Post by blackiejules on Sept 7, 2009 11:50:54 GMT -5
The blisteringly cold winds came without warning, driving before them a steady sheet of harsh, tiny ice crystals. The skeleton trees of Mossflower creaked and groaned under the onslaught as if crying out in pain. Quickly conditions deteriarated; the snow thickened and blew relentlessly forward, pummeling the crusty remnants of the last snow of winter, which had been far more peaceful. Soon the blank grey sky, snow-covered ground, and ice-ridden air were almost indistinguishable.
The wind changed directions as it gusted ever more strongly, and the trees cried out fresh moans and creaked their aching branches. Then they were joined by another, more bestial voice, crying out in dismay and surprise as if in harmony with the suffering trees. Though it was difficult to tell in the screen of white, the howls belonged to a sturdy fox. He had rooted his broad pawpads to the icy ground behind a large oak, but still the large creature had difficulty remaining in place. A fresh wave of wind and gale took him by surprise and knocked him onto his back.
It was as if a malevolent demon were chasing him and beating him about; the winds caught his long, ragged jerkin like a sail and began to drag him along the snowbanks. Shouting another animalistic howl the worn and matted fox swiped out desperately and grasped a hornbeam sapling. He clung to the small tree for dear life until the berating storm finally beat him into a daze.
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When Marlon awoke he could not tell if he had opened his eyes. His paws felt icy and horrible, and flexing them he realized that he was buried in a freshly driven snowdrift. The fox stood abruptly, bursting out of the snow like a leaping trout from a stream. He stood and panted in the stinging air, peering about at the eerily peaceful woodlands incredulously. His deep blue eyes caught sight of something that wasn't grey or white.
Squinting, he stared up in-between the trees at the tall reddish object. He rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn't dreaming it all. The red thing was a tall spire built of red sandstone. Marlon scratched his grimy head and looked back into his memories. Where had he seen such a red building before?
It came to him from his memories as a young cub, when his tribe and village still lived. The vixens and dogfoxes who went into the woods to hunt birds and seek medicinal herbs had often spoken of a great red abbey, they called it "Redwall". It was a place where mice and moles and other friendly creatures lived, a haven for the needy. But Marlon also remebered other tales, stories from some younger foxes of how they were denied entrance and shot at by squirrels to be driven off. The fox did not know for sure how safe this place was, then. His instincts told him to go and see--that it couldn't be that bad.
Marlon urged his sore limbs into motion and crept swiftly towards the spire. He avoided bramble and briar as well as he could, but regardless his clothing was snatched at and ripped by thorn and twig as he went. Getting somewhat careless, the lost young fox stumbled as the uneven forest floor suddenly changed into a flat surface. He looked in either direction and realized he was on the broad North to South path. Setting off south along it, he approached the great red abbey wearily, trying to remove twigs from his gritty headfur as he went. Very soon he found himself at a huge gate. He was awestruck at the size of the walls; they looked to be nearly as thick as he was tall. Presently he noticed a heavy brass knocker upon the door at his waist level. Bending over painfully, he pounded the door with it strongly a good three times. Standing back up, he grimaced. With a knocker set so low surely mice and moles lived here. But his head told him to just wait and see...
The wind changed directions as it gusted ever more strongly, and the trees cried out fresh moans and creaked their aching branches. Then they were joined by another, more bestial voice, crying out in dismay and surprise as if in harmony with the suffering trees. Though it was difficult to tell in the screen of white, the howls belonged to a sturdy fox. He had rooted his broad pawpads to the icy ground behind a large oak, but still the large creature had difficulty remaining in place. A fresh wave of wind and gale took him by surprise and knocked him onto his back.
It was as if a malevolent demon were chasing him and beating him about; the winds caught his long, ragged jerkin like a sail and began to drag him along the snowbanks. Shouting another animalistic howl the worn and matted fox swiped out desperately and grasped a hornbeam sapling. He clung to the small tree for dear life until the berating storm finally beat him into a daze.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When Marlon awoke he could not tell if he had opened his eyes. His paws felt icy and horrible, and flexing them he realized that he was buried in a freshly driven snowdrift. The fox stood abruptly, bursting out of the snow like a leaping trout from a stream. He stood and panted in the stinging air, peering about at the eerily peaceful woodlands incredulously. His deep blue eyes caught sight of something that wasn't grey or white.
Squinting, he stared up in-between the trees at the tall reddish object. He rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn't dreaming it all. The red thing was a tall spire built of red sandstone. Marlon scratched his grimy head and looked back into his memories. Where had he seen such a red building before?
It came to him from his memories as a young cub, when his tribe and village still lived. The vixens and dogfoxes who went into the woods to hunt birds and seek medicinal herbs had often spoken of a great red abbey, they called it "Redwall". It was a place where mice and moles and other friendly creatures lived, a haven for the needy. But Marlon also remebered other tales, stories from some younger foxes of how they were denied entrance and shot at by squirrels to be driven off. The fox did not know for sure how safe this place was, then. His instincts told him to go and see--that it couldn't be that bad.
Marlon urged his sore limbs into motion and crept swiftly towards the spire. He avoided bramble and briar as well as he could, but regardless his clothing was snatched at and ripped by thorn and twig as he went. Getting somewhat careless, the lost young fox stumbled as the uneven forest floor suddenly changed into a flat surface. He looked in either direction and realized he was on the broad North to South path. Setting off south along it, he approached the great red abbey wearily, trying to remove twigs from his gritty headfur as he went. Very soon he found himself at a huge gate. He was awestruck at the size of the walls; they looked to be nearly as thick as he was tall. Presently he noticed a heavy brass knocker upon the door at his waist level. Bending over painfully, he pounded the door with it strongly a good three times. Standing back up, he grimaced. With a knocker set so low surely mice and moles lived here. But his head told him to just wait and see...