This was the second time that Boar had spoken of things that had not yet happened. Martin was curious.

“You say it is written, Boar?”

The badger stood tall, pointing at Martin. “What is that broken weapon you wear about your neck like a medal?” he asked.

The warrior mouse took it off and gave it to Boar, who inspected it closely as Martin explained.

“That was once the sword of my father. He was a warrior. How it came to be broken I will tell you, because your daughter Bella asked me to inform you about all that is going on in Mossflower.”

As they ate and rested, Martin told Boar how he came to Kotir, the plight of the woodlanders, and Bella’s plea for Boar to return to his birthright and free the land. Throughout the narrative, Boar the Fighter said nothing. He paced the room, turning the broken sword hilt over in his paws, looking at it as if it carried some message for him.

Martin finished his recitation of the events. “So you see, Mossflower has need of its son, Boar,” he concluded. “You must come back with us.”

There was silence. When the silver badger spoke, he did not answer the plea.

“This is a very ancient sword hilt, a good one. I can make it into a new weapon. I must give it a blade that will not be broken again by anything.”

Martin saw that Boar would not be pressed for answers; he decided to comply until the badger’s mood changed.

“Thank you, Boar. I would dearly like to see my father’s old sword forged into a new weapon. Since it was broken I have felt like half a warrior carrying half a sword.”

Boar shook his massive head. “Your mistake, Martin. You are a real warrior, a full and true one. You have the heart—I can see it in you. But when I make this sword anew, you must always remember that it is not the weapon but the creature that wields it. A sword is a force for good only in the paws of an honest warrior. But enough now. You and your friends are tired. I will talk to you tomorrow and show you many things. Sleep here. If you wish to bathe the dust of travel away, I will send my hares with dry towels for you.”

Boar took his leave of the travelers.

* * *

The hot bath was deep and refreshing. Trubbs, Wother and Ffring turned up with huge soft towels.

“One each, you chaps. No splashing.”

“Wash behind your ears, old sport.”

“Night-night. See you in the morning.”

Dry, full and warm, they lay on the moss-covered ledges.

“Hoo urr,” Dinny yawned, “so we’m come to Sammandastor at larst.”

Log-a-Log stared at the high ceiling.

“A wonderful place indeed. Strange creature that Boar, eh, Martin?”

“Oh, he’ll tell us what he intends when he’s good and ready,” Martin said airily. “Let’s get some sleep. I’ve a feeling tomorrow’s going to be a full day.”