“Aye, Ah catch yer drift. We’re both warriors the noo. Ach! Ye’ve no need tae be feared for the wee yin, Ah couldnae hurt a fly wi’ mah wing breaked an’ hurtin’ like ’tis. Mind, though, Ah’m a falcon, not an eedjit, an’ Ah’d no be slow in givin’ a guid account of mahsel’, even to a big bonnie laddie the like o’ you!”

Thrugg unshouldered his pack and sat down, smiling good-naturedly. “Call it quits then, matey. You don’t hurt us an’ we won’t hurt you. I’m Thrugg an’ this is Dumble. We’re from Redwall.” He set out oatcake and cheese in three portions.

The falcon relaxed as all three set to eating lunch. “Ah’m beholden to yer for the guid food, Thrugg. Mah name is Rocangus, only son o’ Mactalon, Laird O’ the High Crags. Och aye, mah home is in the great northern mountains, a braw place tae live. Ah was lost an’ driven by the wind some days ago, and had tae land in yon woods, ye ken. ’Twas there the crows set upon me. Ach! They’re a sair lot o’ cowards. Ten o’ them it took tae bring me down. That’s how mah wing was breakit.”

Thrugg took a careful look at the wing. Rocangus stood still, bravely bearing up under the otter’s searching paw.

“You’re got a fractured bone there, shipmate. Still, I don’t suppose one more passenger will break me old back. Come along with us. We’re bound for the mountains of the north in search of the Flowers of Icetor.”

Rocangus looked incredulously at him. “Ach, ye mean Ah’m stuck wi’ two landbound dunderheads lookin’ for the Flowers of Icetor an’ Ah cannae fly?”

Dumble stroked the falcon’s back. “Come wiv us, ’Ocangus. Mista Thugg is a good carrier, y’know.”

Thrugg searched out bindweed, motherwort and pine resin. He made a compound and bound the injured wing, using a willow twig and wild rhubarb fibers to secure the dressing.

“There, that’ll do the trick! Once that pine resin sets firm, the wort ’n’ weed will do their work. Don’t try to move that there wing, mate. The more you keep it still the quicker it’ll heal up. Now, young Rocangus, you can be our navigator. Which way is it to the north mountains?”

The young falcon held the wing stiffly at his side as he pointed into the woodlands to the northeast. “Yonder, though Ah’m no certain sure. ’Tis different when a bird’s no up in the sky, ye ken. Still, dinna fash yersel’. We’ll get there all right.”

Dumble refused to ride in the haversack. He trotted along at Thrugg’s side. Despite his pleas, Rocangus was made to perch on top of the haversack on Thrugg’s back. Latching his powerful talons into the straps, he hung on gamely.