Under the eye of the summer sun, Bloodwake scudded across the foaming whitecaps like a great seabird. Timballisto leaned over the deckrail with Martin.

“I wish I’d had the chance to meet Boar the Fighter,” Timballisto sighed. “He sounds like a great warrior, from what you say. What a pity he won’t be coming back to save Mossflower.”

Martin drew his sword. He pointed it east toward the land. “It is my duty to save Mossflower. I swore it to Boar and I intend keeping that oath.”

Timballisto watched him as he held forth the beautiful blade. “You will, Martin. You will!”

A hedgehog poked his head around the door of the forward cabins. “Ahoy, there’s a full armory here, lads—swords, spears, knives, everything an army could wish for.”

“Gurt loads o’ vittles, too.” Dinny chuckled. “Oi tell ’ee, Gonffen, liddle boats make oi sick, hurr, but this’n’s a noice big shipper. Oi’ll call ’er Wuddshipp. Harr, that be a foin name.”

Gonff watched the forepeak respond to the tiller.

“Wuddshipp it is then, Din. Though personally I’d have named her Columbine.”

Trubbs and company chimed in.

“I say, that’s a bit strong, Gonff, old sailor.”

“Has Columbine really got a wooden bottom?”

“And two ears that stick out like sails?”

They narrowly ducked the pail of seawater that Gonff hurled.

Banksnout roared out in a gruff shrew bass from atop the rigging, “Ahoy! River in sight up north to landward!”

Martin climbed the bowsprit. He stood on the bleached fish skull figurehead, looking eagerly.

Sure enough, there was the river, boiling across the shores in the distance. He turned to the crowd of eager faces watching him.

“Take her head up and round the shore, Gonff. We’re going home!”

Shrews, mice, hedgehogs, squirrels, hares and a single mole roared out in one voice that rang across the waves,

“Mossflowerrrrrrr!!!”

Argulor was awake.

Shifting on his high spruce perch, he glared down greedily through his old watery eyes at the red-cloaked figure crossing the parade ground of Kotir.

“At last, pine marten!”

* * *

Tsarmina pushed hard against the gates. “See, they’re rocking on their hinges,” she pointed out to Bane. “Those woodlanders have been meddling with them, I’m sure of it.”

Bane gave the gates a kick. “Do you think so? They seem solid enough to me. Huh, even fire arrows didn’t make much impression on these gates.”

Tsarmina unbolted the locks. Opening the gates cautiously, she peered around them at the woodlands. It was safe.

“All clear out here, but I don’t like it. I’m sure they’ve done something to these hinges from outside. Just think, if these gates blew down during the autumn, we’d be at their mercy.”

“Huh, I don’t know what you’re fussing about,” Bane said, swirling his new cloak impatiently. “The gates look all right to me.”

Tsarmina gnawed her lip. “Are you really sure, though?”

The fox sighed in exasperation. “Oh, I suppose I’ll have to go and take a look to keep you happy.”