An Unexpected Guest
Apr 30, 2016 0:43:46 GMT -5
Post by wolfking on Apr 30, 2016 0:43:46 GMT -5
[Thread takes place before Parley thread just for clarification!]
Kiev was exhausted.
To say he was relieved when he started upon a campfire in the distance was a huge understatement - his paws ached, he hadn't eaten something that wasn't a meagre handful of (probably) harmless berries in days. The last stream he passed was two days trek back at least, assuming he could track his way back to it. He'd been trying to catch glimpses of stars to track his way, but his maps were old, or perhaps the seasons were wrong, and the canopy above his head as he'd entered the Mossflower woods was dense. Too dense for his amateur navigation, anyway.
So as he limped closer and found even more campfires, he chose to take it as a positive sign; upon spying the first chunk of dilapidated stone wall however, his heart was a hammer on the back of his ribs. Could these be the stones of Redwall abbey? Could he have come too late? The books he'd brought with him had been old - perhaps over the years, the abbey had finally succumbed to invasion and been trampled beneath the paws of tyrant's like his father. The thought was nearly too painful to bear - if not the abbey, then where could he go? Gingeraly, he places a paw to the crumble down wall, and glances to the fires winking through the dark trunks of the trees beyond. He could make out tents now - not as many as campfires, but a few. They did not have the look of a roaming caravan - he had seen this style of tent before.
War tents. For troops.
He barely had time to ponder whom they could belong to as strong paws grabbed him about the arms, and grimy claws clamped harsh about his mouth. He thought he caught a snigger of foul breath by his ear and considered biting the paw gagging him (though it was something he was truly warring with himself about, as the paw in question was definitely unwashed) before he was thwacked hard across the back of the head with what he could only assume was the blunt of a weapon, and his vision swam to darkness.
When he awoke, he was being hauled through the tents and fires he had seen from a distance and no longer did they wink like fireflies in the dusk. The sight that greeted his eyes was as far from pleasant as could be. Ferrets and weasels, rats and foxes, all and any kind of vermin could be found; hunched around campfires or sharpening weapons, gnawing on charred pieces of root or fish. They stank the collective sort of stink of an unwashed horde, and they all sported an assortment of earrings or long jagged daggers at their waists. But worst of all, the few that still had two eyes seemed to watch him warily as he was bodily carried through the camp. Some laughed or jeered, words too guttural or accented for him to truly make out, but it scarcely mattered; he knew the type well. They were the sort his father might have presided over - the kind his siblings had kept close confidence with.
The exact type of beast he had wished to avoid at all costs.
"The cap'n'll see ye now," Snarled the particularly bulky rat who had him by his arm, and had distinctively bent whiskers.
"See to it ye aren't a total waste of his time," He was informed, before he was dumped tail over teakettle sputtering into the dirt.
He lone thought was for the well being of his harp, and he hoped it would still be in one piece after this whole ordeal. He hoped he would remain in one piece.
Kiev was exhausted.
To say he was relieved when he started upon a campfire in the distance was a huge understatement - his paws ached, he hadn't eaten something that wasn't a meagre handful of (probably) harmless berries in days. The last stream he passed was two days trek back at least, assuming he could track his way back to it. He'd been trying to catch glimpses of stars to track his way, but his maps were old, or perhaps the seasons were wrong, and the canopy above his head as he'd entered the Mossflower woods was dense. Too dense for his amateur navigation, anyway.
So as he limped closer and found even more campfires, he chose to take it as a positive sign; upon spying the first chunk of dilapidated stone wall however, his heart was a hammer on the back of his ribs. Could these be the stones of Redwall abbey? Could he have come too late? The books he'd brought with him had been old - perhaps over the years, the abbey had finally succumbed to invasion and been trampled beneath the paws of tyrant's like his father. The thought was nearly too painful to bear - if not the abbey, then where could he go? Gingeraly, he places a paw to the crumble down wall, and glances to the fires winking through the dark trunks of the trees beyond. He could make out tents now - not as many as campfires, but a few. They did not have the look of a roaming caravan - he had seen this style of tent before.
War tents. For troops.
He barely had time to ponder whom they could belong to as strong paws grabbed him about the arms, and grimy claws clamped harsh about his mouth. He thought he caught a snigger of foul breath by his ear and considered biting the paw gagging him (though it was something he was truly warring with himself about, as the paw in question was definitely unwashed) before he was thwacked hard across the back of the head with what he could only assume was the blunt of a weapon, and his vision swam to darkness.
When he awoke, he was being hauled through the tents and fires he had seen from a distance and no longer did they wink like fireflies in the dusk. The sight that greeted his eyes was as far from pleasant as could be. Ferrets and weasels, rats and foxes, all and any kind of vermin could be found; hunched around campfires or sharpening weapons, gnawing on charred pieces of root or fish. They stank the collective sort of stink of an unwashed horde, and they all sported an assortment of earrings or long jagged daggers at their waists. But worst of all, the few that still had two eyes seemed to watch him warily as he was bodily carried through the camp. Some laughed or jeered, words too guttural or accented for him to truly make out, but it scarcely mattered; he knew the type well. They were the sort his father might have presided over - the kind his siblings had kept close confidence with.
The exact type of beast he had wished to avoid at all costs.
"The cap'n'll see ye now," Snarled the particularly bulky rat who had him by his arm, and had distinctively bent whiskers.
"See to it ye aren't a total waste of his time," He was informed, before he was dumped tail over teakettle sputtering into the dirt.
He lone thought was for the well being of his harp, and he hoped it would still be in one piece after this whole ordeal. He hoped he would remain in one piece.
bye!
