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Post by Gingivere-Greeneyes on Oct 4, 2015 16:54:40 GMT -5
Cornelius smiled cheekily and tapped his button-like nose. "Well Mildred, you never know when one might pay us a visit." he grinned. Granted, he had never seen an eagle (though he would dearly like to), but he had read through a few records of the vast birds of prey visit the Abbey. Maybe he might live to see the next one!
He looked down as Foremole Gruffer concurred with the Recorder. "Oh poo none of you are any fun!" (On certain days it could be argued that Cornelius was a bigger baby than those he looked after). He looked up at the wall-top, back down at the group, then up to the walls again. "Well...If none of you mind..." he trailed off, then turned and practically sprinted towards the wall-steps, climbing them hurriedly before at last clamping his paws down on top of the ramparts.
And sure enough, the view was a good as he had expected. The blue sky was now being striped with golden rays which came from behind the still dark mountains, and so too were the plains washed in a similar light. The brown badger lifted his head and sighed with contentment once again, before he turned back towards the grounds, grasping the railing.
He was about to call the rest of them up, as he felt rather selfish watching this himself (Mildred and Foremole he was prepared to carry), until his gaze wandered over to the orchard.
Squinting his eyes, he was just able to make out the tiny sleeping form of Abbot Whittle between the fruit trees, sleeping soundly. Cornelius smiled to himself, bless the poor old creature. He glanced down at Mildred, putting a paw to his lips with a smile for silence and pointing the other one in the direction on the orchard.
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Post by Captain Bigwig on Oct 4, 2015 21:12:23 GMT -5
Mildred watched Cornelius with a furrowed brow and a shake of the head, slightly amused all the same. The Abbey was fortunate to have someone so cheery helping tend to the dibbuns and take care of everyone. Still, she wondered desperately where he got all that energy from? Was it something he ate? Scratching at her ear, she raised an eyebrow when he motioned for them to be quite, and followed the direction of his finger until she noticed the Abbott, a little ways off, sleeping in the orchard.
Huffing, whether from humor or irritation it wasn't clear, and began to hobble off to him. Whether or not a snooze in the orchard was perfectly fine and safe and not detrimental to his health, Mildred would gladly pretend all of the above were so, not interested in seeing Abbott Whittle catch a cold. Or worse! Who knows!
When she had finally made it to him, she crossed her arms over her chest and started tapping her foot, as if trying to decide the best manner to wake the Abbott, who admittedly looked quite peaceful...
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Post by Sherwood on Oct 4, 2015 21:20:46 GMT -5
Briar seemed to wilt a bit at the badger guardians declaration of a lack of anything going on. Just a get together of the more well known members of the Abbey then. Probably talking about flowers and growing things. That was all well and good mind, if only for a short while. Flowers could be important, Cypress was certainly a reminder of that fact, given all the medicines and concoctions he seemed to be able to whip out of thin air with just a few roots. It was baffling and piqued Briar's curiosity something fierce. Unfortunately she'd never been able to sit still long enough to undergo the rigors that were required with learning what could do what for beasts in trouble. That was better left to quieter folk, she supposed.
"Missus Mildred would have a difficult time with the stairs, you're correct." Briar nodded, giving the record keeper a sidelong look, whiskers twitching thoughtfully. She wondered when the last time the mouse had gone to such places. When the Abbey was young? She wondered just how old Mildred was. But it wasn't polite to ask such things, as Briar had learned the hard way with a few smacks to the top of her skull for rude and inappropriate questions in learning classes.
She couldn't resist however, giving the record keeper a wry grin. "Well, we may not have a golden eagle, missus, but we do have Tsaron who might be able to bring you up and about. Or even that buzzard I've seen about once or twice." Though Briar had to admit that the latter seemed like a bad idea and Tsaron was the more plausible of the two. But still, if they were thinking in matters of plausibility, the idea of Mildred even getting onto the back of such a great bird as either of those was slim to none to begin with.
Briar's ears swiveled catching Gruffur's words. That same self-assured grin came back to Briar's face and she puffed up her chest just a touch. "But of course, missus Foremole!" she declared proudly, "There's lots to be done as you said, just got to find it." Here she turned to Cypress and nodded eagerly. "I'd be glad to help you out later, just let me know when and I'll be sure to go!" It wasn't often that she got to go out into Mossflower, and even with an escort, it was too good an opportunity to allow to slip by her.
At the sudden explosion of activity however, she turned and regarded just where Cornelius was pointing. Baffled, she squinted as she watched Mildred storm in that direction, clearly bent on laying into someone. "Is that....the Abbott?" Briar asked, baffled.
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mads
Dibbun
Posts: 49 
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Post by mads on Oct 11, 2015 19:02:43 GMT -5
Cypress sighed, foreseeing the abbot coming to him later for a tincture for the soreness that was sure to come from lying out in the dew drenched grass... but he truly couldn't blame him. It was a glorious morning, perfect for walking and lying about in the sunshine.
"Thank you, Briar- I'll surely let you know." he said firmly.
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Post by Constable 216D on Oct 24, 2015 18:51:59 GMT -5
Abbot Whittle came slowly awake, the sensations of the soft grass of the orchard and the warmth of the sun permeating his aged body. Allowing himself a tentative leisurely stretch, he eased himself into a sitting position, twitching his nose slightly to disengage a blossom petal that had settled upon it during his nap. The air directly in front of him felt heavy somehow, alerting the Abbot that somebeast stood silently before him. There was no mistaking that smell of dust, mingled with hints of lavender and ink. Ever had he harbored a mild affection for the chorus of scents that followed Mildred about like a gathering of fragrant butterflies.
"Ah, Sister Mildred," Abbot Whittle began aloud dreamily, "is not Mother Nature ever thoughtful of us? Even as winter causes the earth to bow its head, she looks to the spring, ready to present the wonderful warmth of the new season to us." He offered her a beaming smile as he reached for his walking staff with one paw. "Good morning to you, my friend. It is surprising to me that I have not been rushed by our beloved Dibbuns, each one of them clamoring for me to declare a feast! Is everybeast still abed?" He attempted to rise from the ground but found that he could not quite place his footpaws beneath him properly. He rested for a moment, his back set firmly against the trunk of an apple tree. "Oooh, I may need to take breakfast in the orchard today! I am certainly ready to start the day, but my legs seem to have resigned themselves to another nap!" Laughing good-naturedly, the Abbot turned his face up towards Mildred, his features tinged with mild embarrassment. "My dear Sister Mildred, would you help this old Abbot to stand up?"
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Post by Captain Bigwig on Oct 27, 2015 16:13:00 GMT -5
Tutting a bit as the Abbot stirred, Mildred was quite prepared to (well-meaningly) tear into the old fool for snoozing outside, but he awoke so peacefully and appeared so cheerful that she at once lost the mind for it. He rambled about the weather and the season, and nodded her head along slowly. It was amazing to her how he spoke so easily of spring - it hadn't quite registered to her that winter was, indeed, over. They had not named the season yet, but surely it would happen soon. That recording entry would be several pages, she was sure. Her paws yearned to write of new beginnings.
"I can imagine the dibbuns are rising as we speak," she hummed, looking towards the large Abbey doors for a moment. The sun had risen, after all. The peaceful morning would soon turn into terror when they emerged. As important as dibbuns were, Mildred had to admit they weren't something she particularly enjoyed dealing with. Too loud, too sticky, too troublesome.
Watching the Abbot struggle to rise, despite how optimistic he was, left Mildred with a twinge of melancholy. They were getting old, weren't they? How many more seasons would they have, enjoying the safety and beauty of Redwall? How many more springs could they possibly enjoy together? Truly, in her soul, Mildred hated the thought of having to leave the Abbey, even in death. Shaking the negative thoughts from her head, she held out her frail hands for him to grab, smirking a little.
"Why, Abbot Whittle, I'll help you up - as long as you don't pull me down! Perhaps this is what you get for sleeping out in the orchard! You could catch a cold that way, you know."
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Post by Constable 216D on Nov 22, 2015 13:22:08 GMT -5
The Abbot laughed heartily at Mildred's jest as she guided his paws into her own. "I don't believe I have it in me to pull you down, Mildred. That would require the strength of a much younger beast than I!"
A moment of brief struggle passed as Abbot Whittle found his footing, using the leverage from Mildred's supportive grasp to aid the attempt. With the creaking of joints and several grunts of exertion, the Abbot stood up off the ground. "Thank you, my friend," he said gratefully, dusting off his robe and retrieving his walking stick. He inhaled the fresh spring air deeply, giving himself a moment to gather his thoughts, when suddenly the wraith of ill tidings that had come to bother him of late crept slowly over his heart. An old instinct from his days as a rover kicked in, and he turned his head to one side, his ears swiveling this way and that, listening for even the slightest hint of trouble brewing. Aware that Mildred was watching him, he forced himself to ignore the feeling, fervently hoping that Mildred had somehow missed the change in his behavior. He cleared his throat dismissively. "Now then, shall we see to the affairs of the new season?" The Abbot's tense demeanor had taken on a business-like air, and he set off at a surprisingly brisk walk towards the main Abbey building. He continued listing off tasks for the day aloud as if every Redwaller were within earshot; it was one of the ways he had learned to cope with the shadow lingering in his mind.
"I suppose this season shall need a name. I do believe I remain quite fond of what was suggested at yesterday's afternoon tea, Spring of the Singing Larks was it? I must speak with Friar Ahndia to see to preparations for the season's nameday feast. Oh, and where is Cornelius? I will need his help to delegate tasks for the celebration... dear me, what a morning to have taken a nap!"
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bye!
