Mara sized the pair up. The ferret was a shifty-looking creature, dressed in a long tunic that had obviously been cut down to fit him. He carried a spear and wore a dagger in the piece of rope that served him as a belt. The young weasel was a different matter altogether. His clothing fitted perfectly. He wore a smart yellow tunic, and on his woven belt hung a short sword, complete with case. He also sported a pair of thick white bone bracelets. All in all he appeared quite dashing. Mara felt self-conscious; both she and Pikkle were clad in the homely sand-colored smocks worn by those who lived at Salamandastron.

“My name is Mara, and this is my friend Pikkle Ffolger. We come from the mountain fortress of Salamandastron, almost a day’s march north of here.”

Klitch smiled oddly. “But you don’t want to go back, right?”

Mara stood up, dusting sand from herself. “Oh, we moan and groan a bit, but we always return there. It’s our home, you see. Tell me, did you and Goffa come all the way up from the Southwest by yourselves?”

A quick smile passed between Klitch and Goffa, then the weasel shrugged carelessly.

“Oh, more or less. We do exactly what we want and go just where we please. Isn’t that right, Goffa?”

The ferret leaned on his spear and nodded. “Right!”

“But you two are only young ones, like us,” Pikkle interrupted. “I say, who allows you to carry weapons like that?”

Klitch’s blue eyes twinkled merrily. “Nobeast allows us to do anything—we feel like having weapons, so we carry ’em and don’t give a hoot for anyone!”

The more Mara heard from Klitch the more she admired him.

He drew his sword and swung it, neatly clipping the heads from two dandelions growing amid the reedgrass. “So you’re from Salamandastron, hellsteeth! That’s a right old mouthful of a name. Tell you what, me and Goffa here will walk along with you. I’d like to see this place. You can tell me all about it as we go.”

Without further preamble the four young ones set out for the mountain, chatting and laughing. Klitch was an amusing talker with lots of interesting tales to tell. He was also a good listener and paid rapt attention to anything Mara or Pikkle had to say about their home—so much so, that eventually they were doing all the talking and he was doing all the listening. Goffa rarely spoke.

*   *   *

The journey did not seem half so arduous with friends to share it. Still, it was night when they came within hailing distance of the great mountain.

Windpaw, a fully grown female hare, met them as they crossed the shore. She nodded at the two newcomers and shook a cautionary paw at Mara and Pikkle.