Sentry Duty

Frederick
The lanky young hare kept careful watch, dark eyes narrowed and ears pricked as he gazed out over the ramparts. He searched for any sign of movement on the ground below, anything unusual. Frederick couldn’t help but wonder if Lord Lasair’s patrol had caught up with the vermin, or whether those blighters were still on their way to Redwall Abbey. If so, how close were they? Still… They would be ready. After all, the Major had wasted no time in posting sentries and likely making other preparations. If anything stirred, surely the hares of the Long Patrol and the goodbeasts of Redwall Abbey would know. And if it came to battle, as Frederick supposed it would… In truth, he had to admit that he was…well, he hadn’t experienced anything quite like this before during his time in the Patrol. But he was here; the Major had picked him as well as Dianthus. Frederick knew his duty well. And he would do his duty as well as he was able, whether in the infirmary or on the battlefield.

A noise caught his attention; his black-tipped ears pricked up and swiveled slightly toward the noise. Pawsteps coming toward him… Had another hare come to relieve him? He turned slightly to catch a glimpse of the newcomer, and was somewhat surprised. His visitor was a hare, but not one of his comrades. Rather, she was a haremaid clad in a burgundy tunic (he noted several pouches hanging at her belt); her pale fur was splotched with rather distinctive ginger markings. Truth be told, Frederick couldn’t recall making her acquaintance. At least, if he had, he was quite certain that he would have remembered.
As she approached, the haremaid set a cup next to him.

” I saw you out here all alone and thought you could use a warm drink and a bit of company,” the haremaid explained.

With that, she leaned over the wall, glanced at him, and smiled. Frederick found himself briefly returning the smile.

“Jolly kind of you, wot,” he murmured. “Much obliged, miss.”

Frederick
Frederick carefully took his cup and took a sip—ah, warm mint tea. Quite kind of her to bring him some, he thought, as he set the cup back down. The lanky young hare gazed out over Mossflower, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Moonlight touched the trees, turning the wood silver. A faint spring breeze ruffled his fur and set the treetops to swaying slightly. Frederick regarded the scene carefully, searching for any signs of movement or anything out of the ordinary. He couldn’t be too careful… After all, he knew all too well just how important sentry duty was. The private pricked up his ears and listened hard—but he couldn’t hear anything strange, either. Now, he supposed that could be a good sign. He would certainly like to believe so. Still, he couldn’t afford to slack off, wot? Not with those… Those bounders potentially on the move toward such a place as this.

The thought was a sobering one. Frederick adjusted the way that his rapier hung at his side, his paw lingering briefly on the cord-wrapped hilt. The family sword’s weight at his hip was solid, reassuring—and a reminder. A reminder of his orders, of the responsibility he bore on his shoulders, of the debt that needed to be repaid. He let out a breath and kept his gaze fixed on Mossflower below, searching.

”A-any sign of anything unusual, chap?” the haremaid beside him enquired.

“Not that I’ve seen or heard yet, miss,” he replied, his voice light.

Frederick
The lanky young hare stayed alert, continuing to keep a sharp eye on things. Mossflower was spread out below him like a great patchwork quilt. Silver moonlight seemed to soften everything; a gentle breeze rustled the treetops. It really was a lovely night, he had to admit, and he was glad of the haremaid's company (and the tea she'd so kindly brought him). If their reason for coming here had been a different one, perhaps he would have been able to admire it more. But as it was, he had a duty to perform. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he swept his gaze over Mossflower below. His black-tipped ears twitched, swiveling to catch every sound.

If Frederick was being entirely honest with himself, well... Truth be told, he was a bit nervous. Things were blessedly quiet tonight, but some small part of him couldn't help but wonder if this was the metaphorical calm before the storm. Now, Frederick wasn't sure how many vermin were headed this way. Or if they would make it this far, with Lord Lasair and the other group tracking them. There was a chance that they might not make it to Redwall. Still... If they did make it to Redwall, his own group and the Redwallers might be in for a fight, and they would need to be prepared. He had seen battle before, of course, but this... He had the feeling that this could be...different. He had heard stories, tales of his parents, of his ancestors, and how they had faced the odds and done their duty to their Badger Lord. When all was said and done, if worst came to worst... Well, he hoped he would have the courage to do the same.

Steady on there, old chap, he told himself. That's just the nerves talking. Stiff upper lip and all that, wot. Those blighters may not make it this far. And if they do, why, we'll jolly well be ready for them, won't we? After all, we've got plenty of sentries posted, and I daresay other preparations are being made. Major Rifflerun's a smart chap, and I've no doubt that the Abbot and otherbeasts here are, as well.

He took a sip of the mint tea the haremaid had brought him; one of his ears swiveled in her direction as she spoke. The young hare's whiskers twitched slightly as she stuttered. Was she just cold? Or was she nervous, as well? Goodness, and he hadn't even thought to ask her name. True, he had a duty to do, but...

"Private Frederick Heathcote Willoughby of the Long Patrol at y'service," he replied, nodding politely to her. "Pleased to meet you, Miss...?"

With that, he grabbed a blanket one of the Abbeybeasts had kindly thought to bring up on their last visit to the walltop and offered it to the haremaid with a smile.

Frederick
Ah, so her name was Ginger... Ginger Westbrook of the Birchstorm Holt, she had said. Frederick's whisker's twitched. Her name certainly seemed to suit her... The young hare turned the word 'Birchstorm' over in his mind. Didn't particularly ring any bells--all that he could guess was that it was an otter holt. That did raise some questions in his mind. How had a haremaid come to be raised by otterfolk? Still, it seemed to him that could possibly be a sensitive subject, not the sort of thing one asked a beast one just met. He stamped his foot paws on the ramparts; Frederick had learned the hard way during long watches at Salamandastron that you had to keep the old blood flowing. Salamandastron... Not for the first time and not for the last, his thoughts flitted back toward the great mountain, toward Mater and Pater, grieving friends and comrades... He adjusted his medicinal satchel and tried to turn his thoughts back to the task at hand. There was a time and place for those thoughts, but not here. Not now. Frederick exhaled and swept his narrowed gaze over Mossflower, keen ears standing almost ramrod-straight as he listened. And yet... Nothing. His sentry duty had so far, at least in terms of those bounders' whereabouts, been rather uneventful...

For a moment or two, the young private was quiet, watching and listening. One ear swiveled slightly as Ginger spoke, offering to share the blanket he'd handed to her. Frederick smiled slightly. His regimental tunic provided some protection against the chill, but her offer was jolly kind. A voice rang out, calling for a "Rudderhead"; Miss Westbrook's brother, evidently. He opened his mouth to speak when his keen ears caught the sound of footsteps--coming from below. It sounded like only one beast... Was it time for his relief already? Or was another visitor on their way up, perhaps? Frederick's silent questions were soon answered as a bulky, dark-furred otter clad in a blue vest made his way toward the two hares. Ginger removed the blanket and met the otter. By the way the two talked and teased, it was clear that they were brother and sister. What did it matter if one was a haremaid and the other an otter? Honestly, they rather reminded Frederick of the Speedwell twins...

The hare instinctively straightened as the otter--Django--addressed him.

"Yes, sah, I am. Private Frederick Heathcote-Willoughby, at y'service."

Frederick
The lanky young hare stood ramrod-straight, paws at his sides, and listened intently as Django spoke. One long ear twitched. Ah, so the corporal had sent out word that the sentries were relieved for the night… That was good to hear. He’d long since grown used to standing watch during the nights, but Frederick had to admit that he wouldn’t be opposed to some time to talk with his comrades or the Abbeybeasts, or explore the Abbey more (it was a wonderful place, though he wished the circumstances weren’t so dire). Or perhaps he ought to check his stock of medicinal supplies… The rest of the night stretched out before him.

“I see… Thank you, Django,” he replied, smiling at the large otter.

That rather did sound like Corporal Tagetes… Rather a friendly chap. Frederick had often seen the good corporal do the same with little leverets back at Salamandastron. The little chaps seemed quite fond of him, so it wasn’t terribly surprising that Redwall’s Dibbuns might feel the same way. The corporal was quite a smart chap, if what Frederick had heard and seen was any indication. And while he did strike the young private as the scholarly sort of chap, perfectly happy to get ink on his pass or pore through a book, Frederick had also heard that he was a perilous beast. But what could one expect of a hare, especially a hare of the Long Patrol?

“I suppose one can be both,” Frederick replied, nodding. “Corporal Tagetes is a good chap—and a perilous beast, good to have at your side, wot.”

With a smile and a wish for a good night that the young private returned, Django headed down the walltop towards a small group of hares. Looked rather like the Speedwell twins and Thistlefur… He could hear their voices; sounded like they were discussing the uneventful watch (and Redwall’s legendary tuck).

” Looks like we're free to go. Would you care to keep me company?” Miss Westbrook asked, turning toward him.

“D’you know, Miss Westbrook, I was about to ask you the same, wot,” he admitted, offering the haremaid his arm and a smile. “I daresay I shall need to report to Corporal Tagetes first, though…”

Frederick
“Jolly good, wot,” Frederick replied, unable to keep from smiling as the pretty haremaid took his arm.

So, arm-in-arm, the two young hares made their way down from the ramparts, with Frederick being careful to match his pace to hers. There was plenty of moonlight to see by; it filtered down through the orchard, dappling them round in shifting shadows and gentle light. Salamandastron was his home (and would always have his heart, he reflected), but Redwall had a beauty and charm all its own. There was something special about the place, in the very stones…

It seemed to Frederick that it was only a short walk into the Abbey’s Great Hall. As they made their way through the main chamber—easily the most ornate room in the Abbey that he’d seen--the lanky young hare gazed about in wonder. Moonlight filtered down through the beautiful stained-glass windows, turning the dusky sandstone floor to blue, green, purple, yellow… Imposing high columns supported the chamber; he could have sworn they reached to the roofbeam ceiling high above his and Miss Westbrook's heads. As they walked, he turned slightly to catch another glimpse of the wonderful tapestry he’d first seen upon arrival. An absolutely beautiful work, depicting an armored mouse leaning on a peerless sword; something about the mouse’s manner projected kindness and strength. His mater and pater had made mention of the tapestry in their tales of Redwall, but the tapestry, as well as the whole place, was even more wonderful than he had imagined.

He could hear what sounded like voices—Dibbuns’ voices raised in laughter. Miss Westbrook had evidently noticed much the same; her long ears swiveled as if to catch the sounds.

“I do believe you’re right, Miss Westbrook,” he said, nodding. His whiskers twitched as he pictured Corporal Tagetes surrounded by little ones. No harm in enjoying these moments—it was a reminder of what they fought for, of why he had enlisted in the Patrol in the first place.

Cavern Hole was smaller and cozier than the Great Hall—it was quiet and peaceful here. Moonlight filtered down through the windows, blending with the light of a great warm fire. A few beasts sat here and there, absorbed in conversations and business of their own. But Frederick's eye was drawn to the Corporal. The silver in his fur spoke to his seasons, but one wouldn’t know it with the way he got one with Dibbuns; as Frederick had thought, they surrounded the older hare.

The private stood ramrod-straight--footpaws a shoulder-width apart, chest out, ears erect, and eyes front—in fine military style. Once a break presented itself, he saluted the older hare smartly.

“Beggin’ y’pardon for the interruption, sah,” he began. “Private Willoughby reporting after being relieved of sentry duty this evening, sah.  I'm pleased to report that all was quiet; I neither saw nor heard anything unusual, sah."