Basil waggled his ears at the ancient one. “I say, old chap, push off and let a bloke have his hotpot, will you.”

They gathered around the rabbit. Matthias bowed to him.

“I am Matthias the Warrior of Redwall and these are my friends. We mean you no harm. What is your name, sir, and what is this place called?”

The rabbit stared straight ahead. “Doom. All about me is doom!”

“Oh, give your whiskers a rest, you old fogey,” Basil called out as he nudged Log-a-Log to use his ladle, “or I’ll never get served. Doom, doom, death’n’destruction! Can’t you say anything that doesn’t begin with a D?”

The old rabbit slumped down, his limbs trembling with age. Matthias placed his bowl of food in front of the rabbit and draped a sack about his shaking form. The creature ignored the food and continued his mutterings of death and doom. Cheek peered closely at the old rabbit.

“He’s fuddled. Got a headful of black dust,” he remarked.

Basil gave the otter a stern glance. “Mind your manners in front of your elders.”

Matthias turned the same stern glance upon Basil. “Listen to the pot calling the kettle black. You don’t seem to be setting Cheek much of an example.”

The warrior mouse squatted down in front of the old one, pointing to the tall rocks. “Tell me, sir, what lies beyond those rocks?”

For the first time the rabbit appeared to hear the question. He looked towards the badger and the bell, shaking his head.

“Death and darkness, terror and evil!” he intoned, then fell silent and would say no more.

Orlando leaned upon his axe. “It’s no use, Matthias, the poor old fellow is frightened out of his wits. Leave him there with that sack and the food. Perhaps he might come round later and talk to us.”

Jess Squirrel shook her tail. “I wonder what caused him to be like this. It must be something pretty awful to make a creature behave so. Look, Matthias, he’s getting up.”

The old rabbit rose slowly. Walking towards Matthias, he stroked the sack that was draped about him as if it was some kind of comforting robe. Halting in front of the warrior mouse, the ancient one untied a woven grass binder from his paw. A piece of stone dangled from it. Without a word he pressed the object into Matthias’s paws and wandered off into the night, clutching the sack about him like a cloak. Log-a-Log and Jabez intercepted him, but Matthias motioned them away.

“Let him go, poor creature. He seems to be very fond of that sack. Maybe he gave me this in exchange for it.”

Basil inspected the stone hanging from its grass bracelet. “Funny-lookin’ doodah. What d’you suppose it is?”