Jacques, Brian - Redwall 16 -Loamhedge by Jacques Brian

Author:Jacques, Brian [Jacques, Brian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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Large drops began falling, slow at first, sending up small puffs

of dust as they struck the dry plain. A distant thunder rumble

echoed from the high cliffs, followed by a faroff flash of light-

ning that illuminated the southeast horizon. Then the deluge

fell in earnest. Saro stood upright, blowing water from her

nosetip as she blinked at the sheeting curtains of heavy rain.

“Nobeast can see us now. Let’s head straight for the cliffs!”

Joining paws, they jogtrotted toward the foothills, bat-

tered by the relentless downpour. Lightning ripped over the

dark skies in blinding sheets, while thunder boomed and

banged overhead. Dust turned quickly to mud, their paws

squelched into it. Springald tightly gripped the paws of Fenna

and Saro. The intensity of the storm was frightening, she had

never been out in open country at such a time before. At

Redwall, it had been relatively easy to run inside and shelter

from the elements, but out here it was different.

They gained the foothills, slipping and sliding up the wet

grass. Bragoon shielded his eyes as he glanced upward.

“Keep goin’, it ain’t too far now. Yonder black hole that

Horty spotted looks like it could be a cave of some sort. Let’s

make it up that far an’ shelter.”

Horty’s wet paws slapped down in the sludge and mud. Wip-

ing water from his eyes, he chanced a backward glimpse at his

pursuers. Although the main body were still a respectable dis-

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Brian Jacques

tance off, three fast runners had broken away and were com-

ing doggedly onward, closing the distance considerably. The

young hare bit his lip. The trio were armed with spears; if

they got within throwing range, he would be finished. It was

time for a change of plan. Still with stamina in reserve, Horty

shot off to the right, back among the foothills, where he

stood a chance of losing the Darrat mob.

Birug panted, squinching his eyes against the rain as he

saw the hare change course and dart into the dunes. The

High Kappin urged his rats on. “Catchim, or Hemper Figlugg

make Burcha Glugg outta you!”

Topping a rise, Horty spotted the barely discernible hole

in the cliffside, far along to his right. He tripped and went

rolling downhill. Spitting grit and coated with sand, he

swiftly picked himself up and pounded on to the next dune,

muttering to himself, “Ears up, old lad, keep pickin’ ’em up

an’ puttin’ ’em down, wot. Huh, if only the young skin’n’blis-

ter could see her handsome brother now—a blinkin’, gal-

lopin’ sandbeast!”

A spear buried itself in the sand, not far behind him.

Birug appeared at the top of the hill that Horty had just

come over. Two others trailed behind him. He seized the

spear from one of them and flung it. The Darrat leader’s aim

was bad—he watched the spear strike the hillside flat and

slide back down. Birug rested a moment on all fours, fatigued.

Horty gained the next hilltop and turned. Holding a paw

to his nose, he wiggled it and called out cheekily, “Bloomin’

old flesh scoffer, go an’ boil your own head an’ eat it, wot wot!”

Stung by the hare’s jibe, Birug hauled himself upright and

came after the hare with renewed energy.

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