Brogg climbed up on the window ledge. “Hold it steady, Milady, closer to the wall so that I can get on.”

Tsarmina ignored the Captain. She pushed further along the wall until the table was beyond Brogg’s reach.

“Milady, wait for me!”

“Don’t be silly, Brogg.” Tsarmina sounded almost condescending. “You can see there’s only room enough for your Queen on this thing. Two of us would sink it.”

The Captain scratched his head dully as if trying to understand.

“But, Your Majesty, what about me?”

Tsarmina pushed further along the wall. “Oh, you’ll find something, Brogg. Get ashore and regroup the army. I’m going to find that mouse warrior and my brother Gingivere. Don’t you worry, I’ll make them pay for the loss of Kotir.”

Tsarmina floated off round the sinking stronghold, propelling herself along the walls by paw, to the other side, where there were no woodlanders.

Brogg crouched miserably on the window sill, trying to make up his mind which surprised him more—the desertion of Tsarmina his Queen, or the arrival of a huge ballista boulder which put an end to his bafflement forever.

* * *

It was a tranquil summer morning far to the east in Mossflower. On the farm the small creatures were out tending crops with Gingivere and Sandingomm. It had become a second home for the young woodlanders who had made the trip to this peaceful haven of refuge.

Abbess Germaine and Columbine sat upon the riverbank together. Columbine was busying herself with roots she was drying; it was a good area for medicinal herbs and plants. The Abbess had charcoal and parchments; she was drawing something. Columbine watched from the corner of her eye. She remembered Loamhedge. The Abbess used to draw a lot in those far-off days, often translating her thoughts onto parchments which she kept in a journeying satchel—a thing she had not done since their arrival at Brockhall.

Now the old mouse took up a dried reed. Using it as a straight edge, she worked busily with her charcoal sticks, rubbing here, altering there, shading and curving the lines until a clear outline of a great building began to emerge. Germaine peered over the top of her spectacles as she worked, Columbine smiled fondly at her.

“That’s a fine big house, Abbess.”

“I suppose you could call it a house, child. I’ve had this idea in my mind since we left Loamhedge.”

“Ah yes, poor old Loamhedge. I was just thinking about it myself. Perhaps we could have built your big house there, had we been able to stay,” Columbine suggested.

“No, that would not have been possible, Columbine. There was very little local stone around the Loamhedge area.”

Columbine put the roots aside and looked at the drawing with renewed interest.

“Then this great house is not just a dream. It could be built if we had the right material and location, plus, of course, the creatures to build it.”

Germaine nodded decisively, spreading the plans out between them. “Oh yes, indeed. Let me explain. This would not be a mere house. The building I am planning will be a real Abbey for all our woodland friends who wish to live there, a peaceful place where all would exist in happiness.”