"Log a Log Furmo, ye pot-bellied son of a water-walloper, as soon as I clapped ears on that warblin' I knew 'twas the best ballad singer this side o' Mossflower!"
"Haharr, Gonff Mousethief, ye light-pawed rogue, if I hadn't 'ave known that was you singin' back at me I'd 'ave thought 'twas meself. Pull over t'the camp an' bring yore pals with ye, supper's on the go. Ahoy, Martin, is it really yourself, Warrior? Good t'see you, matey!"
Dinny tapped the shrew Chieftain with a digging claw. "Doan't ee know oi, zurr, furr oi'd know ee frum a buttyfly?"
Log a Log Furmo stood back, rubbing his eyes. "Well sink me a log, is that the slim young mole I once knew as Dinny? Wot 'appened, mate, is there another beast inside that skin with ye?"
Dinny chuckled, patting his ample form. "Nay, zurr Log, oi jus' growed more bootiful an' gurtly strong, since you'm bain't been 'round to rob moi vittles."
Furmo turned to Trimp. "And what is a gentle hogmaid like ye doing with such rogues?"
Trimp smiled. "Keeping them in order."
"I'd best watch my manners then, I'm thinking," laughed Furmo.
The Guerrilla Union Of Shrews In Mossflower, Guosim for short, had always been headed by one traditionally named Log a Log. They ranged all the waterways in their logboats, a great tribe of them. Trimp was almost half a head taller than most of them. Small spike-furred long-snouted shrews, with brightly colored headbands and rapiers tucked in their belts, watched as the newcomers made their way to the fire. Log a Log introduced them as friends, reassuring his band. Guosim shrews are excellent cooks, as the hedgehog maid soon discovered. Their apple and blackberry crumble was pure delight to taste. Two Guosim cooks stood over Trimp, watching anxiously as she sampled some, inquiring gruffly, "Good crumble, that? Made it ourselves, y'know!"
"Aye, to our own recipe. D'ye like it, marm?"
Trimp's smile would have charmed the birds out of the trees. "It's perfect, thank you. I've never tasted a crumble in my life that could compare with it. Beautiful!"
Unused to such compliments, the shrew cooks kicked their footpaws bashfully and began serving more food, calling to one another in bass growls to hide their embarrassment.
"Hoi, Rugger, pour 'er some pear cordial, will ye!"
"Aye, an' give 'er some shrewcheese an' watercress!"
"Look after pore liddle Chugger, will ye, Bindle? Pour some honey o'er the babe's hazelnut pudden!"
"Some streamside salad an' newbaked cornbread for ye, marm!"
Log a Log Furmo smiled at the antics of his younger shrews, trying to impress the travelers with their hospitality, particularly Trimp, for it is a fact that the Guosim had always been partial to a pretty face. Furmo passed Martin and Gonff a tankard of shrew porter apiece, saying, "Haharr, young Trimp's gotten 'er paws well under the table there. They'll feed 'er 'til she bursts!"
Some of the little shrews had never seen a mole before, and they crowded around Dinny, haranguing him as he ate.
"Does all moles 'ave softy nice fur like you, mista Diggy?"
"Ho yuss, moi dearies, us'n's keeps it soft boi eatin' oop all us vittles loik goodbeasts."
"You mus' be the goodest mole of all, mista Diggy, 'cos you be eatin' a h'orful big lot o' vittles!"
"Hurr hurr, thankee, young 'un, oi 'spect oi am!"
"You got very bigbig claws, mista Diggy, wot they for?"
A kindly shrewmum rounded the little ones up. "Don't you be askin' mister Dinny foolish questions, now. Leave 'im in peace to eat 'is supper. Bedboats for you, 'tis late."
Martin was relating the object of their journey to Furmo when the shrewmum stole up and whispered in the shrew Chieftain's ear. He excused himself, explaining, "We'll talk later, friend. I've got to sing the liddle 'uns off to sleep. Won't be long."
Moored to the bank was a logboat, padded thickly with warm cushions and blankets. The shrewbabes lay in it, rocked by the motion of the water, as their Log a Log sang them to sleep in his melodious deep voice.
"The stream flows by and time rolls by,
Now daytime flies so close those eyes,
It's been a long day little one, little one.
Small birds now slumber in the nest,
And fishes in their stream,
Know night has come to send us rest,
And give to all a wondrous dream,
All night hours go, so soft and low,
The lazy stream runs calm and slow,
It's been a long day, little one, little one.
Our weary world is waiting soon,
Bright stars will pierce the sky,
As silent as the golden moon,
That sheds her light on you and I,
And when the darkness drifts away,
Some lark up high will sing and say,
Oh welcome to a newborn day, my little one."
Gonff crept up, carrying Chugger. The squirrelbabe was fast asleep. Sliding him aboard the logboat with the dozy little shrews, Gonff patted his friend's shoulder.
"Wish we could take you all the way with us, Furmo mate, ole Chugg went out like somebeast'd whacked him with a slingstone once you started singin'. How d'you do it?"
Log a Log Furmo shrugged, gesturing at the logboat. "I've had plenty o' practice, mate. Eight of them are mine."
It was about an hour after dawn when Trimp opened her eyes. The previous night had been a late one, with lots of good shrew food, singing, storytelling and even a bout of tail wrestling by two lithe young Guosim shrews to impress her. Some shrew cooks were up and about, rekindling the fire and preparing breakfast. The Guosim were very fond of sizable breakfasts when they were at summer camp. Feigning sleep, the hedgehog maid peeped out from under her blanket, savoring the day. Downstream looked like a long winding green hall, with alder, bird cherry and weeping willow trees practically forming an arch over the sundappled stream, which was bordered by bright flowering clubrush, sedge and twayblade. Blue and pearly gray, the firesmoke hovered, making gentle swirls between sunshine and shadow in diagonal shafts. Snatches of murmured conversation between early risers were muted in the background, with the sweet odors of smoldering peat and glowing pinebark on the fire. Trimp wished that she could stay like this forever, happy amongst true friends, in tranquil summer woodlands by a stream.
"Oatmeal'n'honey, fresh fruit an' hot mint tea, marm!"
It was the two shrewcooks from the previous evening, tempting her to partake of breakfast. Trimp needed no coaxing. She sat up gratefully, wondering how one night's sleep could leave her with such a fine appetite.
"Thank you, friends. My word, this looks delicious!"
Gonff and the Log a Log were in friendly dispute as they broke their fast.
"Hearken t'me, Mouseythief, we're sailin' with you, at least as far as the seashore, an' that's final, mate!"
"No no, Furmo, we wouldn't think o' pullin' ye away from yore summer camp. We'll be all right travelin' on alone."
"Hah, will y'lissen t'the mouse, turnin' down an offer of safe voyagin' in convoy. He's mad, Martin, tell 'im!"
Wiping wild plum juice from his paws, the Warrior agreed. "Safety in numbers, Gonff, I'm all for it. Where's your manners, mate, d'you want to offend Log a Log Furmo by refusing his kind offer? Ignore him, Furmo, I accept!"
Dinny and Chugger seconded the Redwall Champion.
"An' h'i except, too, as well an' all, mista sh'ew!"
"Hurr, oi, too, zurr, ee shrews be gudd company an' gurt cookers. Burr aye!"
Trimp licked her oatmeal spoon and held it up. "That goes for me, too, unless Gonff wants t'do all the cooking and paddling aboard that raft!"
The Prince of Mousethieves clapped the Guosim leader's back. "Quit yore arguin', matey, 'tis no good wot y'say, yore goin' with us, like it or not, see. Yore goin'!"