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As I Go Wandering

Mossflower’s four chieftains have a summer reunion. Some Songbreeze/Dannflor fluff for @myrose-of-oldredwall! Happy holidays, friend!!!😊

(And many thanks to @redwall-secret-santa for setting this up!)

It had been many a season since Redwall Abbey was ruled by such young creatures. Abbess Songbreeze Swifteye and Abbey Champion Dannflor Reguba were wise leaders, stout warriors, and kind and cherished friends to all at Redwall, from the tiniest molebabe to the prickliest old hedgehog; they were also energetic creatures, and occasionally somewhat restless. Song in particular, used to wandering since infancy, sometimes felt a longing pull towards the woodlands, towards campfires and swift waters and sleeping beneath leafy bowers at night.

“I can’t believe that a year ago we were fighting Marlfoxes and finding secret islands,” she observed to Dann, during one of these wistful moods. They were in the orchards, beakers of ice-cold raspberry cordial in paw, as they supervised a herd of adventurous Dibbuns reenacting the great battles of the previous summer. “I feel like it was a lifetime ago.”

“Or like it happened to different creatures.”

“Younger, sillier creatures.”

“Speak for yourself,” said Dann, feigning indignance, though the impression was undermined by the daisy crown a trio of giggling mousebabes had placed on his head.

“And it’s been a while since we’ve seen Dipp and Burble,” Song continued thoughtfully, brushing pear blossoms from her shoulders. “I wonder what they’re up to.”

“Probably off havin’ all kinds of adventures. It’s a wild life out there in Mossflower.”

“I wonder if we’d still be good at adventures.”

“Well, there’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?” said a new voice, full of gentle mirth.

Song and Dann turned to see Cregga Rose Eyes, the ancient Abbey badgermother, lounging in the sun. She had been following their conversation with a smile on her scarred face.

“You should go and visit your young friends. It’s a perfect summer for travelling,” she said, almost suspiciously casual. “And a few weeks to yourselves might give you a chance to rest up before the autumn harvest.”

“We have plenty of time to relax here,” Dann protested. As if on cue, a stout young molemaid tugged on his habit hem, while a slightly older squirrel called to Songbreeze from across the Abbey lawn.

“Hurr, zurr, Daisy be’s making mudpies an’ trying to eat em all oop. It’s an orful mess, hurr hurr.”

“Abbess? The cook needs you straight away – something about a disaster in the larder and a whole season’s hazelnuts spilled all over the floor?”

“Think it over, anyway,” Cregga said, still smiling, while the two conscientious squirrels rushed to their duties.

*****

After much deliberation, and cleaning up spilled hazelnuts and mud-covered Dibbuns, Abbess and Abbey Warrior decided that perhaps a little summer reunion might be just the thing they needed.

“Are you sure you won’t need us?” Dann and Song both asked Cregga, multiple times. Cregga generously let them realize on their own what a silly question this was to ask a former Badger Lady, former interim-Abbey-leader, veteran of multiple wars, who might not be able to see but could hear a pin drop and snap steel or iron like a forest twig. Meanwhile, Rusvul, Janglur, Rimrose, Gawjo, and Ellayo, all creatures of solid experience and good sense themselves, cracked frequent jokes about having more than enough squirrel perspective on the running of the Abbey anyway.

“You’re only young ‘uns once,” Ellayo added sagely, in a tone that brooked no argument. “It’s high time you had a little fun, without us old ‘uns hanging around!”

And so it was that a few days later they set out on a glorious midsummer morning—only for a few weeks, of course, but farewelled as if they might be gone for a full season. Dann carried the sword of Martin belted across his back, and Song a light walking staff. Dibbuns, elders, Abbey brothers, Abbey sisters—all of Redwall Abbey and some from the country around—stood at the gates or on the walltops to see them off. The Abbess left them with a song, sweet and true as always, which left many a creature sniffing slightly behind cover of paw or habit sleeve.

“Though this journey borrows me,

I promise I won’t be far away,

For I carry you in my heart with me,

In ev’ry place my pawsteps stray.

When you see the summer sky,

Or river in its royal blue,

Think of me as I go wandering,

And know that I’ll come home to you.”

“Good ‘un, Song,” said Dann appreciatively, when they had passed beyond sight of the red sandstone walls.

“Now you sing us one.”

“Ah, you know me. I don’t sing.”

“I’ll teach you. We have all the time in the world.”

The two spent several days wandering on their own: lazily, enjoying the journey, occasionally stopping to chat with creatures who made their home in Mossflower Wood. They followed the river in a vague sort of way, and one morning reached a tranquil stretch of water that they recognized from last year’s quest.

“Dippler and the Guosim should be somewhere close,” said Dann, searching for pawprints in the soft sand. Song had another idea.

“Logalogalogalog!” she called, in an echoing, birdlike trill. Dann followed suit, paws cupped around his mouth.

“Logalogalogalog!” he shouted, slightly less melodically, pacing a little farther up the riverbank. “LogalogalogaOOF!”

Song whirled around in time to see Dannflor flattened by a blur of grey fur. She charged, wielding her walking staff, raising her voice in a thunderous cry of “Redwallllll!”, before skidding to a halt as she recognized a stout spiky shrew kitted out in rapier and colored headband.

“Mornin’, Dann. Mornin’ Song. What’s with all the shoutin’?” Dippler grinned, paws still locked around Dann in a bear hug, as he heaved them up from the ground. “We’ve already been tracking you for half a mile.”

“You never,” Song protested, giving Dippler a hug herself. “Where are the Guosim, anyway? Did they kick you out already, you great rogue?”

Giggling shrews emerged from a screen of rushes just up the riverbank, almost all of them already known to Dann and Song from the Guosim’s time at Redwall last summer. The two squirrels shook so many paws that their own paws soon felt weary.

“Come see the new fleet of boats we’ve built,” Dippler said finally, extracting them from a shrew tussle over who would get their honored guests some cold mint tea. “I told ye we were going to make lighter craft, like the Riverhead vole tribe had, faster and easier to manage.”

Dippler nodded to a shrew standing guard over a willow grove, and he parted a curtain of leaves to let them pass. A fleet of sleek, beautiful boats, masterfully carved from rich honey-colored wood, were docked in a shallow section of the stream, bobbing gently with the motion of the water.

“They’re wonderful, Dipp,” said Dann, admiring the shine of the varnish and the tiny carvings of waves and flowers ornamenting the prow of each boat. “Are they sea- er, riverworthy yet?”

“Better than any craft on water!” Dippler replied, puffing out his chest proudly.

“Well, in that case, how about a little river journey?” Song grinned. “We were thinking of traveling upstream to visit Burble, too, and the Riverhead vole tribe.”

“Haha, I miss ol’ Burble too. Why not? We’ve been in one place far too long. But first, you’ve got to enjoy our famous Guosim hospitality,” Dippler said firmly. “We had a feeling you’d be comin’ our way! And I want to hear everythin’ that’s happening at Redwall, too, mates!”

They camped for the night in a lovely watermeadow, where dragonflies flitted through the evening sky and paper-white and purple lilies floated on the water. Song and Dann and Dippler caught up together and then spent many hours retelling old tales for the amusement of the Guosim, who especially loved the ones about Megraw Eagle, the Marlfox islands, and Song’s unexpected aunt the hedgehog. Shrewcooks filled their bowls with piping hot tater’n’watershrimp stew and heaped wooden plates with hearty shrewbread and soft white cheese, generously studded with leeks and hazelnuts. When everyone was beginning to yawn, they bedded down on soft sleeping rolls beneath the stars, with the piping of frogs and crickets and waterbirds for a lullaby.

“It’s like being in the forest when I was a little one,” Song murmured drowsily to Dann, before they fell asleep. “I’m ever so glad you came with me.”

They spent several days on the river with Dippler and the Guosim, who were taking advantage of the warm weather and calm water to tend to their logboats and teach the younger shrews how to paddle and swim. Dippler, like the old Log-a-Log before him, was patient and kind with the youngsters. When the group agreed (after much time-honored shrew debate, of course) to embark on a visit to Burble’s tribe, he captained a boat of nervous young shrews just learning to row, encouraging them the whole way and tirelessly helping to back their boat out of sandbars and tangles of tree branch whenever the young ones accidentally crashed into the bank. By the time they had reached the end of their expedition the young shrews were keeping up with the best of them, grinning proudly, and Dippler was able to ship oars and sit at ease.

“Comin’ up on Riverhead vole territory now,” said Dippler, arms crossed, looking every bit the sage Log-a-Log. Sure enough, in the distance they could see the ruddy glow of orange lanternlight muddling the evening lilac, and then a fleet of illuminated watervole coracles gliding a path through the reeds and rushes.

“Is that old Burble Bigboots, Horror of the Leafwood?” Dann called teasingly from the prow of his shrewboat.

“That’s Burble Bigthrone, Holder of the Leafwood to you,” a familiar voice called back. “An’ Commander of the good ol’ boat Swallow, yiss yiss!”

Burble and his tribe of watervoles had soon surrounded the Guosim boats in a flotilla of their own. Shrews and voles exchanged greetings and traded favorite watersongs as they paddled ashore to the Riverhead tribe’s cavern home, where a welcome party was scraping up reels and jigs on an orchestra of well-loved instruments. Burble, once on dry land, kept shaking Dann and Song’s paws vigorously.

“We’ve been meanin’ to come to Redwall, y’know, but there’s been so much to do here. It was a powerful cold winter, so we’ve been improvin’ our little hideout here, getting everything shipshape, y’see!”

They recognized the Riverhead voles’ cavern, but sure enough, the place had been spruced up and made even more cheerful and comfortable than a year ago, thanks in great part to Burble’s exuberance. Cozy moss-covered arms and footstools were drawn up around the hearth; lanterns glowed in wallsconces; woven rush mats with a sweet, grassy perfume covered the floors and decorated the walls. Little trinkets from their various travels—beautiful carvings, pressed and dried flowers, pieces of smooth seaglass—were scattered throughout as decoration, giving the place a very homey feel.

“You kept it, you rogue,” said Dann, horrified and amused, as he spotted a familiar carved chair against the wall of the cave near the dining table. “The Marlfox throne you plundered.”

“Och, yiss, I kept it, but we mostly use it as the babbies’ high chair,” Burble burbled. “Now sit ye down! I want to hear all about what goes on at your Abbey, hoho!”

After long hours feasting and catching up with their two friends, Song and Dann stayed up late into the night talking and toasting last autumn’s russet apples over the fire, while watervole lullabies keened softly around them on fiddle and reed flute. Burble and Dippler, propped up by the hearth, were both snoring uproariously, with Burble clutching the greenstone-topped Leafwood even in his sleep.

“Just like old times, eh?” said Song.

“Should we wake up early and steal a boat in the morning?” Dann said, trying and failing to keep a straight face.

“Oh, yes, I was hoping we’d get chased back to that horrible swampy creekbed again.”

“Get bit by all manner o’ bugs.”

“Fight a few ferrets and weasels while we’re at it.”

“No, thank you, I’m happy right here.”

Their conversation dissolved, as usual, into laughter. Burble shifted a little, pawing at his nose. “Madbeasts, both of ye, yiss yiss,” he snuffled aloud, though still sound asleep. “You’re perfect for each other.”

*****

After several whirlwind days of feasting and dancing, boating and hiking, Dippler and the Guosim set off for farther reaches of Mossflower, and Song and Dann found themselves missing the orchards and sandstone walls of Redwall Abbey, the faces of friends and loved ones, the sound of the evening bells. They bid farewell to Burble and the Riverhead voles (“visit us again!” one and all clamored) and broke camp on an early morning, haversacks filled with homecooked food for their travels, sword and staff in scabbard and paw.

The path home stretched out before them, twining through lush groves of oak and elm and nodding willow. They stopped a moment to stare in awe of it, smell the sweet grasses and blackberry blossom in the air, listen to the sweet warbling birdsong and the soft winging of the sun-yellow butterflies through the trees of Mossflower Wood.

“After you, mighty warrior,” Song said finally, inclining her head with grave solemnity.

“After you, Abbess Songbreeze,” answered Dann, matching her nod with a fantastically elegant bow.

Song gave him a playful shove. Her touch lingered a little on Dann’s shoulder, and Dann turned to her with a soft contented smile. This time it was Dann who picked up the melody of an old wandering song, surprisingly practiced for one who claimed he never sang.

“The road ahead is long and weary,

But walking it with you, my dear,

Though the miles go slow and dreary,

I feel aglow with summer cheer.

See the trees bedecked in flowers,

All alight with green and gold,

Oh, how I love to share these hours -

Let’s wander on ‘till we grow old.”

Paw in paw, side by side, Abbess and Warrior began the journey back to Redwall Abbey.