Ferahgo's claws had pierced the rat's shoulder. Sickear whimpered in pain, tears rolling down his narrow face. The weasel Chieftain freed his claws from the matted fur and flesh with a quick wrench. Slumping to one side, Sickear moaned piteously, trying to lick his injured shoulder. Ferahgo grinned, his strange blue eyes twinkling in the firelight like a happy infant.
"Oh, I'm sorry, friend. I must have got carried away. Never mind, it's only a scratch. The best thing for you is fresh air and something to take your mind off it. Listen now, you shin up those lookout rocks and keep Feadle company the rest of the night. It'll do you good. Stop weeping and groaning now. Come on, up you go!"
The Assassin's eyes smiled wide and innocent as he watched the injured Sickear hauling himself painfully up
among the rocks. With a note of deceptive concern he called softly up to the weary lookout, "Not sleepy yet, Feadle?"
The lookout stared down into the treacherous blue eyes smiling up at him. Straightening his back against the rock, he sang out in an alert manner. "No sign of your son or Goffa yet, Master. I'm wide awake!"
Feadle's heart sank at the cheerful reply.
"Good work! Stop up there and keep Sickear company. Keep your eyes open now, both of you. There's a fresh edge on my skinning knife that I haven't used yet."
Feadle stretched down. Grasping Sickear's paw, he helped him up to the lookout post. Below them Ferahgo lay fiat on his back, watching through half-closed eyes.
Rosy dawn light caressed the Abbey walls as Bremmun the squirrel climbed the stairs to the Infirmary. Knocking softly on the door, he entered. Brother Hollyberry never slept in a bed; he sat propped up by cushions in his armchair, watching the birth of another summer day rise over the windowsill. Arula and Samkim lay asleep in their beds. Bremmun nodded toward them, keeping his voice low.
"Good morning, Brother. How are they today?"
Hollyberry yawned and stretched in his chair. "Morning, Bremmun. See for yourself. I worked the tails off them both until late last night, washing nightgowns, stitching pillowcases. They're two very sorry young unscried themselves to sleep after all those chores."
Bremmun's face softened, and he stared guiltily at the two young sleepers, Arula sucking her paw, Samkim with his bushy tail curled under the pillow.
"By the fur V whiskers, Brother, you must have driven them hard. They look completely tuckered out."
Hollyberry raised his eyebrows. "I was only carrying out your instructions. You set the penalty."
"Do you think they've had enough?"
Hollyberry snorted. "Hmph! What do you think!"
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"Yes of course, they have been punished sufficiently. When they wake you can tell them they are free to leave. D'you know, I feel quite awful about the whole thing. I just hope those young uns have learned their lesson."
Hollyberry breathed on his spectacles, polished and rebalanced them on his nosetip, and stared earnestly at Bremmun. "Oh, I'm sure they have. Hmm, quite sure!"
A rather shamefaced Bremmun tip-pawed out, closing the door carefully behind him.
Samkim opened one eye and stifled a snigger. Brother Hollyberry wagged a paw at him.
"You squirrelly little wag, you were listening!"
"Hurrhurrhurr! Oi wurr a-listenin' too, zurr Berr'olly."
The old mouse shook his head ruefully. "It's not good for young ones to hear their elders tell lies."
Samkim sprang grinning from the bed. "But you weren't telling lies, Brother. You just forgot what sort of jobs you gave us. Eating candied chestnuts is very hard workmy jaws are still aching!"
Arula tumbled to the floor, clinging to her pillow. "Aye, zurr, an' playen yon game. Boohurr, those pebbles 'n' acorns be fearful 'eavy. 'Spec' moi young mussles be infected fer loif, hurr!"
A smile hovered about Hollyberry's face. It was soon replaced by a grin as his chuckles turned into rib-quaking laughter. Arula and Samkim rolled about the floor in merriment.
"Ahahahahoohoo! Old Bremmun had a face on him like ahahaha! Like a frog suckin' a rock. Heeheehee!"
An infant dormouse pursued Abbess Vale across the front lawn from the Abbey to the gatehouse. "Muvva Vale, Muvva Vale, when's a Nameday?"
The old mouse turned her eyes skyward in despair. "Dum-ble, will you please stop pestering me! I haven't had breakfast yet and I can't think right if I'm hungry. Now be off with you this instant!"
The little dormouse carried on tugging Vale's habit and pleading. "Owww! Stoppa momint, Muvva Vale an' say
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when's a Nameday, or Dumbte turn all purkle an' cry!"
The Abbess halted and wagged a severe paw. "You'll turn purple and cry, eh? Are you threatening me?"
The infant smiled and nodded. "Mmm yeh, Dumble go all purkle an' cryancryancry lots!"
Mr. Tudd Spinney limped out of the gatehouse, shaking his walking stick aloft. "Whoa now, who's a-doin' all the cryin' 'ereabouts? Spike me if it ain't young Dumble. What'sa matter with ye, liddle laddo?"
The Abbess struggled to unfasten Dumble from her habit. "Would you believe it, Mr. Spinney, this rogue says that if I don't choose a Nameday he's going to cry and cry."
The hedgehog threw his ash stick in the air and caught it. "Dumble, you liddle pudden, what a good idea. Come on, marm, pick a Nameday or I'll join 'im. You ain't heard me cryI'm a champion wailer, an' I c'n turn purple too!"
"Shame on you, Mr. Spinney. I can't even think up a proper name for the season yet."
Dumble fastened himself to the habit skirt again. "Owwww,'urry up an fink of one, Muvva Vale!"
She set about detaching him once more. "The Summer of the Annoying Baby Dormousethat's about all I can think of at the moment!"
Mrs. Faith Spinney came bustling out of the gatehouse. "Summer of the Villainous Archer, more like it. Ooh, that dreadful young Samkim!"
Thrugg and his sister Thrugann trudged up to join them. Between them the two otters bore a fine netful of fresh water shrimp. Thrugg held them up proudly.
"Caught at dawn in our own Abbey pond, marm. They'll make a tasty soup with plenty o' pepper an' bulrush tips. Stow me gaff, I've never seen so many shrimp in that pond as there be this season. I reckon that ol' trout ain't eatin' 'emhe's got too fat V lazy. Lookit, there he goes now!"
The ancient trout flopped noisily on the surface. As they walked in the direction of the pond, Tudd wagged his cane. "That there fish be older'n me. I recall he was near full
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growed when I was only a liddle 'og, y'know. Great walloper!"
They stood at the pond's edge. From just beneath the surface the trout watched them, its mouth opening and closing slowly. Thrugg shook the dripping net at it.
"Look 'ere, matey, we pinched all yore shrimps!"
The big fish performed a moody half-leap, splashing them with water as it fell back into the pond.
Dumble stuck out his tongue and pawed his nose at it. "Lazy ol' trout!"
Mrs. Spinney produced a dried plum from her apron pocket, and triumphantly she stuffed it in the infant's mouth. "That's it, the Summer of the Lazy Trout!"
The Abbess pulled a wry face. "Oh dear, I'm not sure I like that. Seasons are usually named after trees or flowers. Summer of the Lazy Trout, hmm, a bit irregular, but in the absence of a better name I suppose it'll have to do. When do you want it held?"