Nutwing spread a curtain across the mousebabe Dwopple, who was still snoring in the armchair. “Hmm mm. Been given lots of motherwort and a smidgen of valerian, I suspect. He’ll probably sleep a good while. Mm, nasty! It looks like our badger has lost an ear.”

Friar Butty took a peek, drawing in his breath sharply. “Great seasons, so she has, and will you look at this broken arrowhead sunk into her shoulder near the neck? Gracious me, Cregga marm, didn’t it hurt you at the time?”

Spread out on the couch the huge badger snorted wearily. “I never felt a thing. In the old days, when I could see, they called me Cregga Rose Eyes, you know. My rage was so great in battle that nothing could stop me. I was possessed by a thing called the Bloodwrath, like most badger Warriors.”

The Friar shook his head worriedly. “I’ll have to go up to the Abbey. ’Twill take Sister Sloey’s herb satchel, sewing twine and clean dressings to patch you up right. Now stay there and don’t move!”

Nutwing ambled out of the gatehouse, muttering as he went. “I’ll go, hmm, mm, I can still flap these stiff old wings a bit. You stay here, Butty, in case anybeast of ours comes knocking on the gate. I won’t be long!”

The old owl hopped and flapped, sometimes touching the ground, other times with the grasstops brushing his talons. Faintly upon the night air he could hear the sounds of conflict from over the outer wall at the southwest corner. Surprised to find the main Abbey door half open, he shuffled in, blinking his eyes against the lantern and candle lights, and walked straight into the backs of Dakkle and Beelu. Still blinking, he called out, “Hmm mm, who’s there? Is that Melilot?”

“Nutwing! Look out! Get away!”

At the sound of the owl’s voice Song had looked up. She saw the four vermin in plain view, creeping toward them. Ascrod grabbed Nutwing. Using the flapping owl as a shield, he and his cohorts rushed the three young guards.