Chapter 12 - Chapter 11

Morgan carried a large basket out to the orchard on the outskirts of Holt Sparrow. The sun beat down without a cloud in the sky. Crickets buzzed in the fields, and the sound of rushing water could be heard from a nearby river.

She looked behind her to see her son, Shiron, toddling after her. Shiron was about two season's old, and still babbled as most babies do. Morgan kneeled down in the strawberry patch, picking the newly ripened berries and putting them in her basket. She watched Shiron as he plopped down beside her and picked up a rotten strawberry, squeezing it in his tiny paws. He gurgled happily as the juice ran between his fingers and began sucking on his paw. Morgan laughed. Wiping juice from his paws, she gave the otterpup a fresh berry. “You silly little babe.” She went back to picking fruit.

Suddenly she noticed that Shiron had moved further down the field. She got up to bring him back and stopped dead in her tracks. A large band of foxes stood at the forest edge, armed to the teeth. Scooping up Shiron, she ran back to the camp, stumbling slightly on the abandoned basket. She regained her balance and took off again, calling for her husband. “Graylin! Graylin!”



……………………………………..



The leader of the foxes was a tall, lanky fox known as Kartaliss. His sharp yellow sharp yellow eyes glinted evilly at the sight of the small village. He turned to the fox beside him. “They'll make excellent servants to Lord Krienach, won't they, Blackfoot?” Blackfoot, a shorter grayfox, and Kartaliss' second in command, drew his scimitar. He turned to the rest of the foxes, raising his blade and calling aloud.

“They'll be slaves aplenty tonight! Any that resist, kill. Take as many as you can alive!”

Kartaliss drew his sword. “Let's move out!”



……………………………………….



Graylin, Skipper of otters, was taking his mid-day nap in his favorite chair. Leaning the old wooden chair back on two legs, he put his arms behind his head, sucking thoughtfully on his favorite old pipe.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Graylin was startled by the pounding at the door and nearly fell out of his chair! He quickly regained his composure. “Now who could that be?”

BANG! BANG! BANG!

He heard a voice outside. “Graylin, Graylin, open up!” He ran to the door, opening it wide. Morgan practically flung herself inside. She was panting, holding Shiron, who was now screaming and crying at the top of his lungs. She held the babe tight, trying to comfort him as she told Graylin what has happened. “Foxes…at the outskirts…of the woods…beyond the villiage…least five score, maybe more…”

Graylin rushed to the other room grabbing his schiavona, a pike, and a horn. He tossed the pike to Morgan. Morgan put Shiron in his cradle; he whimpered softly. Morgan kissed him, Graylin did likewise before running outside. Morgan covered the crib with a blanket, hoping her son would be safe. “Don't worry…mommy will be back…” She ran outside to join Graylin.

Graylin gave three long blasts on the horn. Otters began coming out of the huts, armed with various weapons. Skill couldn't make up for the fact that they were outnumbered three to one, but they still joined their Skipper, ready to fight to the bitter end. Graylin turned to Morgan. “Morgan, you should take Shiron and leave while there's still time.”

“Not a chance. I'll stay here and fight like the rest.”

“Morgan, listen to me! Leave Now! That's an order.”

“No!” She embraced Graylin and kissed him. Looking straight into his bright blue eyes, she whispered. “I'm not leaving you.”



…………………………………………….



Kartaliss strode to the village and called out to Graylin. “Listen up! I'm about to make you a very generous offer! You can surrender now, or you can die trying to defeat us! It's your choice streamdog; what say you?”

“I say you will die like the scum you are, fox!”

Kartaliss gritted his teeth at the insult. “Take them!” he yelled to his soldiers.



The battle had begun.



……………………………………………..



Graylin and Morgan fought back to back, whirling and stabbing with their weapons. A fox cut Grayin across the face. Graylin tripped the fox, killing him with at single downward thrust. He called back to Morgan. “How ya doin' back there matey?”

Morgan dealt a fox a blow with the blunt end of her pike, knocking him flat. “Could be better…”

Graylin smiled thinly. “Aye, me too.” He wiped blood from his eye and continued fighting. They had been going on like this for an hour now. They were both tired and wounded, but they fought on, knowing that their lives depended on it.

As a big gray fox charged at Morgan, she took a step back, expecting to feel Graylin's back against her own. To her horror, she did not. She turned around, and time seemed to stand still as she took in the scene before her.

Graylin had fallen to his knees, a javelin through his chest. He was breathing hard. Morgan cried out to him as she saw Kartaliss closing in to finish him off. Oblivious to anything else, Morgan raised her pike, aiming it at the tall, lanky fox. But before she could throw it, the fox behind her cut her a blow across the back of her head. She fell and remembered no more.



………………………………………………



Morgan slowly came to wakefulness. Why was everything so dark? Her head was pounding. She reached up to touch it, and her hand came away wet with what she knew to be her blood. Morgan could just make out the sounds of ragged breathing nearby. She rolled over, reaching out into the darkness until she felt Graylin's paw in her own. Even as his strength failed him, he squeezed Morgan's paw tightly, pulling her close.

She wasn't sure ho long she lay there, listening to Graylin breathing, expecting each breath to be his last. Eventually, overcome with pain and weariness, she drifted into unconsciousness, still holding his paw.



…………………………………………..



“Over here, I think this one's still alive!”

Morgan's eyes opened slowly, immediately shocked by what she saw.



The village was burning.



Morgan's first thought was of Shiron, still in his cradle. She screamed his name, trying to get up. But it was no use; she couldn't even sit up, let alone stand.

She felt a pair of huge strong paws hold her down. “No, no…be still.” a deep voice whispered. She heard another voice beside her.

“It's too late for this one, m'Lord. He's already passed through the gates of dark forest.” She felt Graylin's paw being pulled from her own. Strong arms lifted her up, carrying her away from the burning inferno that had once been her home. Weak and helpless, she could do nothing but cry.

“Shiron…Graylin…Graylin, I can't loose you too…Please, don't go where I can't follow…” The beast that was carrying her held her close and whispered softly to her.

“Shhhh, hush now, it's going to be alright…”



………………………………………………



Morgan felt warm sunlight on her face and blinked, slowly coming to. She felt her head; it was bandaged. She looked around her. She was in a tent, lying on a blanket, freshly clad in a new white tunic. A bluish colored cloak lay folded beside her. She put it on, pulling the hood up over her bandaged head and stepped out of the tent.

The otter looked around her. Several other tents had been set up in the makeshift camp. A large campfire blazed in the center of the camp, and several hares sat around the fire, chatting and eating breakfast. Morgan hesitated before taking a few steps forward. On of the hares turned and greeted her. “Ah, good morning to you miss, wot! Come, come, sit down and have some breakis'.”

Morgan smiled thinly and walked over, sitting on the log beside him. “Thank you, but I'm not very hungry.”

“Oh nonsense, come on now, it'll make you feel better.” He handed her a bowl of hot oatmeal with honey. Morgan poked at it with a wooden spoon, not in the mood for food. She looked up and noticed that quite a few hares had moved over to make room for someone. A huge badger sat down across the fire from Morgan. The ottermaid's eye's bulged at the site him; she had never seen a badger before. The badger was well built, strong but gentle. He had deep brown eyes and unusual dark brown stripes rather then black ones. The badger was well built, strong but gentle. He smiled at Morgan.

“I'm glad to see you are well.” he said to her. “My name is Lord Oakstripe, formally of Salamandastron.”

The ottermaid looked up to him. “My name is Morgan. I'm guessing it was you that helped me last night, and for that I am eternally grateful.”

One of the hares piped up. “Last night? That was bally well three days ago miss! You've been layin' unconscious in yon tent, doncha know.”

The badger lord silenced him with a stare. He stood up and began to walk away, motioning for Morgan to follow him. She got up from the circle, set down her untouched breakfast, and followed Oakstripe. He led her to a large tent. “Wait here.” He went inside the tent, arriving back outside a few moments later, carrying a medallion and something else tucked under his arm. “I believe this belongs to you. You were wearing it when we found you.” Morgan placed it back around her neck.

“Thank you. This medallion is a mark of my family, and the clan of the Moonsparrows.”

The badger nodded. “So I see. The foxes that attacked your home were not just a random group of slavers. They attacked your holt because you and the rest are Moonsparrows, and they serve Krienach, that black hearted scum that dares to call himself Lord of the Northlands. He plans to wipe you out.” Lord Oakstripe placed a huge paw on Morgan's shoulder and looked straight into her eyes. “But you mustn't give up hope. Even a few creatures can make a difference, and there are many more of your kind out there.”

Morgan wiped a tear from her face. “Yes. Yes, I can't give up hope. Graylin would want me to move on…”

Oakstripe handed her the thing that was tucked under his arm. It was Graylin's sword. Morgan unsheathed it, looking up and down its blade. “A fearsome warrior was Graylin Maelstrom. He will not be forgotten…”

You are not authorized to comment here. Your must be registered and logged in to comment