Redwall #01 - Lord Brocktree by Brian Jacques

Author:Brian Jacques [Jacques, Brian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2010-11-15T20:42:38+00:00

The mountain hare's expression was murderous as he grated out his reply. "Aye, stripedawg, ah accept the challenge. Ye'll be hearin' from mah seconds afore midnight!"

Brocktree tipped a paw to his stripes courteously. "Thank you, I'll look forward to it. I bid you good night."

As they strode off, the badger took Fleetscut's paw. "Hurry, go and get Gurth, Jukka, Ruff and Log a Log Grenn. Tell them to meet us by the willows on the streambank. Go!"

Dotti looked shaken. Brocktree patted her back gently. "Calm down now, miss. Temper's the sign of a loserit affects the reason too much. We've got to start your education, and there's not a lot of time to do it in. That's always provided you want to win, eh?"

Dotti managed a smile. "Oh, I want to win all right, sah!"

Chapter 21

Stiffener Medick was leading his friends over the dunes toward the cliffs. Dawn's first slivers of light showed pale-washed grey behind the limestone heights. Rain teemed down unabated, squalled by the wind that flattened the dunegrass. Wet and weary they stumbled onward, assisting one another through the soft sand. Stiffener nearly jumped out of his skin when an otter popped up right in front of him.

"Aye aye, wot's this then, the old hares' outin'? Ain't picked out very good weather for it, mate, 'ave ye?"

Immediately recognizing the creature as a friend, Stiffener blew a dewdrop of rain from his nose and grinned. "No we ain't! Tell you somethin' else, too, we've lost our picnic basketslinen, cutl'ry, vittles, the lot!"

The otter threw a paw around the boxing hare's shoulders. "Worse things 'appen at sea, eh? Not t'worry, me ole lad, we'll find ye a dry berth an' a mouthful 'round the fire. My name's Brogalaw, Skipper o' Sea Otters, but let's get you an' yore fogeys in out the rain, then we'll natter."

Brogalaw led them to the cliffs. He clapped paws to his mouth and shouted at the blank stoneface, fighting to make himself heard above the storm: "Ahoy the holt, 'tis only Brog wid some ole hares wot've escaped from the wildcat's bluebottoms on the mountain!"

Trobee coughed politely to gain the otter's attention. "Beg pardon, old boy, but how'd you know that?"

Brogalaw winked. "Tell ye later, matey."

A sea buckthorn bush growing against the cliff face was pushed aside at one corner. The homely face of an otterwife appeared, her nose twitching disapprovingly. "Lan' sakes, Brog, get those pore beasts in out the weather."

They filed inside, staring about. It was a big, rough and ready cave, full of otters and a fully grown grey heron which stood immobile on one leg, watching as Brog grouped them about the fire. Bread was brought to them, with cheese baked on top of it. From a cauldron by the fire, the hares were served with steaming bowls of stew. The otterwife watched appreciatively as they ate hungrily.

"Good, ain't it? That's my special tater'n'whelk'n'leek chowder. I'm Brogalaw's mum, Frutch. Ahoy, Durvy, break out some seaweed grog an' give this crew a beaker apiece.

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