Chapter 1
The heavily armored Mouse stood there on the edge of the cliffside, pondering. His green cape adorned with a bright red maple leaf emblazoned on a shield of gold flapped in the gentle Spring breeze. His left paw rested on the pommel of the longsword that lay sheathed at his hip. His right foretoe tapped on the steel plate that covered his thigh. He wore the same sour expression he had for the past several minutes since coming out to observe the battle, no doubt contributing to the light gray furs that had begun sprouting up around his nose and above his eyes, which stood out nicely against his already dark gray fur.
“Scribe Plumbase?”
“Yes, Commander?”
The Bird scribe perked up at being called on. The Commander had been staring down at the battle in the field below for several minutes now, not so much as muttering a word. The scent of earth and blood drifted through the early Spring breeze. The sounds of steel meeting claw and the telltale ringing of spells being flung rang through the air, filling the silence that existed before the Commander finally spoke up. The Bird hoped that the Commander was just getting some fresh air before going back to the safety of the office so that they could continue with the day’s affairs. Even at this height, the atmosphere of the battle lay heavy on the Bird’s shoulders.
“These Ferals grow more relentless with each passing Spring, but we must hold this pass at all costs. The survival of the Valley depends on it. Bring a message to all the different kingdoms.”
The Bird turned his head at this, they had already sent out the monthly reports and requisition forms for the various supplies they would need come Winter. So what would the Commander need to say? And why all of the kingdoms? That had certainly never happened before.
Commander Titus hadn’t taken his eyes off of the battle that lay before him, a fire having lit in his expression at the mere mention of the Ferals. The heavy scent of blood slowly made its way up to him, only slightly perturbed by the morning Spring breeze. This was the latest in a long slew of melees that had occurred since they started showing up over ten Springs ago. He flicked his long tail in annoyance thinking of the Ferals’ increasingly complex behavior. This Spring, they had even started employing simple strategies. At first, they were just throwing themselves around blindly, attacking all who came near, even each other. But now it seems they’ve rallied behind some cause, but what, the Commander could only guess. Only a handful of scouts had returned from beyond the Pass, all reporting the same thing: amassing Ferals in the South, deep into the Wildlands.
“We need to recruit the strongest, smartest, and bravest Woodland Folk we can to repel this invasion. Go forth to all kingdoms, it matters not the species and tell them we need assistance. We can not go on like this. I have a feeling that come Winter, we will have bitten off way more than we could chew. No pun intended, of course.”
The Scribe ruffled his feathers, trying to shake off thoughts of Winter. He wasn't built for these harsh Mountain Winters. His thoughts drifted off briefly to his warm hollow North of the Valley and across the sea, untouched by the chilling winds of the Pass. Thoughts of home retreated for now as he turned his attention back to the Commander. One day soon, maybe.
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“It will be done, sir. When shall I leave?”
“Immediately. The more recruits that we get trained up before the Summer Festival, the better. Oh, and take Knight Captain Rurik with you for protection.”
Titus’s large ears twitch when he hears the scribe sigh in exasperation behind him and anticipates another of his famous complaints; he’s never been afraid to speak his mind on these matters. No doubt the scribe was already dreading the months of companionship that’ll be shared with the Knight Captain on their journey. The Commander himself wouldn’t walk away from such an endeavor unscathed. But the Knight Captain was strangely effective at his job of rallying one’s fighting spirit.
“Right away, Commander.”
He briefly smiles as he hears the scribe hold his complaint, spread his wings, and take to the air as the Commander returns his attention back to the battle raging below. Then, as quick as it had come, his smile disappears. His face briefly lit up with orange light as a fire spell detonated amongst a crowd of Feral Squirrels that had grouped up, much to their misfortune. Off in the distance, Titus could make out the gathering of several storm clouds. Good. The scent of blood won’t spoil the coming of Spring for long. Titus could taste the magic that had saturated the air from days of fighting. Some rain would do the battlefield some good.
Squirrels, Rabbits, Raccoons, Mousefolk, and all manner of other forest-dwelling creatures. All have answered the call before to come and defend against these Ferals. Now, they must do so again. For the Valley.
Titus watched as a young Mouse Pikeman was slashed by the large claw of a Feral Raccoon. A Frog Mage’s Water Bolt slices through the air and blasts the raccoon in the chest in response, sending the Raccoon reeling backward, screeching in the way that only Ferals do. Seizing the opportunity, two soldiers, a young Rabbit Shieldmaiden and another Mouse Swordsman rush forward and grab the young Pikeman under his arms, dragging him towards the cliffside where the Healers had set up emergency triage. Titus releases the tension in his body, unclenching his fists and releasing the breath he didn’t even realize he was holding.
Too many creatures had fallen in this conflict. Too many names he could no longer remember. The Memorial Stone in the plaza of Fort Redleaf had long ago run out of space, prompting the soldiers to drag in several smaller stones to be placed around the main one. Even the Ferals that were killed were a loss in his eyes. The Scholars of Evertree were hard at work researching the phenomenon, but so far had come up empty-pawed. And sadly, the death of his subordinates was the least of Titus’s worries right now. First, the supply issues the Fort was having because of some kind of failed harvest in the Northern Sunfields, now there were even rumors that Ferals had been seen North of the Pass. Titus sighed and rubbed his eyes as the thought of paperwork weighed down his mind. It was going to be a long night.
His hand rested on the pommel of his longsword at his side. Absent-mindedly, he rubbed the freshly shined steel while silently reliving his glory days in his mind. The Predator Wars were long over, yet he could still feel the heat on his face from the battles fought. His longsword had never been this shiny back then and saw far more use. Watching the melee down below, his tail began to swish back and forth as a brilliant idea came to mind. Head Scribe Bravary could be made to wait just a couple hours; the paperwork wasn’t going anywhere after all. It’s time I make myself known, he proclaimed to himself as he started the descent down to the Gate of the Wilds, the only barrier between the Northern Valley and the Southern Wildlands. Time to see if the Ferals can still feel fear.
