–---An exerct from the Journals of Flavius Clay------
We have entered day one of our journey from Snake Tail River. True, our family has been traveling for some weeks to get here but we did so alone. Snake Tail River is a trading town and decidedly vermin, but also a place where other beasts gather before making the long trip northward.
We have joined a group of settlers, an equal mix of vermin and non vermin blood, looking for a new life away from Mossflower. As of this journal entry there are about 38 souls and less than a half dozen wagons. There is no shortage of beasts willing to go to Starlight Valley.
The reasons they travel are many. Some leave to escape the strife of Mossflower, the bitterness of the famine and the constant warefare between horde leaders and sometimes their woodlander counter parts.
I have seen the hallowed halls of Redwall and while pretty, I fail to see why so many horde beasts have thrown away their lives to take its battlements. I suppose not being vermin myself I wont ever be able to see the appeal.
Others still come for less complicated reasons. There is no shortage of beasts lured by their own greed northward to the fabled gold filled valley. Others have found other ways to strike it rich though with out ever striking a shovel to earth.
Like the guards. We hired a few beasts to help ward the bandits away. They are each independant fighters and generally look at us settlers with disdain, prehaps none so much as Jack, our guide. I've never met a hare that made my blood run so cold. I swear he has more vermin in him than any fox or ferret I have seen.
But as for me, I seek something else beside fame or fortune. I seek adventure. And I have a feeling this really will be a great one...
The wimd howled across the open plains giving no relief to the beasts who gathered just out side of camp.
The carts and sometimes wagons were encircled about a large fire pit. It had been dug 3 days ago when the snow storm first hit. While the storm was savage it didn't last too long. The waist deep snow that blanketed the plains however made it nearly impossible to travel safely.
And so they sat, for three days, a week out of Snake Tail River. They had left the road long ago, following the make shift trail of ruts left in the ground by their predicessors, those who went before them on this long, and saddly deadly journey.
The beasts finished burying the body and hammering in the grave marker. A few words were said and the group of those kind enough to visit the final resting place of Flavius Clay, squirrel recorder, turned and went back to their wagons and tents.
Standing away from the funeral and and warming their tails by the fire were a few of the carivans guards. "Dysesntary." One of the guards spat. The fox just shook his head and crossed his arms afterward. "How does someone get Dysentary in THIS weather?"