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“I told you the first time,” Martin sat up, shaking his head. “I don’t need anyone else naming their children after me.” By the time Gonflet had been born there had already been somewhere in the range of half a dozen little Martin’s running around, and by now Martin was fairly certain that number had doubled.

“We already named one after me,” Gonff said. “It’s either that, or we make you a statue in Great Hall.”

“I do not need a statue,” Martin insisted. As far as Martin was concerned that was the last thing he needed. “And if you try to get one made I will get my sword back solely to stop you.”

Columbine laughed, stroking Gonflet’s headfur. “It could be a girl.”

“Martina,” Gonff offered.

“Absolutely not.” Martin said.

“I think there is a Martina,” Columbine mused. “A few seasons older than Gonflet. They don’t visit the abbey much, though.”

“Goffina?” Gonff suggested.

“Absolutely not,” Columbine said. “Two of you is quite enough, thank you.”

“And you love us anyway.” Gonff kissed Columbine on the cheek, leaning down to kiss Gonflet between his ears. Gonflet stirred, but didn’t wake. He was getting much too big for either of his parents to still hold him comfortably on their own.

“I do think,” Columbine continued, “I would like to name the baby after someone. Boy or girl. Someone important to us.”

“Martin-” Gonff began.

“No,” Martin said. They had suggested the same thing when Columbine was pregnant the first time. Martin hadn’t been able to begrudge the other parents parents of Mossflower, but for Gonff and Columbine to do so simply hadn’t felt right.

“Your parents,” Gonff said to Columbine. “What were their names?”

“Elowen and Cador,” Columbine said. “My mum died when I was very young and dad-” her hand stilled over Gonflet’s head. “It was just a few weeks before we left Loamhedge.”

Martin straightened. Gonff wrapped his arm tight around her shoulders. Columbine shook her head.

“It’s fine,” she assured them. “He was a very good brother to the Abbey, but Abbess Germaine always felt most like a parent to me.”

“I’m sure the Abbess would appreciate it,” Martin said. Officially, she was still Abbess, but had largely retired from the day-to-day running’s of the Abbey. Gonff frowned.

“Perhaps we should wait to name a baby after the Abbess until she;s- passed?” Gonff said, not terribly tactfully. “Sounds like tempting fate.”

“You wanted to name the baby after me and I’m not dead!”

“Ah, but you are not-” Columbine shot Gonff a glare. He cleared his throat. “Elderly.”

“For once,” Martin said. “It’s possible Gonff has a point.”

Gonff feigned offense, punching Martin in the arm. Martin pushed him back, sending Gonff sprawling across the grass. He effortlessly turned it into a somersault.

“What about your parents?” Martin asked.

“You know them,” Gonff leapt to his feet, leaning against the tree. “Ben and Goody Stickle. But if you want to be technical Bryce and Auriol, the Queen of Mousetheives.” Gonff swept his hat off his head and bowed. “Though I don’t remember either of them.”

Columbine shook her head, hefting Gonflet higher in her lap. “We don’t have time to think about it. We don’t need to decide now.”

“Martina it is,” Gonff said.

“If you name the baby Martina,” Martin said. “I’m never letting you in the Abbey again.”

*

“Uncle Martin!”

Martin turned to find Gonflet, standing halfway up the wallsteps, no one else in sight. With a grin and no further warning, Gonflet leaped from the steps, his arms spread wide.

Martin lunged. He only barely managed to catch him. Martin settled Gonflet securely on his hip, doing his best to look stern. Martin could still carry him easily, and usually loved to do so. In fact, most of the time Martin could be seen with at least two of three dibbuns attached to him at any given time. But jumping off the wallsteps felt like a reasonable place to draw the line.

“Gonflet,” Martin chided, “you cannot just jump off things like that. You could get yourself hurt.”

“But you caught me,” Gonflet said simply.

“I might not have if you hadn’t shouted.”

Gonflet considered this. “I’ll shout louder.”

“That’s not what I-”

“Uncle Martin!” Gonflet shouted it directly into Martin’s ear. “When my baby comes-”

“Your baby?” Martin raised an eyebrow. It had been Gonflet’s only topic of conversation for weeks now. Gonff had said he was already attempting to rearrange the Ninian’s to make room for the baby. It was not terribly helpful, but it was too cute to stop him.

Gonflet leaned his head back, looking deeply concerned. “Yes. Mum has a baby in her.”

“Yes,” Martin said. “She told me.”

“When my baby comes,” Gonflet repeated, satisfied that Martin knew what he was talking about, “will you be my baby’s uncle too?”

Martin adjust his hold on Gonflet, heading towards the Abbey building. When Gonflet had been born, Martin had thought that he had to be the tiniest thing in the world. Holding him had seemed far more daunting than anything else Martin had done. Martin had never held a baby, not that he could remember. Gonff had had to bully him into it, insisting that no, Martin, you were not going to break him.

Now, holding any of the dibbuns was as simple as breathing.

“I think so,” Martin said. “But that’s up to your parents.”

“You should be,” Gonflet said. “You’re a very good uncle.”

Martin set Gonflet down on the Abbey steps, taking a seat next to him. Winter was coming, and soon enough the days would be short and the snows would roll in.

“I’m glad you think so,” Martin said. “I think you’ll make a very good brother.”

Gonflet nodded. His face turned solemn. He took Martin’s paw, running his claws over the faded scars on Martins’ wrists. Neither Gonflet nor any of the dibbuns had ever asked about them, and Martin had never let them see the lashes on his back. Not because he was ashamed of them, it was difficult to be ashamed of something you couldn’t remember. But because if they did ask, Martin didn’t know what he would tell them.

“Uncle Martin,” Gonflet said, “Can you teach me how to sword fight?”

Martin almost laughed, but Gonflet was deeply serious. Martin coughed, schooling his face.

“Why do you want to fight?” Martin asked.

“My baby will be very small,” Gonflet said. “I’ll need to protect her.”

Martin softly squeezed Gonflet’s paw with his own. “That’s what the Abbey is for,” Martin nodded to the walls around them. There was still some work to do inside the building itself, but the walls had been the first thing to be completed. Tall enough, and strong enough, that no one could tear them down. “So you won’t have to.”

“We don’t always live here,” Gonflet pointed out. “So I need to know. So I can protect her.”

Martin knew better than to think he had banished all evil from Mossflower forever, but he liked to think he managed it for a while at least. And even without his sword, Martin was going to do his best to make sure that that stayed true.

“Do you think something’s going to happen?”

Gonflet thought about this, then shook his head. “No. But no one does. So I need to know. Just in case. So I can protect her.”

“How about this,” Martin offered, “until you’re big enough, I can protect both of you?”

Gonflet made a face, his solemnity disappearing. He let go of Martin’s paw, flopping backwards on the steps. He let out a highly dramatic sigh. “Fine. But when I’m big enough you have to teach me! Because she’ll be my sister, and I need to protect her.”

“You think it’ll be a girl?” Martin smiled.

“Yes.”

“It could be a boy.”

“They already have a boy,” Gonflet stood, wrapping his arms around Martin’s neck. “They need a girl.”

Martin laughed. He stood, lifting Gonflet onto his shoulders. “Well, you’ll have to wait and see like everyone else.”

*

“You are a lot like her.”

Martin looked up. The first snows were falling, and Vurg was the only one who had braved the grounds to join Martin in the gatehouse. Martin had stoked the fire high, leaving the gatehouse warm and comfortable. Martin hadn’t even realized Vurg was staring at him.

“Like who?” Martin asked.

“Sayna,” Vurg said. He had a blanket pulled up around his shoulders, a mug of cider held in his paws.

Martin shifted in his seat. “Oh.”

The volume they had brought back with them sat on the gatehouse shelves, among the others that lined the walls. Denno and Dulam had taken the time several seasons ago to replace the cover, repair pages that had been damaged and waterlogged after so long atop the sea. Everything Martin knew about his mother, about both of his parents, was inside of it. Martin hadn’t touched it since they had returned.

He should, he knew, have tried to speak with them about his parents, his family, his tribe, all the things he couldn’t remember. He had never been able to do so with Timballisto. Still, Martin couldn’t bring himself to ask. He had heard the tale along with everyone else. Was there anything else to ask?

“Columbine was asking about her,” Vurg said. “Just the other day.”

Martin frowned. Even if he could remember his life before Mossflower, he doubted there would have been any memories of her. He found himself saying one of the only things he knew of Sayna for certain.

“You said I named your ship after her.” Sometimes, if Martin tried very hard, he thought he could just about recall he ocean, crashing waves, freezing waters, the harshness that was the northern coasts. But it never all there, never truly a memory rather than pieces of a dream.

“You did,” Vurg smiled. “You couldn’t say her name right when you were first learning to talk. You called her Samma.”

Martin leaned forwards, stoking the fire higher, chasing the frost from the windows.

“What was she like?” Martin managed to ask. “My mother?”

Vurg thought for a long moment, long enough that Martin thought perhaps he had fallen asleep.

“She wasn’t a warrior,” Vurg said finally. “She didn’t want Luke to have to be either. Or you. I don’t think Luke every thought there was a way to make the world any better than it was. But Sayna wanted there to be. That existing in peace was always better than fighting. Like you.” Vurg nodded at the Abbey around them. “She would have liked Redwall.”

Martin swallowed past a lump in his throat. He nodded, unable to bring himself to say anything. Vurg smiled.

“She would be proud of you,” he said. “Very.”

*

“It’s been too long,” Gonff said. “Hasn’t it?”

Gonff was pacing endlessly in the hall outside the infirmary. Columbine had gone into labor only a few hours ago, and Gonff had been a nervous wreck ever since. Despite Goody having assured him everything was going fine, Gonff had convinced himself that something was in fact going horribly wrong.

“It has not been too long,” Martin said. He sat along the wall, Gonflet in his lap. “Columbine is fine.”

“It didn’t take this long last time, did it?”

“Last time it took longer,” Martin said.

Gonff stopped. “That can’t be right.” He frowned, glaring between Martin and the door. It was a rare thing to see Gonff at a loss. “How long has it been?”

Instead of answering, Martin attempted to distract him. “Did you pick a name yet?”

Gonff waved hand airily. In Martin’s lap, Gonflet giggled. He looked up at Martin, pressing a paw to his lips.

“It’s a secret,” Gonflet said.

“A secret is no good,” Gonff pointed accusingly at his son, “if you’re tellin’ other beasts you have one.”

“You did pick a name then,” Martin raised an eyebrow. “But you won’t tell me?”

“You heard the little one,” Gonff said. “It’s a secret. For when the baby is born. Which should have happened by now.”

“Columbine is fine,” Martin assured him. “Goody and Amyl would have told us if anything was wrong.”

The infirmary door opened. Goody poked her head out. “Everything fine,” she said. “You’re welcome to come in.”

Gonflet leapt to his feet, grabbing his father’s hand. Gonff turned to Martin, but Martin shook his head.

“You go in first,” Martin said. “I’ll be here.”

It was only a few minutes before the door opened up once again. Gonff was grinning from ear to ear, all anxiety forgotten. “It’s a girl.”

Martin found himself smiling as well. “And her name?”

Gonff didn’t answer, simply ushered Martin inside. Columbine was sitting up in bed, looking tired but happy, a blanket wrapped bundle in her arms. Gonflet was bouncing on the foot of the bed, looking if possible, even more pleased than his parents.

“How are you feeling?” Martin asked her. Columbine smiled.

“Fine,” She held the bundle towards him. “Do you want to hold her?”

Gently, Martin took the baby into his arms. She was beautiful. Tiny and pink, her little eyes closed. She was one of the most perfect things Martin had ever seen.

“Martin,” Columbine said, “I’d like you to meet Sayna.”

Martin couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. “Sayna?”

Gonff settled on the bed next to Columbine, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“You said not to name the baby after you,” Gonff said. “But we thought this might do instead.”

Martin stared down at little Sayna. Sayna yawned, opening up her eyes and sticking her little tongue out of her mouth. Martin hadn’t cried when Gonflet was born, but to his surprise he found himself crying now.