Mossflower

Late autumn winds sighed fitfully around the open gatehouse door, rustling

brown gold leaves in the fading afternoon.

Bella of Brockhall snuggled deeper into her old armchair by the fire. Through

half-closed eyes she watched the small mouse peering around the doorway at

her.

"Come in, little one, and close the door."

The small mouse did as he was bidden. Encouraged by the badger's friendly

smile, he clambered up onto the arm of the chair and settled himself against a

cushion.

"You said that you would tell me a story, Miz Bella."

The badger nodded slowly.

"Everything you see about you, the harvest that has been gathered, from the

russet apples to the golden honey, is yours to enjoy in freedom. Listen now,

as the breeze sweeps the last autumn leaves off into the world of winter. I

will tell you of the time long ago before Redwall Abbey was built in

Mossflower. In those days there was no freedom for wood-landers; we were

oppressed cruelly under the harsh rule of Verdauga Greeneyes and his daughter

Tsarmina. It was a mouse like yourself who saved Mossflower. His name is known

to all: Martin the Warrior.

"Ah, my little friend, I am grown old. So are my comrades; their sons and

daughters are fathers and mothers now. But that is life. The seasons still

look new to young eyes, the food tastes fresher in the mouths of the young

ones than it does in my own. As I sit here in the warmth and peace it all

lives again in my memory, a strange tale of love and war, friend and foe,

great happenings and mighty deeds.

"Gaze into the fire, young one. Listen to me and I will tell you the story.''