since we’re really in dire need of setting out for the herbs we need.”

“What do you need the herbs for?”

“An illness,” he said as Uranvoh came through the door, nearly bumping into the mouse.

“Oh. I see you hung up the blade. We are peaceful creatures here,” Uranvoh said. “How did you find this place?”

“A riddle, sending us north to find the herbs we need,” the warrior said. “And thankfully, the journey’s been peaceful on our way here.”

The wisdom and skill at leading—Brome understood why this mouse reminded him more of Martin than Feldoh, but he suddenly found himself blurting out. “I’ve seen the riddle, and it is a seers riddle.”

His father looked at him as if wondering why Broom would say that. “I see. You can help them with that, can’t you? Finding the herbs they need?”

“Well, yes. They’ve given me a list of what they’re looking for.”

“Yes. And this is Dinny and Gonff of Mossflower. Apologies ahead of time if he steals any pies. He is quite fond of food,” Timballisto said. “And I am Timballisto, from Luke’s tribe to the west of here.”

Which, of course, made his father tense up; his mother looked on in surprise while Rose simply went about her business smiling as if nothing had happened. “Luke’s tribe to the west of here?”

It was his mother who asked, but Timballisto perked up. “So, you’ve heard of us?”

“No. That’s why my wife was surprised,” Uranvoh said, lying.

And Brome didn ’t know what to think.

“It was a seers riddle?”

“He doesn’t like the gift.”

To which Brome flinched. “Wait. Who doesn’t like the gift?”

“Our Martin,” Gonff said, making Brome flinch, overseeing his father.

“This martin.”

“Our warrior seer. Ouch!” Goff said as Timballisto thumped him on the head.

“Again. Apologies for the mouse thief here.”

“Why isn’t he here?”

“That’s the second time I’ve been asked that.”

Brome took a deep breath. “He’s still recovering.”

“Seer ability?” His father was skeptical.

“Completely crept everyone else when he predicted the illness, though it might have been even more creepy that he didn’t remember saying…”

“Gonff.”

“I see,” Uranvoh said, narrowing his eyes. “Brome will help you find the herbs you need. On the condition that you, warrior, stay here in Noonvale while he goes with your companions.”

Chapter Text

Something didn’t seem quite right.

He was, after all, a trained warrior, one of Luke ’s best, to the point he’d been left behind tasked with protecting Luke’s family and not through some fluke. The question of whether it was a seers poem bothered him, particularly with how readily Brome had assumed in the first place it had been a seers poem. Then there were too many questions about Martin.

But then, with the way they had him hang up his blade and the way he was asked to stay behind, “ It ’s that they don’t trust warriors, being the peaceful folk they are. Or something along those lines of wanting me to follow their rules to prove I’m trustworthy. And I can’t blame them. ” He took a deep breath. “Alright. I’ll abide by your rules.”

To which more time passed, Timballisto kept his promise while carefully listening to the chatter. Or more of, he saw the stares, with one of the things he heard being, “Another warrior? You’d think Uranvoh would have learned with the last one.”

He didn ’t bother asking, as it wasn’t his place, and he would soon be away from this place, though he did offer to help around the home as he would in Mossflower. Some obviously didn’t want his help, but some, like Uranvoh’s wife, welcomed it. “Don’t mind them. You’re quite welcome.”

And so he helped her haul things, and she asked. “So your friend is still recovering?”

“He is,” Timballisto said, bothered with how it came up.

“Well, I do hope he recovers then,” which made him pause. “He seems like an important person to you.”

To which Timballisto relaxed. “Martin is the only one left of my tribe, the only member of my family, but I’ve known him since he was born. And Luke left him in my care when he left to hunt down the vermin who killed Martin’s mother, who he knew would continue killing if he didn’t. And I failed in that regard. But, I don’t know if Martin will fully recover.”

“Is it like our Rose?”

“Your Rose?” Timballisto asked. “She wasn’t born unable to walk.”

“No. There was…” There came a pause. “An accident.”

“I don’t know if that would be better or worse than what’s wrong with Martin,” Timballisto said. “When he rescued me from the slave ship—me, who was supposed to protect him, he could remember the name of every member of our tribe who went with Luke, among many others. Now, he can’t even remember his grandmother’s name, or how it is he came to leave our village. And simply because he was driven to protect the peace Mossflower wanted. It’s rather cruel, don’t you think?”

“But he wanted to protect it, right?”

“Oh. Sorry. Our tribe is actually not originally from the western caves. We originated in Mossflower, though my only memories of the woods were under the previous Greeneyes tyranny, and he was a shadow compared to Tsarmina. A wild cat. A mouse went to fight a damn wildcat to make sure the friends he made could have peace.”

“You lie,” another creature said, a squirrel. “No creature could see other than a badger! Not even this Martin.”

It was said with venom, anger. Timballisto couldn ’t place it the reason for such hate. “Martin can fight like a badger. The stupid idiot …” Timballisto felt his teeth clenching, his anger building. To which an actual badger—he’d learned her name was Rowanoak, came and took his load. “Perhaps you should take a break, Mr. T.B. before you lose your temper on a poor good beast?”

“I’ll bring you some tea, so…” Uranvoh’s wife paused, the sound of singing suddenly filling the air. “Well, I’ll be. Rose is singing.”

“It’s beautiful,” Timballisto thought. “If only Martin could hear this. He might—he might actually get better.”

“Don’t get any ideas on the daughter of our chief, warrior,” the squirrel snapped.

“Shoo!” Rowanoak said, sitting herself down next to Timballisto. “Which, before you think of such a thing…”

“Oh. No. I thought it might do Martin some good. You know, to hear her voice.”

“It might. She’s…” The badger laughed. “Well, I was going to say she’s taken to you. But, that is amusing.”

“It is?”

“And you say Martin fights like a badger?”

“Boar, the fighter trained him. And…” Timballisto took a deep breath. “It was predicted Martin would come. With Gonff, Dinny, Log-a-Log. The latter isn’t here as his tribe was elsewhere when we began our journey.”

“Martin was predicted among the badger lords?”

“Well, yes.”

“You do realize that’s unusual, an abnormality. I’ve been told that it’s only supposed to be badger lords who are both inflicted with the Bloodwrath and the gift of being a seer. And Martin didn’t ask for any of this. That little mouse babe—he didn’t deserve that kind of fate.”

“So, what is Mossflower doing now that Greeneyes is gone? I ask because the Rambling Rosehip Players did travel there.”

“Martin is helping the Abbess to build an Abbey. With walls that no vermin can breach, a pond as a water source and orchards so it can be self-sufficient if need be.”

“But it’s not out of sight like Noonvale?”

“No. It’s a place where any goodbeast can come, which Martin says is any beast who is good of heart.”

“That’s good to hear. That he’s building such a place.”

“Yes. It is,” Timballisto said, taking the tea.

Uranvoh ’s wife frowned. “He really is building such a place.”

“I don’t know why you sound surprised. Just because we’re warriors doesn’t mean that’s the only thing we can do. And we prefer peace. Not all of us can live here in peace, in secret.”

“No. Actually, it’s not so much surprise. I think Uranvoh will be interested in hearing that.”

“Really? It doesn’t feel…”

“Oh. That my husband much likes warriors? It’s not that, but more of…”

It was then that her head turned, her eyes widening in surprise and …

“Rose!”

Chapter Text

They kept him busy.

They kept him busy, his mind occupied with things other than worrying about Timballisto, Dinny, and Gonff. However, it was harder to not think about the poor woodlanders who were becoming sick, particularly after the old mouse passed away. And some of the little ones were coming down with it.

So Martin worked way, grinding the herbs the Abbess needed to ease the symptoms, though not remove the actual illness. As he did so, he picked up on the various herbs and how they were applied, among other minor things. “My. I think our warrior would make a good healer, don’t you, Columbine?”

“Well, our muscles won’t be spent grinding the herbs,” Columbine said, tired. Martin was sure his nightmares didn’t help, but she’d asked him, “If you remember anything about your past, talk to me.”

“But…”

“No buts. Timballisto asked me to be there for you since he can’t. Because he had the feeling you might remember or that not remembering would bother you.”

“It’s nice that my muscles are of good use for something other than fighting,” Martin piped up with the cheek expected of him when he was in one of his better moods, and it was easier making everyone think everything was okay.

Because it wasn ’t.

He ’d simply thought it was fatigue and that the Abbess would make him chug something for dreamless periods of sleep if she told him while also threatening to make him rest rather than help out. There was, after all, no recollection in his mind of ever being ill, of what it felt like to be sick, even though there likely was in those forgotten memories of his.

It wasn ’t until he staggered that anybody—not him—realized something was wrong.

“Martin!” Columbine called out as Abbess Germaine watched.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” the Abbess said, slowly standing up with her creaking old bones and placing a soft paw on his forehead. “Martin, you’re burning up. And you didn’t just stagger. You let out a cough.”

“I—did I contaminate…”

“No. The ones using this are already ill.”

“But…”

“Martin, we’ve been exposed to it already.”

And then panic. “Abbess. What’s going to happen if…”

“If Columbine and I become ill?” The abbess took him by the arm, calling for Bella, who took him to her room, plopping him in the giant chair, but not before saying to him. “They’ll return before then.”

“How do they know.”

“Because you said it would be so,” Bella said, pouring him a cup of tea. “And, thankfully, this is an illness we badgers aren’t known for catching, so they have filled me in on what to do if it should come to that. “But you said it will be alright in one of your dreams.”

And there he was, a paw to feverish brow, sniffling and coughing, feeling sorry not for himself but for the other goodbeasts who were ill, who might die.

Bella wrapped a blanket around him. “I’m taking care of you, warrior, so don’t you fret.”

“But the little ones. Some of the old have already…” Martin frowned. “And the Abbess.”

“She’ll be fine.”

“She’s family,” Martin said, startling Bella. “She’s like—she’s like…” Except, he couldn’t place it, a paw rubbing his eye. “Why can’t I remember?”

“Is she like someone important to you?”

“Yes. Someone I miss. I know I miss them, so I guess it was my grandmother. But that’s silly. There weren’t many elderly in Luke’s tribe. Too many had…” Martin sighed. “Too many had died because of violence. I think T.B. had a friend or two.”

“What about you?”

Martin frowned, tilting his head. “I mean, I remember hanging out with the other young beasts, but never that many of them were my friends. My entire world was…”

“T.B. was a part of that world?”

“Yes. He would play with me before my father left. And gave me the time of day. I don’t think. I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

“It’s okay that you don’t remember.”

“I remember I could never go back to our tribe. I think…” Martin sighed, looking out her window at what would be the gardens eventually. “Bella, I think I did something that counted as a betrayal to my tribe. But then, what was it I told Goff?”

“That you one day decided to leave?”

“Yeah. How could I go back if I left like that? But, T.B. keeps talking as if we’re the only ones left.”

“Maybe the two of you could travel north once…”

“No,” Martin shook his head. “Timballisto might be welcome if they’re still there. I would not. I wouldn’t be. That makes me a lie, doesn’t it.”

“Martin, you don’t even remember what happened, but from what I’ve heard from T.B., you’ve nothing of the sort to worry about.”

“Oh, I don’t know. The two of us butted heads enough after father left. About me leaving? Going off on an adventure? Young mice shouldn’t wander too far from home. There’s no telling what kind of trouble they would get in.”

“Martin, how old were you when you left? Surely not a young mouse? I mean, how many seasons ago was it?”

“I lost track. There was no way of keeping track,” Martin said, laughing. “That worries you, doesn’t it?”

“Of course it does, but not because you’re thinking. You’re not a bad person. You weren’t when you came to us, so why would that change because of things you’ve forgotten. And do I need to remind you that one of your friends is a mouse thief? He’s not exactly the noblest at times, but we’re fine with him.”

“Gonff,” Martin sighed.

“You need to sleep. You need to rest. Take that medicine that will help you sleep, and sleep without dreams.”

“Not just that. She’s got medicine to cool fevers, stifle coughs, and lesson runny noses, but it only goes so far.”

“They’ll come,” Bella said, patting his head. “You’ve taken care of so many, done so much for so many; let someone else take care of you for now.”

“Make sure the little’uns get better. I don’t want any of them to die. I don’t want anyone to die. I hate it.”

“I know. You’re a warrior, but that doesn’t mean you don’t feel the pain of a loved one dying any less than the rest of us. I think that is what makes you fight so hard so others can live, but you need to fight now in a different way.”

“Yes, mam.”

Chapter Text

Brome couldn’t be sure what his father was thinking, given the fact he still wasn’t sure what his father’s stance regarding Martin was, even with the delightful conversation the day before when the rainstorm first started. And he didn’t know what to think of Martin’s companions, who obviously knew nothing about Noonvale.

“Martin wouldn’t have revealed our location, yet he did. Through the poem. Did the father ask Timballisto to stay behind because he knows Martin the best and wants to keep an eye on him? Because he doesn’t trust Martin?”

“You seem lost in thought, matey,” Gonff the mousethief chuckled as he continued journeying north to Boldred’s mountain, which would take a few days back and forth, which meant he would need to interact with the other mouse and the mole.

“Burr, aye. What seems to be the matter, zurr Brome?” Dinny asked.

Brome looked at them before gathering some of the herbs that could be collected on the way, his mind trying to think of what to say, but then he wanted to know more about the seer ’s poem. Yet, he didn’t know how to ask. “The poem…”

“Cryptic little thing, but not the first we’ve followed, though we followed the other with Martin. That one wasn’t a seer’s poem, as you called it.”

“You don’t call it a seers poem?”

“Well, no,” Gonff said. “This whole Martin knowing things he shouldn’t is rather new.”

“It be new to zurr Marthin as well. Ee were sleepin when miz Bella wrote it down.”

“So then, he didn’t purposefully tell them how to get to Noonvale. It doesn’t seem like he connected to going north for the herbs with them coming here.” Brome paused. “Wait. How did you know to go north? And not take a path south, east, or west.”

“Well, for one thing, the path only goes north or south,” Gonff said, chewing on a piece of grass as he walked along. “And Martin said. What was it he said?” There came a humming sound. “Something about a flower we needed and going north.”

“But that could mean the herb, or Rose, right? Yet he doesn’t know she’s alive.” Brome continued forward, wondering how to broach the subject further, yet Gonff didn’t hesitate to continue the conversation.

“Which, Martin is pretty amazing, by the way. He solved that riddle that got us to Salamandastron is great with the sword, and our Dibbun love him.”

“The little ones do?”

“Well, he’s Mossflower’s champion, even though he’s apt to brush it aside as if just any beast could take on a wildcat.”

Which, of course, made Brome feel slightly ill, thinking Martin had indeed gone up against a wildcat of all things, as Brome was quite aware that a wildcat would be the size of a badger and as fierce as an owl. “ It ’s not fair. That he’s supposed to, meant to go to Mossflower only to lose his memories on top of losing Rose, nor does he know there is a chance to have her back either. ”

“You don’t believe me?” Gonff said. “Well, I guess not since you’ve not seen Martin with a sword.”

“I have seen Martin use a sword,” Brome finally said. “But I do know who you’re talking about for your information.”

And there it was, out in the open as Dinny and Gonff stared at him, and he stared back. For a moment, Brome was sure Gonff thought he was angry at him, but then he said, “Well, is that so? Martin never said.”

“Because he promised not to,” Brome said, returning to gathering the herbs and continuing along the path they needed to travel.

“Makes sense.” And then Gonff tapped one paw into another. “Oh! Wait! Martin was asleep when he gave us the riddle.”

“I know he didn’t tell you anything. And if he’d remembered properly, he’d be here himself, not having brought any of you with him,” Brome said. “And that’s what bothers me, you telling me that he fought some wildcat, nearly got himself killed again, and then forgot us. Forgetting Rose. He should have been my brother-in-law, you know.”

Gonff stared. “Are you mad at him?”

“Do ee think ee blames zurr Marthin? For miz Roser?”

“I don’t! If I were to blame anyone other than Badrang, it would be myself, as I’m the one who decided to wander away from here. But then Martin wouldn’t be alive, would he? And if Rose hadn’t gotten hurt, and we hadn’t all thought she was dead because I wasn’t a good enough healer to know better, he wouldn’t have left to get hurt by some dumb wildcat, now would he?”

Gonff frowned. Then he said, “You know; if we’re talking about the same Martin, he wouldn’t want you to blame yourself.”

“And we all know he’d go and blame himself instead,” Brome sighed. “I know how Martin is. He…” He frowned. “I’m going to go back with you. Even if it means staying in Mossflower for the winter, and I think Rose will eventually want to go there. Permanently actually. I mean, he’s not with someone? It was only last winter he left us.”

“That soon?” Gonff, to Brome’s astonishment acted carefree, as if nothing bothered him, and continued down the path further. Dinny came up and patted Brome on the back.

“Don’t wurry. Zurr mouser thief always thus way.”

Brome paused, watching Gonff continue along as Gonff began to sing, but then he paused, feeling as if his fur were on fire from embarrassment as Gonff began to verse a song about his sister and Martin, making up whatever he pleased to do. “Oh! Please don’t do that!”

“Why ever not?”

“Because that’s not how it happened.”

“You could tell us.”

“I…” Brome frowned. “That wouldn’t be fair to Martin.” He hurried along the path, trying to catch up with the mousethief. “I’m not saying you can’t eventually find out, but can I at least ask Martin when I see him if it’s okay? Even if he doesn’t remember? Particularly since…” Brome frowned. “I don’t even know if he’ll remember me.”

“Oh, I think he will when he sees you, even though he doesn’t remember now. He’d feel guilty for not remembering your face, wouldn’t he!” Gonff laughed.

Brome sighed, trying to keep up with the mousethief, wondering how Martin ever came across such as a silly mouse, yet he imagined that Gonff was the type of friend Martin needed. “ He ’s a stark contrast to Felldoh; that chap is. ”

Chapter Text

Timballisto reacted quickly, moving forward to catch the young mousemaid as she fell forward. Her mother hurried along as he looked at both her and Rowanoak to see both were surprised. “Rose. What were you…” And there came a pause. “You’re attempting to walk? But didn’t tell your brother?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise, given I know he’s been blaming myself. Plus, I know that there is someone who definitely wouldn’t be happy if I didn’t give it my all, even if it was only a little bit. Tiny steps. But then…” Rose took a deep breath. “I want to see Martin.”

Timballisto frowned. “Um, miss. Martin’s spoken for.”

He felt her body tense, yet—oh, how there ’d been some form of suspicion in his head the moment he’d stepped into this place, along with the way he wasn’t sure to react around them. There was a sound of disappointment, and an, “Oh?”

“He is?” Rowanoak. “Who?”

“Well,” Timballisto laughed before helping her to a seat next to Rowanoak. “I don’t know because Martin can’t right tell me. He knows. It’s one of those things.”

“So Martin really has lost his memory of us?” Uranvoh’s wife said before, “Oh. Sorry. This isn’t how Uranvoh or I wanted to bring the subject up. But yes. We do know Martin. And no, we don’t blame Martin for what happened to Rose.”

“What did happen?” Timballisto asked. “I think he meant to tell me, or at least what he could without revealing this place because, unlike the others, I know he didn’t leave our tribe of his free will. He was taken away with his grandmother.”

“He’s faced a lot of loss in his young life, hasn’t he?”

“Most definitely,” Timballisto said. “But, if you’re alive…”

“Martin doesn’t know I am,” Rose smiled, though sadness was in her eyes. “And I do want to see him.”

Timballisto stared. “But you can’t journey in your current condition because what would take us a few days would take you much longer.”

“Not if the Rambling Rosehip Players were to take her, all of you, back to Mossflower, which would mean that the herbs would arrive faster, but I’m sure Ballaw would be open to another trip before returning here to Noonvale. And we could help Martin and his friends build this abbey of there’s before returning. Goodness knows their goodbeasts will be short a few workers for a while.”

“Most certainly,” a voice spoke from the side, making Timballisto turn to look at Uranvoh. “And this time, there might be a few more willing to venture out of Noonvale to help. Though others are more cautious regarding outsiders as well, given what happened.”

Which seemed strange to Timballisto, far from what he expected as he waited for Gonff and Dinny to return with Brome. Yet in that wait, he did notice the other goodcreatures who were definitely not pleased with the memory of Martin coming up, although it wasn ’t Uranvoh, who poked and prodded with questions regarding how Martin was doing as did his wife. Still, in ways it always came to a dead-end, or him talking about what happened.

Yet, he felt glad when they arrived, wanting to get back there as his worry regarding what was going on back in Mossflower was growing, as was his fear regarding Martin growing. There was also that odd feeling, having met some of those who knew Martin after being taken away that he couldn ’t put into words, although he did know Rose’s voice was rather beautiful.

And the squirrelmaid of the Rambling Rosehip Players was painfully annoying, definitely distracting him from having any real train of thought to figure it out. Rowanoak was right in saying her pulling the cart would get them back faster, for which he was grateful, as was he of a few others who came with some planning on coming over winter. In truth, it was a shock similar to the one when Martin freed him from the slave ship.

“I can’t help but feel things are finally going his way,” Timballisto thought to himself, still nervous around Rose and her younger brother, knowing full well what her and Martin’s relationship was. And then there were Gonff’s promises that, yes, Martin would recognize all of them. Rose, her brother, their companions from when they traveled, the Rosehips. And an old squirrel named Barkjon who couldn’t travel south as he wished to see Martin, but wished for his well wishes to be passed on.

“I’m sorry,” Brome said before they left—there wouldn’t have been much time for conversation before they left.

“What for?” Timballisto.

“For the not so warm welcoming from us.”

“What do you mean?”

“They—I’m sure my father was suspicious, even thinking Martin had broken his promise.”

“I don’t think he did. I think, it was more of they were shocked to see us, to hear of Martin. And I think they see it as a positive thing for your sister,” Timballisto said, while pondering it the entire time as they quickly moved back to Mossflower. “Perhaps though it is because we’re moving so fast and we left so soon after me finding out that I’m not able to wrap my mind around all of this.”

Yet, as they arrived in Mossflower there was no mistaking his thoughts regarding how silent everything was, the silence only broken when a few of the still healthy goodbeasts. Abbess Germaine and Columbine smiled at them, although they both looked tired. “Welcome back. I believe you were sucessful?”

“We wouldn’t have returned if we weren’t?” Timballisto said. “Where is Martin?”

“Bella’s quarters,” the abbess said.

“Martin is ill as well,” Brome said, before blurting out. “Sorry. I’m here to help with the healing as well, but can I see him?”

“Abbess. Let him treat Martin,” Timballisto said.

“All right. Show him where Bella’s quarters are.”

To which Timballisto followed, unsure of how things would turn out in the end, only to find Martin trying to get up out of the chair, feverishly wanting to help while Bella gently made him sit back down. Which was when Martin caught sight of Brome. “I know you.”

“Gonff said you’d recognize me,” the young mouse laughed. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Oh?” Bell said, while not questioning.

“You’re Brome,” Martin then frowned. “You’re—you’re Rose’s little brother.”

“Martin, about Rose.”

“I’m sorry,” Martin muttered slowly, feverishly. “It’s my fault she died. It…”

“Rose is alive.”

“Then, am I dreaming that you’re here?”

“Because of the fever?” Brome laughed. “No. You’re not. I’m really here. Rose is as well. The Rambling Rosehip Players brought us so we could get here quickly to help you out.”

“Can I see her?”

“Work on getting better first, young warrior,” Bella said as Brome adminstered the medicine. And when it was deemed safe…

It didn ’t feel like Martin’s memories were returned, but the nightmares—they stopped, and Martin was happy to see her, and Timballisto was happy to see them together.

A hare elbowed him in the ribs. “Don’t you like happy endings, chap?”

“That…” Timballisto turned as he helped carry food to the feast that proceeded most of the woodlanders becoming well, with only a small handful of deaths among the elderly.

“And we’ll be staying over winter, but visiting every so often. At least us Rambling Rosehip Players jolly will,” the leader of the acting trope said as he piled his plate higher as any hare would. “Though I think a certain chiefton might make the journey for a bloomin’ wedding, wot.”

Timballisto looked over, watching Martin interact with Rose. “It is a happy ending.”