#midwinter miracle

“I’s gonna find a big stawb’ry!”

“Burr, you’m foolish choild. ‘Tis too cold fer stawb’ies.”

“Den why Missus Goody use ‘em inna trifle?”

“Dear me! Columbine, will you grab that baby hedgehog before she topples off the table?”

“Le’ go! I climb da walls like Chug!”

“Watch out zur Gonffen!”

Gonff skipped backward just in time as two small mice and a tiny molebabe ran in front of him. “Where are you three off to in such a hurry?” he called after the babes.

The smaller of the two mousebabes, a maid called Trif, looked back at him and yelled, “We gonna look fer scanger clues outside!”

“Oh no you don’t, you little villains.”  

Gonff ducked as an enormous paw shot over his head and scooped up the three dibbuns.  Lady Sandingomm held the troublemakers close as they tried to squirm out of her grip. “I've told you dibbuns twice already, there are no clues hidden outdoors. If I catch you three misbehaving and trying to get outside again it will be an early bedtime and no feast for you. Am I clear?”

The three dibbuns immediately stopped squirming and nodded their heads vigorously.

“Yes, Lady Sandigone.”

“You’m be’s clearer that ‘e barthwater, Lady Sandergom.”

“We’s no more try ta go outerside, Lady Somdigan.”

Lady Sandingomm smiled at the trio as she set them back on the floor. “And be sure to apologize to Mister Gonff. You nearly knocked him over.”

The three babes looked at the ground sheepishly as they lined up in front of Gonff. Gurty, the molebabe, took it upon himself to speak. “We’m tur’bly sorry zur. Usn’s didn’ mean to knock ee over, bur aye.”

Gonff smiled at the three mischievemakers over the edge of the basket he was carrying. “No need to worry, little mates, nothing broke.”

Triff stood on tippaw, trying to peer into the basket. “Wot’s in der?”

“Dat’s da apple basket,” the older mousebabe told her.

“I knows dat, Miskle,” Triff said.

Gonff knelt down to prevent further arguing. “It’s Martin’s writing supplies,” he explained. He tipped the basket slightly to give the dibbuns a peek, then stood and started walking toward the passage to the cellars. The three babes followed him.

“Why’s you bringin’ Unca Martin’s stuff inside?” Miskle asked, trotting to keep up with the mousethief.

“Well, you see Miskle,” Gonff slowed down and shifted the basket to one side, “The snow’s started to get too deep outside, so Martin’s moving into the cellars.”

Triff nodded her agreement, dragging baby Gurty along by the paw. “I sawed da moles diggin’ him outter da gate’ouse laster mornin’.”

“Laster morning?” Columbine asked, coming up next to the group.

Gonff nodded seriously at his wife and snuck her a quick wink. “Aye, laster mornin’.”

Columbine smiled and shook her head. “Alright, laster morning. Now you three youngsters run along, Mr. Barklad’s assigning the teams.” The three dibbuns scurried off toward the end of the hall. “Bless their little hearts,” Columbine said, still shaking her head. “D’you remember when our Gonfflet was that small?”

“I remember, my pretty blossom,” Gonff said. He shifted the basket again and caught his wife around the waist, planting a quick kiss on her cheek.

Columbine giggle and blushed. “Oh stop it, you.”

Gonff grinned roguishly. “Never.” He laughed as Columbine tweaked his whiskers, kissing her paw before she could pull it away.

“Gonff, really,” Columbine said, placing her paws on her hips. “I’ve got to finish setting up. I’ve still got-” she paused and felt the pouch at her belt. “Gonff!”

“Where do they go?” Gonff asked quietly, nodding to the basket which now contained several extra pieces of slate from Columbine’s pouch. The small, gray tablets were covered in Columbine’s neat writing. Some of the verses were quite short and simple, while a few ranged into longer paragraphs.

Columbine smiled and whispered in Gonff’s ear, “They go in the cellars. Ferdy and Coggs will know where to hide them. Now hurry, before more dibbuns spot you.”

“Very well,” Gonff said, releasing her and tipping his hat. “Until we meet again, my beautiful flower.” He turned and continued toward the cellars, leaving a blushing Columbine in his wake.

It did not take long to deliver the slate clues to Ferdy and Coggs. The twin cellarhogs joked and laughed with him for a few minutes before returning to their work. Gonff made his way down the passage to the open door of Martin’s room.

It was not a large room. Decently sized for a mouse but somewhat cozy once everything was moved in. A squat, circular bed sat in one corner, covered by a faded brown blanket. Next to the bed stood a small table with a candle and an empty basin for water. The space was lit by a torch in the wall sconce next to the door. Rose was already in the room, looking about as she waited for somebeast to tell her what needed doing.

“No crutches today?” Gonff asked as he entered.

Rose shook her head. “It’s quite warm here in the abbey, my footpaws have barely complained at all today.” She glanced around the room again.“Does he move down here every winter?”

Gonff nodded as he set the basket on the bed. “Aye, every winter since moving into Redwall. And then back out to the gatehouse as soon as the snow starts melting in spring.” He watched the maid carefully as she nodded and continued looking about the room. She had taken a particular interest in his friend. That in itself wasn’t special, plenty of maids had shown interest in the warrior over the seasons. Most didn’t stick around long. Once they learned that Martin had no interest in starting a family they turned their eyes to more willing prospects. Rose, however, had made no such moves, her interest seemed purely innocent. She was an enigma to him. Martin had even taken to her fun-loving manner far quicker than Gonff would have expected. Accepting her presence in Redwall just as she accepted his faults and quirks, with the gentle patience of a long time friend.

Gonff’s eyes went wide and he glanced at Rose again. She had come from the North, after all. The more he thought about it, the more plausible the idea seemed. Martin had never told Gonff his full story. They’d been too busy fighting a war, and by the time it was over Martin’s memories were gone. True, Martin had told him the story of his father when they first met, but the quest to the North had proven that story to be full of holes. The only problem was that Gonff had no proof. They’d followed a song to the North, but Trimp had at least heard Martin’s name before.

The sound of others coming down the hall reached Gonff’s ears, and he decided that perhaps it was best to stay quiet for the time being. He would keep his eyes open, though. He had learned a few things from Martin over the seasons.

Dinny and another mole staggered into the bedroom, weighed down by the sturdy oaken desk they carried. Dinny nodded toward the wall across from the bed. “Yur, roight o’er thur, bur aye.” They stumbled over to it, leaning the desk against the wall as they set it down.

“Moind thoi footpaws,” the other mole warned. With much grunting and shuffling, the two moles rested their burden on the ground. “Boy oakey, that’n be ee solid desker.”

“That it is, Grumm,” Martin said from the doorway. “Thank you both for your help.”

Both mole faces crinkled into smiles. “Et were our pleasure, Marthen. Coom on, Grumm, we’m still gotten ee chester t’ bring doawn.” They waddled back the way they had come, patting Martin on the back as they passed him.

Martin smiled at their retreating forms, them turned to Gonff and Rose. “Thank you for your help.” He placed a second basket on the bed, this one full of rags, whetstones, and other various odds and ends. He may have hung up his sword, but that didn’t mean he was going to let it get rusty.

“No worries, mate,” Gonff said with a grin. “Besides, ‘ow could I call myself an honest mousethief if I couldn’t help a friend move?”

Rose snorted and cupped her paws around her mouth to muffle her laughter. “An honest thief?”

Gonff bowed and flourished his cap. “Aye miss. I’m the Prince of Honest Mousethieves you know. I can outwit any lock and haven’t met an unfriendly key yet. Why, I could steal the whiskers off your face and you wouldn’t even know. Ouch!” He jumped as Martin poked him in the side.

“Stop boasting and help me sort through this mess,” he said, pointing to the baskets.

“It doesn’t just go back on the desk?” Rose asked.

Martin shook his head, carefully spilling a basket out onto the floor. “At least half of it isn’t mine, possibly more.” He began sorting through the pile, pulling out things he recognized and leaving the rest for Gonff.

Rose knelt next to the warrior and pulled a half-finished sewing project from the pile. “What’s this?”

Gonff took it from her. “That’ll be the apron Columbine was working on last fall, so that’s where she put it.”

Martin waved a small flute under Gonff’s nose. “This is yours.”

“Doesn’t play as well as the reed flute,” Gonff said. Nevertheless, he took the flute and tucked it into his belt.

The trio continued sorting until the contents of the basket had been separated into several small piles. Columbine’s apron had been joined by an extra set of needles and a pair of mittens that were too small for any of the adults. Gonff’s pile was by far the largest, containing two canteens, one of them empty, a plate, three spinning tops, a handful of pretty stones, a carving of Gonfflet and Chugger that Folgrim had made for him, and several beakers.

“Is that everything?” Gonff asked, making a show of stretching.

Martin shook his head. “There’s still plenty more to go though, my friend.”

Gonff snorted. “I mean from that basket, mate.”

Rose peered into the basket. “Not quite,” she said, pulling out a small linen bag that had caught at the bottom, “Which pile does this belong in?”

Martin give a soft smile. “That’s mine. It belonged to my mother,” he explained quietly.

“Oh,” Rose’s eyes went wide. She turned the little bag over in her paws, examining the intricate beading. “It’s beautiful.” She paused, her face clouding slightly as though trying to decide what to say. “How did you find it?”

Gonff froze, watching Martin give Rose a strange look. “How did you know I didn’t bring it with me when I first arrived?” Martin asked.

Rose shrugged, “On the first night you mentioned that you didn’t have anything with you besides your sword.”

Martin nodded, but Gonff wasn’t convinced so easily. Martin had said no such thing on the night of the first feast, and Gonff was fairly certain the topic hadn’t come up again since. It seemed rather strange to him that she would have known that Martin hadn’t had the little bag in his possession when he arrived in Mossflower. “Gonff, myself, and some others went on a quest to the North six seasons ago,” Martin said. “We found the caves my tribe used to live in, as well as a few of my father’s friends. Vurg was the one who found the bag, although there isn’t much in it. You can look if you want.” He stood as she opened it, and walked with Gonff toward the door. “I wonder what’s taking Gonfflet and Chugger so long?”

As if summoned by his words, the two youngsters, together with their new friend Tintin, appeared at the end of hall, out of breath and giggling as they carried stacks of books and papers. “Sorry Uncle Martin,” Chugger said, “The books fell as we were leaving the gatehouse, some of them got wet.”

Gonff took a book from the top of Chugger’s stack and leafed through it. It was damp, but still readable. “They look fine to me, mate.” He passed the book to Martin.

Martin flipped through the pages carefully, examining the writing inside. “It’ll survive,” he said finally. He turned back into the bedroom. “Rose, these three trouble-makers have brought the books. Gonff and I will go get the bookshelf if you want to start sorting?”

Rose glanced up from the embroidered cloth she was looking at. “Alright.”

“Ask Rose where she would like them,” Martin said to Gonfflet and Chugger. “Once you’ve done that, will you please start taking these extra things back to their owners? Leave the measuring tools by the wall, I want to find the whole set before returning them to Brother Scrittum.”

Gonfflet grinned cheekily. “Will do, Uncle Martin.”

“Come on, mate.” Martin headed out the door with Gonff on his heels.

Rose watched the pair go with a smile on her face. She was glad to see that Martin had found a friend like Gonff after leaving the North. The warrior could handle himself in a fight, but she’d known he’d need someone to talk to after the events of Marshank. Even the little interaction she’d had with Gonff had shown her where some of Martin’s new habits had come from.

“Where do you want the books, Miss Rose?” Chugger asked. The young squirrel stood before her, his chin barely clearing the stack of books and papers he held. He was slightly better off than Gonfflet, though. The poor mouse could barely see over his stack. Tintin, for his part, carried a stack of loose papers.

Rose pointed numbly at a spot on the floor. How could one mouse collect so many books? She waited until the youngsters had set their burdens on the floor, then sat between the stacks to begin sorting.

The first book she opened contained nothing but letters on the first page, written in three columns down the paper. She recognized the first two columns as northern runes and common woodlander, but the third column was foreign to her. The second page contained the first symbol from the strange column, repeated over and over. The first few lines were shaky and misshapen, but by the end of the page the writing was much more uniform. The next page was filled with the second symbol, and the next page with the third. Rose smiled as she flipped through the rest of the book, each page filled with a different letter. It was a study book that Martin had obviously used to practice Loamscript. She giggled when she saw the top of the final page. Martin had written his own name in all three alphabets, one below the other, and then had written it again using all three alphabets in the single word. The rest of the page was covered with a variety of small words written in Loamscript, most of them accompanied by small sketches. There was a bee, a feather, a basket, Gonff, a rosebush.

She stopped and stared at the rosebush, then looked at the word above it. The word had the correct number of letters to be ‘rosebush’, but something looked off. Glancing up at Martin’s name, she realized that a few of the letters were the same. Keeping a paw on the page, she turned back to the first page with the three alphabets. It did not take long to find the first letter, although she stared at the ‘L’ in confusion for some time. The ‘L’ was followed by an ‘A’, which was followed by a ‘T’. Her paw was beginning to shake as she matched up the rest of the letters. Her own name, Laterose, was spelled out in careful writing above the sketch. True, it was not her picture on the page, but she hadn’t seen any lateroses since leaving her home in the north.

She was jerked from her thoughts by the arrival of Martin and Gonff with the bookcase. They carefully set the bookcase, made of the same solid oak as the desk, against the wall next to the bed. Martin stretched and rubbed an arm across his forehead. “Dinny and Grumm had to empty the chest before they could carry it, but once they finish we should be able to start sorting again. How are you doing, Rose?”

Rose shook herself. “I’m doing alright, though I haven’t really started yet.”

“Is that Martin’s spelling book?” Gonff asked. “That’ll come in handy if you find anythin’ written in Loamscript.

Martin turned to her with a concerned expression. “Is everything alright? You seemed rather startled when we came in.”

“It’s nothing, really,” Rose insisted. She wasn’t entirely certain how to tell Martin that she’d just found her own name in the back of his book, or if she even should tell him.

This seemed to grab Gonff’s attention, and he peered at the book over her shoulder. “What? Did Martin write something naughty at the end of the book?” Rose had moved her paw, but it didn’t take long before Gonff figured out what word she’d been looking at. “Were you stumped by ‘laterose’ too? I keep tellin’ Martin it’s not a real flower, but he insists that it is.”

Rose shook her head. “It’s a real flower,” she said, “I just haven’t seen any this far south before. They’re quite common in the north.”

Martin joined the pair in staring at the page. “So that’s where they’re from. I couldn’t remember when I wrote it, it just sounded pretty.” He stared impassively at the name, then turned his attention to the door. “Come on Gonff, we’ve got more to move. Rose, you can keep that book open if you want, in case you find anything written in Loamscript.”

Rose bit her lip, wishing she had something clever to say. Something that would make Martin turn and think about just where he’d heard of lateroses before. Instead she caught sight of Gonff giving her a questioning stare. He looked between her and the name on the page, clearly considering something.

“Gonff,” Martin called again from the doorway, “Let's go.”

“Coming.” Gonff gave Rose one last glance, then hurried after the warrior.

Rose sighed as their pawsteps faded down the hall. She wasn't sure what she had expected to happen. Certainly not for Martin to suddenly remember everything of his past, but even some small hint of recognition would have been welcome. A tear slipped down her whisker, and she shook herself. Sitting here feeling sorry for herself was getting her nowhere, and she still had books to sort. Setting the study aside, she opened the next book on the stack. An array of numbers and equations greeted her. Neatly printed along the top of the page were the words 'West Wall and gate'. Rose closed the book and set it down. The next book was written in common woodlander, and included farming instructions. Rose started another stack. Soon she fell into a rhythm. Notes on the construction of the abbey went in one stack, other instructional books in another, and leisure reading in a third. She sorted through the books far faster than she had anticipated, and took little time placing each stack on its own shelf. Now she only had the papers left to sort.

Gonfflet, Tintin, and Chugger were in and out of the room continuously, taking the small piles of things back to their owners. Rose caught bits and pieces of their conversation each time they came in, and found herself smiling more and more as she listened to them talk. The three were clearly becoming good friends, judging by how quickly Gonfflet and Chugger had accepted her nephew.

The papers were not so easy to sort as the books had been, as there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the topics. A few pages were straightforward enough; a drawing of Great Hall here, a note on forestry there. But then there were the pages like the one with the layout of the cellars on one side and an unrelated poem on the other, or the scrap she'd found with half a recipe and a note reminding Martin of some event that surely had already passed. Rose glanced up as Martin and Gonff entered the room again. Martin must have seen her confused expression, because he set his basket on the bed and came to stand next to her. She showed him the paper with the cellar layout on one side and the poem on the other.

“It's a lovely poem, but what does it have to do with the cellars?” she asked.

Martin took the paper and examined it, scratching his ear absentmindedly. Finally he shrugged. “I can't see any connection between the two.” He handed it back to her. “You don't have to sort through those if you don't want to, I can organize them tonight. I know they're a bit confusing.”

Rose accepted the paper and gave him a defiant grin. “Is that a challenge?”

Gonff chuckled. “I think you'd best let her do it, Martin.”

Martin raised his paws in surrender. “Alright, I just wanted to offer.” He turned to the bookcase. “I see you've finished sorting the books.”

“Yes,” Rose said. She placed the paper in its own stack, and turned to point at the shelves. “Your notes on the abbey's construction are on the top shelf, organized by date whenever I could find it. The second shelf is poems and stories, and your instructional books are on the third shelf sorted by topic.”

Martin shook his head admiringly. “Thank you, that'll make it much easier to find things.”

Rose's grin softened at the complement. “You're welcome. I'm glad I could help.” She nodded to the baskets on the bed. “Is that everything?”

“Not quite,” Martin said. “There's at least one more basket to bring down, a few odds and ends, and the contents of the chest that Dinny and Grumm are bringing. They should be here any minute, we passed them on our way down.”

As if on cue, the two moles appeared in the doorway, carrying a hefty chest between them. Moving slowly and carefully, they set it down near the end of the bed. Grumm wiped sweat from the tip of his nose. “Yur, thur thee be, zur Marthen. Bur ay, that'n be even 'eavier than ee desker.”

Martin's eyebrows rose. “Did you empty the lower compartment?”

Dinny froze in the middle of wiping sweat from his eyes and slapped his forehead. “Oi knowed we'm furgotten some'at.”

Martin went to the chest and unlatched two cleverly concealed hinges near the bottom. Opening the wooden panel, he pulled out a helmet, followed by a pair of gauntlets. He smiled and shook his head, handing the helmet to Grumm. “This is why the chest was so heavy.”

Grumm hefted up the helmet until he could look in the visor. “Bur aye, Oi carn't 'magine wearin' some'at this 'eavy in'o ee battle, et be gurtly 'eavy.” He handed the helmet back to Martin, and the warriormouse grinned as he slid it on.

His voice echoed strangely from inside the metal. “Don't ever get into the business of war, then, and you won't have to worry about it.”

Gonff waggled a paw in his ear. “What was that, mate? Couldn't quite hear.” He winked at Rose and held a paw to his lips, carefully removing a small stone from his sling-pouch and moving behind Martin.

Martin turned this way and that, his vision compromised by the helmet. He lifted the visor and looked about, repeating his previous statement. “Don't get involved in war, then you won't have to worry about having to wear armor.”

Clang!

Gonff tapped the slingstone on the back of Martin's helmet. Martin ducked forward on instinct and the visor slid down with a resounding crash. The warriormouse swayed in place momentarily, then carefully pulled off the helmet. He shook his head several times, a dazed expression on his face. Dinny and Grumm were both chuckling, and even Rose had to crack a smile. It was clear that Martin was only startled, not injured. Still holding the helmet, he began looking around for the source of the tap. Rose saw Gonff quickly stowing the pebble in his pouch, and decided it was time to pick her side. She got Martin's attention with a quick flick of her paw, then discretely pointed at Gonff. It only took a moment before understanding dawned on Martin's face.

“Gonff,” he said, slowly moving between the mousethief and the door, “You've never tried this on before, have you?”

Gonff was not fooled. “Oh no you don't, mate. I ain't putting that contraption on my head.” He ducked away as Martin tried to slip the helmet over his head.

Soon the pair were running around the small room, Martin staying between Gonff and the door as he attempted to catch the mousethief. There was a wild gleam in his eye. Dinny and Grumm were both bent double with laughter, and Rose found herself wiping away tears of mirth as Martin chased Gonff around the small space. Finally he cornered Gonff between the desk and the wall, and slid the helmet over his head.

Gonff immediately stuck his paws out crying, “Let me out! It's dark in 'ere!” He walked forward stiff legged, tripped, and sprawled on the floor, narrowly avoiding Rose's tail. She quickly pulled her tail into her lap, and marveled that it hadn't been stepped on during the chase. A few of the papers had scattered across the floor, though.

Martin stood looking at Gonff, shaking his head and trying to hide the grin spreading across his face. “You alright there, mate?” He asked, barely keeping the laughter out of his voice. Gonff grumbled something inside the helmet, though the sound was so garbled that Rose couldn't make out the words.

“Oohahahaahaahaha, wha-wha-what wa-a-as that? Ehehehehehehe, I cou-couln't he-he-hear you. Hahahahahha.” She doubled over gasping with laughter, tears streaming down her face.

Gonff sat up and struggled to lift the helmet off his head. He had to wait until Martin grasped the offending object and pulled it off. “I said,” he paused to probe at a tooth, “This room is bigger than I thought. I was aimin' for the bed.” He spotted Rose holding her tail in her lap and frowned. “I didn't step on you, did I?”

Rose was still laughing far too hard to answer, so she shook her head and let Martin answer for her. “You almost did, Gonff. You need to watch where you're going.”

“Well pardon me for not being able to see in that thing,” Gonff spluttered. He fixed Martin with a mock glare, but it faded quickly and within moments he was smiling again. “How do you avoid tripping when you're wearing that?”

“Very carefully,” Martin said. He took the helmet and placed it back in the chest, together with the gauntlets. Fixing the panel back in place, he stood and surveyed the room. “I'm sorry Rose, we've made a mess of all your hard work.”

Rose shook her head, finally getting her laughter under control. “It's alright, I hadn't really started anyways.” She watched Grumm bend to pick up a paper, only to have Gonff blow it out of his reach. The mole simply continued after the paper, picked it up, and handed it to her before going to collect others. Martin and Dinny followed suit, and after a few more moments of sitting on the ground blowing papers around, Gonff joined in as well. Rose stuck with gathering the papers that had fallen within arm’s reach. As with the rest of the papers, they were mostly notes and poems, although a few sketches had been scattered into the mix.

“This is beautiful,” Rose said, pausing with a detailed drawing of a butterfly in her paw. She gently traced the line of the wings while watching Martin from the corner of her eye.

His ears went red and he murmured a quick, “Thank you.”

Rose smiled and set the paper on top of the rest, the reached for the next one. It was another sketch, even more detailed than the last. A squirrel, turned away from the viewer so that the face was hidden. Rose thought that perhaps it was Lady Amber, momentarily frozen in time. Perhaps Martin had drawn it after a battle during the Mossflower War. The squirrel stood staring into the distance, obviously ready to move at any moment, with the tail curled over the ears. Although, that couldn’t be right. Rose very clearly remembered her meeting with the squirrel queen, and how Lady Amber had need to hold her circlet in place when she bowed, as she was missing one ear. But if the squirrel wasn’t Lady Amber, then who?

“Rose?” Rose looked up to see Martin and Gonff standing by the door. “We’ll be back soon, just going to get the last few baskets.”

She managed a quick smile. “I’ll be here.”

Dinny and Grumm followed the two mice out, and Rose soon found herself alone with her thoughts. She placed the paper on the ground and continued sorting, glancing at it from time to time as she tried to figure out why it looked so familiar. Poems, notes, construction layouts, and even random scribbles soon found their way into piles on the floor. The squirrel sketch was soon joined by others, first a mouse, then an otter, then another squirrel. All of them from the back, all of them familiar, though she still couldn’t place any of them. She was about to add the sketches to her original stack of drawings when she found a sketch that made her breath catch in her throat. She recognized the figure immediately. How could she not? It was Brome, several seasons younger, around the age he’d been during the events of Marshank. He sat facing the sea, his healer’s bag slung over his shoulder, the hastily scribbled lines spelling the alertness of creature ready for battle. A quick glance at the other sketches confirmed this was the same across the images.

Rose peered at the first sketch again, this time seeing what she’d missed. The squirrel bore an eerie resemblance to her dear friend Barkjon, even from the back, and both shoulders were covered with the patchwork scars that come from a whip. It could be no other than Felldoh. She traced the lines with a finger, wondering how long ago Martin had drawn the sketch. Had it been while he still had his memories of Marshank? Or had the image come to him after he had forgotten? The thought of Martin drawing his friends with no knowledge of who they were brought tears to her eyes, but none of the sketches were labeled, so she had no way of knowing. With a sigh, she gathered the sketches into a stack and placed them below the other drawings she’d collected. Regardless of whether or not she wanted to remind Martin of his past, shoving a bunch of pictures in his face and insisting that she knew them didn’t seem like the best route to take.

Gonff shivered in his cloak as he followed Martin over the packed snow. No matter how many layers he wore, the wind seemed to bite right through him. Still, the snow did make Redwall beautiful. The great redstone walls were softened by the cap of snow that topped the battlements, causing the sandstone to turn a rose-colored hue.

Rose-colored stone, that was what Martin always called the sandstone. Gonff had never thought anything of it, until today. He thought back to when he'd first met Martin, half-starved but still ready to fight in the dungeons of Kotir. The warrior hadn't said much about his past, just mentioned a few names and spun a tale of leaving his home the autumn before. Funnily enough, now that he thought about it, one of the names Martin had mentioned, Felldoh, was the same name as one of the otters visiting the abbey. Rose had recognized the name of a flower in Martin's study book, and she and Brome just happened to be looking for a warrior friend of theirs who had wandered south seasons ago.

“Are you coming, Gonff?” Martin called from the gatehouse door.

Gonff made a show of staggering toward his friend. “I'm comin' mate, me ole' joints don't work as well as they used to.” The ploy worked and soon Martin was chuckling at the comical sight.

“You're not that old, silly.”

“Not yet I'm not,” Gonff responded. He brushed past Martin and into the gatehouse. The cozy space seemed emptier without the desk and bookshelf. The large, sturdy bed, a gift from the otters of holt Tungro, sat in the same corner it had first been placed in. The frame was so heavy that Dinny had declared it not worth moving every other season. Heavy quilts lay draped across mattress, neatly folded to be ready for Martin when he moved back out next spring. The last three baskets and a pile of clothes sat on top of these, together with a staff that leaned against the wall. Gonff grabbed one of the baskets, and was attempting to balance the staff on top when Martin took it from him.

“Let me get that,” he said.

Gonff sniffed. “Don't you know? I'm Prince of Balancers, mate.” He stuck his nose in the air and frowned. Martin chuckled again, shaking his head.

The door opened, and Dinny and Grumm waddled into the gatehouse. “Burr, et bees tur'bly cold out yur,” Dinny said. “Be thur anythin' else t' take in?”

Martin nodded to the bed. “Just a few baskets and the clothes. Thank you both for helping.” The two moles grabbed a basket each, and turned back to the door, quietly chatting with each other. Martin clasped the staff under his arm and picked up the pile of clothes. With a nod to Gonff, he headed back out into the frozen white. Gonff sighed and headed out after him.

It took only a moment to catch up with Martin and the two moles. Martin walked silently, absentmindedly monitoring their surroundings as he always did. Dinny and Grumm, however, had discovered many things they had in common, and were conversing animatedly.

“Yur, so wha' 'appened to ee ratters after ee Badger Lord sent you'm all in'o ee sea arfter ee boater?” Grumm asked.

Dinny chuckled heartily, his eyes almost disappearing into the velvety folds of his fur as he smiled. “You'm should've seen thur faces. They'm were so scared they didn' know what to do. We'm sent them back o'er ee beach to they'm friends an took ee boat back t' Mossfl'wer. Et were full o' slaves an' weapons, so we'm set 'em all free. Oi named ee boat 'Wudship'. Et wer a good boat arfter all ee varmints were gone.”

“Ohohohoho, et zounds like ee gud boat,” Grumm said. “Oi been on a few. Ee Waterlilly were ee foin ship, an ee crew wer foin gen'elbeasts. They'm even made us zoop.”

“Hur, you'm loik zoop?”

“Grumm,” Gonff broke in, an idea coming to him suddenly, “Have you ever seen a laterose? Martin and Rose claim they grow in the north, but I’ve never heard of one.”

Grumm turned to Gonff and is smile grew even bigger. “Hurr, o’ course Oi’ve seen ee laterozers. They’m grown aplenty ‘round Noonvale, but not much elsewurr. Whoi, that’n be Mizz Rozer’s name too.”

“Her name is Laterose?” Gonff asked.

“So et be,” Grumm said.

Gonff dropped back and the conversation turned back to soups and other such things. Why hadn’t Rose bothered to mention that Laterose was her full name or that the flowers grew specifically around Noonvale? Even if she had never met Martin before, surely she would have noted that he must have been near Noonvale before. Unless there was something else she wasn’t telling. As he followed Martin into Great Hall, Gonff’s mind turned back to the first summer spent in the abbey. He couldn’t say if it was moving out of Brockhall that did it, or the new surroundings of Redwall, but Martin’s nightmares had increased in number that summer. Gonff knew this only because he had a habit of dropping in on the warrior before Martin was properly awake. There had been more than one occasion, however, when he’d turned up to find Martin awake especially early, sitting in the gatehouse surrounded by sketches of creatures all turned away from the viewer.

Gonff was so lost in his memories that he walked into the doorframe of Martin's room. “Goodness me,” he said, “Who put that there?”

Dinny raised a digging claw. “Tha' wud be Oi.”

Rose, who had finished sorting the papers while they were gone, laughed aloud. “Is moving always this fun?”

Martin grinned at her as he set his clothes and staff on the bed. “No, only when visitors are around. Then he shows off.” He started refolding his tunics as Gonff, Dinny, and Grumm deposited their baskets on the floor. Rose joined Martin in folding while the other three sorted through the contents of the baskets. Gonff watched her out of the corner of his eye. Something about her seemed to take away Martin's edge, he became more relaxed around her, almost as though her very presence ensured that everything would be alright.

“What's this?”

They had nearly finished sorting when Rose asked the question. She had picked up Martin's staff, and was running a paw across the carved hardwood.

“Folgrim made it for me,” Martin said quietly. “He's quite talented with a blade.”

He was indeed. The staff was so intricately carved it looked like a living thing. The top of the staff was carved into an detailed filigree orb with ivy and climbing roses falling out over the joint where the ball met the rest of the staff. The life-like leaves and flowers seemed to emerge directly from the staff itself, weaving around the wood to create a convenient handle.

Rose nodded, still looking at the staff. “It's beautiful. Sturdy too. Do you use it when you go hiking in the woods?”

Martin shook his head, placing the last of the tunics into his chest. “It doesn't get much use,” he said.

Gonff snorted. “Doesn't get much use?” Martin shot him a glare, but Rose had already caught the tone in Gonff's voice. She looked at him questioningly.

Martin beat him to the answer. “Only when I was recovering from a summer cold.” There was a flatness in his tone that put an end to the conversation. Gonff continued sitting on the floor watching Rose as she watched Martin. The warrior stood staring at the wall above the bed, tensed as though ready to run. An uncomfortable silence filled the room before Rose broke it with a new topic.

“Tintin says you're familiar with the legend of Sheodin.” Her voice was soft, almost apologetic.

Gonff jumped on the opportunity; the beginning of an idea regarding Rose and her traveling companions was forming in his mind, but he need to check something first. “Aye, Martin's the one who told most of us about it after he found a copy in Bella's study. It's upstairs in the library now, if you want to see it.”

This idea seemed to please Rose immensely. “Is it really? I’d love to see it. I thought there were only a few written copies.”

Martin smiled, the tension easing from his shoulders as he took up the explanation. “Bella’s family has lived in Mossflower for generations. Her great-great-grandfather commissioned the book. She donated it to our library a few seasons back.”

Gonff grinned, he loved it when things went according to plan. “Martin, why don’t you take Rose upstairs and show her? We three,” he motioned to himself and the two moles, “Can finish up here.”

“Are you sure?” Martin asked, glancing between Gonff and the other two. Rose appeared quite interested in the idea.

Gonff stalled any further arguments from Martin by standing and gently pushing his friend toward the door. “Leave it to us, mate. We’ll get the rest of this sorted and returned to their owners.”

Martin paused a moment more, then gave Gonff a small smile “Thank you, mate.” He led Rose from the room, quietly telling her more of the library and the books it contained.

Gonff watched them go, then turned to the desk where Rose had stacked the papers she’d sorted.

“Be’s you alookin’ fer summat?” Dinny asked.

Gonff nodded. “Aye, I just want to see if Martin still has something.” His paw flitted between the stacks of paper. Rose had done her job well. The notes on the abbey architecture were neatly placed next to a collection of loose poems, recipes and random notes were in another. The stack Gonff was looking for was near the back. He frowned as he began leafing through the pages. The sketches seemed innocent enough until halfway through the pile. The papers fluttered lazily as he flipped  from one to the next. Many different creatures, all facing away from the viewer, and sketch upon sketch of a small, walled compound. Gonff was searching for one sketch in particular, which he had seen by chance one day when he’d gone to wake Martin. Martin had finished the sketch in a hurry, and tucked it beneath a pile of other papers, but Gonff had managed to catch a glimpse. He flipped to the next page and paused, then pulled the sketch free of the others.