Song stared solemnly at the crestfallen faces staring up at her, and then she gave a hearty giggle. “Heeheehee! Stop looking at me like frogs at a funeral! What’s the matter, can’t you take a joke? Listen—here are my first four official words to you as Abbess of Redwall. On with the feast!”

Cheering and laughing, they pushed the cart across the lawn to the Abbey. Florian, bringing up the rear, chatted away to Rimrose. “Whew, marm, greatly relieved, that’s what yours truly is. I thought we’d voted in a right young terror t’run the jolly old place, wot, a proper new-brush-sweeps-clean stickler! Good job your pretty daughter was only jokin’, wot wot! Nothin’ like a sense o’ humor I always say, chap should always be able t’take a joke or a bit o’ ribbin’. . . Yowch!”

A pebble from the fiendish mousebabe’s sling clipped Florian’s tailbob. The hare dashed off after Dwopple shouting threats. “Assassin, rapscallion, figdoodle, pollywoggin’ savage infant! Yes, you, sah! I’ll kick y’little tail ten times round Great Hall if I catch you! I’ll chuck you in with the flippin’ apples an’ trample you to cider! I’ll . . . Er, now now, put that sling down, there’s a good little chap . . . Heeeeelp!”

Florian flew in behind the merry cavalcade and slammed the Abbey door shut.

Epilogue

Epilogue

Extract from the records of Redwall Abbey, written by an Apprentice Recorder under the direction of Friar Butty.