Shuffling through the deepening puddles, the slaves crowded into the pens, throwing themselves down on the damp straw bedding, grateful to be under cover. Locking the pens, the guard returned the keys to Ullig. Two more guards staggered from the barracks nearby, carrying between them a cauldron of boiled maize porridge, which they placed close to the bars. Ullig watched the slaves thrusting their paws through and scooping the rapidly cooling mess into their mouths. He shook his head at the pitiful sight. “I’m far too kind t’you lot. Must be gettin’ soft with me long seasons.” Laughing to himself, he strode off to the cover of the barracks, where a warm fire and good food awaited him.

*

Song slept heavily. It was long past dawn when the young shrew called Dippler flicked rainwater at her head.

“Come on, dozychops, wake up or you’ll snore until autumn!”

The squirrelmaid had chummed up with the Guosim shrew, who was roughly her own age, on the previous evening. Now Song opened one eye and lay unmoving as she threatened her newfound friend.

“You’ve just done three things that really annoy me. One, you flicked water on me while I was asleep. Two, you called me dozychops. Worst of all, though, is number three. You said I snore. For that, my friend, you’re going to take an early bath in the stream!”

Leaping up, she dashed after Dippler, who was very agile and could duck and dodge with ease. They flew past Janglur and Log a Log, showering them with the wet banksand churned up by their paws.

“Aye aye, steady on there, you young rowdies!” The shrew Chieftain shook sand off himself, grinning at Janglur. “Wish I had the energy o’ them two. ’Tis good that your Song’s palled up with Dippler. That young ’un ain’t got many friends. He was the one doin’ guard duty when our boats went missin’.”

Janglur dodged smartly aside as the pair chased by him again. “Well, he won’t go far wrong with Song. She’s a good ’un, mate, an’ she don’t make friends lightly.”

Song and Dippler dodged about a bit more on the bank, then flopped down on the ground grinning at each other. Dippler held up a paw, panting fitfully. “Truce?”

Song nodded. “Truce it is. Look, the rain’s almost stopped!”

Last night’s high wind was gone and the downpour had slacked off to a fine drizzle, though the skies were still slaty gray. Log a Log called out to his shrews, “Break camp, mates, grub’s all gone. We’ll be headin’ fer Redwall in comp’ny with Swifteye an’ his family. Mayon, Bargle, stick with Gran’ma Ellayo, an’ lend ’er a paw. Fenno, douse the fire. Splikker, take two scouts an’ march ahead of us. Bit o’ luck an’ we should make the Abbey sometime in the late noon.”