The owl waddled right up to the gatehouse window and peered in through tiny thick crystal-lensed spectacles, perched on his beak curve. “Hmm, mm. Is that you, Butty?”

The old squirrel poked his head out of the open window, facing Nutwing nose to beak. “Who else would it be, pushing a quill pen, inkstained paws, buried among scrolls on a beautiful summer morn like this? Certainly not yourself, you feathered old fraud.”

Nutwing shook his head absently. “Hmm, mm. No, it wouldn’t be me. Don’t like writing one little bit. D’you think it’s likely to rain soon?”

Butty nodded toward the hot blue cloudless sky. “I’ve had one paw twinge today, but that could mean nothing. Look up and tell me what you think.”

Nutwing flapped his wings resignedly. “Hmm. Sky’s too far up for me to see. I don’t bother with it.”

Friar Butty came around outside the gatehouse to where the owl stood. “Well, friend, I’m sure you didn’t come this far just to chat about the weather. What d’you want?”

Nutwing thought long and hard, blinking and moving his head from side to side. “Hmm, mm, er, let me see, was it something t’do with . . . No, that wasn’t it . . . Perhaps it was . . . Hmm, no, I’d forgotten about that . . .”

Butty smiled indulgently. “Was it anything to do with strawberries, perhaps?”

Nutwing looked astonished. “How did you know?”

“Because when you flapped your wings a strawberry fell out on the grass. There it is.”

It was a giant of a fruit, shiny red, plump and speckled with seeds. Nutwing grinned happily. Retrieving the strawberry, he gave it to the squirrel. “I brought this beauty over for you, friend. They’re taking the berries to the kitchen, and your advice is needed.”

Friar Butty bit into the fruit, wiping juice from his whiskers as he chewed. “Oh, delicious. I hope they’re all the same quality as this’n. What a wonderful thing a strawberry is. It has a flavor and fragrance all of its own—the taste of a good summer. Right, let’s go to the kitchens and see how I can be of help.”

Badgermum Cregga was totally blind, though it did not seem to hamper her greatly. She waited at the Abbey’s main door to greet the pair. “Ah, well done, Nutwing, you remembered your errand. Come on, Butty, finish eating that strawberry and get along to the kitchens.”

The old Friar was amazed. “But how did you . . .”

Redwall’s blind Badgermum forestalled the question. “I know ’tis you because you limp a bit on that rheumatic paw and any creature with half a nose and one ear can tell by the aroma and the sound of chomping when somebeast is enjoying a big strawberry. Now, hurry along before the Dibbuns decide what to do with the entire crop.”