They rose together and walked toward the orchard, where lunch was being served in the shade of the trees. Dannflor paced easily beside his father. “But Redwall Abbey’s the most peaceful place a creature could wish to be. How will I know when I’ve become a warrior?”

Rusvul stopped and stared at him. “Yore name is Dannflor Reguba. In ancient squirrel language the Reguba was the greatest warrior in all the land. I am called Reguba, as my father was before me. When danger threatens an’ you have to face the foebeast, then you will know you are Reguba, bravest of the brave!”

Lunch was a fairly simple one: sliced fruits—apple, pear, greengage and plum—some fresh-baked scones and damson jam, and dandelion and burdock cordial, foamy and cold from Tragglo Cellarhog’s vaults. Rusvul sat chatting with Tragglo, while Dannflor chose to sit next to Cregga. The Badgermum reached out a huge paw and ran it gently over his face.

“You are troubled, Dann. What’s going on in that mind of yours?”

The young squirrel sucked foam noisily from the top of his beaker. “Not so much troubled as puzzled, marm. They say you were once a great warrior. My father likes the company of warriors, but he never seems to talk at any length with you. Why’s that?”

Cregga shrugged lightly, her blind eyes facing straight ahead. “Probably because I never talk about my seasons as a fighter. That is all in the dead past to me. Peace and this beautiful Abbey are what matter in my life now. Do you like Redwall, Dann?”

“Aye, I like it a lot. It’s really home to me.”

Cregga smiled, nodding her great striped head. “Good. ’Tis my home too, though I’ve never seen it with my eyes. I was blinded in battle before I ever arrived at Redwall. Do me a favor, Dann, look at it and tell me what you see. You can be my eyes. Go on. Let’s see if we both live in the same place.”