Chugger: Trimp, I want a bedtime story!
Trimp: I’m busy, Chugger. I’ll tell you one tomorrow.
Chugger: If you don’t tell me a story, I won’t go to bed!
Trimp: Once upon a time, there was a boy named Chugger, who always wanted things his way. One day, his sister got sick of it and locked him in the basement for the rest of his life. Everyone else lived happily ever after. The end.
Chugger: I don’t like these stories with morals.
I'm SOSOSO sorry for being inactive for the last three weeks. Ive had a hard time and wanted to just get some rest. I'm happy to announce Tree is back in the game and well!
Now someone plz get me a coke and Trimp fanart plzplzplz
Looking for the best fried rice under the ocean? Check out trimpadvisor for the #1 restaurant in the sea!
(There’s only one restaurant listed on the app, it’s Trimp’s)
As promised, it has not taken another three years to update! Just... well, you know, six months... which is better than last time!
On a more serious note, I’m sorry for taking so long to update. I had hoped to have this chapter up sooner but as I’m sure most of you know, this past year has been rather crazy, for lack of a better word, and that slowed down the writing process.
The original work I mentioned at the start of the last chapter hasn’t fared much better, unfortunately, although the blog is still up! Go check out @moiranvall-official if you’re at all interested in getting updates once I get further into the story.
Once again thanks to @raphcrow for her help with editing, beta-reading, and generally being there for me to spout ideas at until something sticks
On with the story!
FF.net, AO3, DA
[Ch.1] [Ch.2] [Ch.3] [Ch.4] [Ch.5] [Ch.6]
The next morning dawned dark and gray, accompanied by a bitter wind that blew so fiercely it rattled the windows of Great Hall in their frames and was so cold that, even with the warmth rising from the kitchens below, Rose felt the chill in her bones. Her footpaws ached so terribly that she could not rise from bed without Sister Amyl’s assistance. The good sister helped her bundle into the warmest clothes she had and wrapped a thick woolen shawl securely around her shoulders before accompanying her down to Cavern Hole for breakfast.
Great Hall, when they emerged, was far quieter than it had been the past few mornings. The dibbuns, it seemed, knew better than to ask to be allowed outside in this weather. A great gust of wind buffeted the windows as it howled past, rattling the windows and sending a shiver down Rose's spine. She turned as she heard the great wooden doors close at the far end of the hall. Rowanoak and Ballaw stood speaking quietly before the doors, occasionally glancing over their shoulders as though they could still see the snow on the other side. A light dusting of snow covered both their shoulders, though it didn’t seem that they’d spent long outside.
Ballaw huffed, twitching his ears this way and that until the snow was gone. “Well,” he said as they drew closer, “I s’pose there’s no helping, after all.”
Rowanoak nodded her great, striped head. “It would seem so. Good morning, Rose,”
Rose nodded to the pair, trying to smile but grimacing instead. “Good morning, Rowanoak, Ballaw.” She leaned heavily on her crutches, slowly turning to make her way to Cavern Hole.
“Care for a lift, dear?” Rowanoak asked, holding out a paw to Rose.
“Yes, please,” Rose said. She surrendered her crutches to Ballaw before Rowanoak swept her up with gentle paws.
The festive air that had permeated Cavern Hole the previous mornings was subdued, but still present. Rose gazed out across the room from her vantage point in Rowanoak’s arms, spotting familiar faces scattered throughout the crowd. Keyla and Tulgrew had integrated seamlessly with Redwall’s otter population, sitting and chatting with the new friends as though they’d lived here for seasons. Celandine appeared to be flirting shamelessly with three different young squirrels at once. Rose couldn’t see Grumm, but she was sure he was present somewhere, enjoying his time with the mole crew.
“Auntie Rose!”
The familiar cry came from a table off to Rowanoak’s right, and Rose had to crane her neck to see her eldest niece, Myrtle, seated on a bench between Mayflower and a young squirrelmaid Rose didn’t recognize.
“Good morning, Myrtle,” she said as Rowanoak turned. “Good morning, Mayflower.” Now that she was no longer contorting herself to see Myrtle, she realized her niece had joined a larger group of similarly aged dibbuns that included Mayflower’s brothers and Tintin. The group was supervised by yet another familiar face. “Good morning, Trimp.”
The hogmaid looked up at her, dark eyes twinkling as she smiled. “Good morning, Rose.” She patted the bench next to her. “Care to join us?”
Rose considered for a moment before her gaze moved to the head table, unbidden.
Down on the bench, Trimp laughed softly. “I haven’t seen Martin yet today, though I’m sure he’ll show his?face sooner or later.”
Rose squeaked and resisted the urge to hide her face in her paws as she realized she’d been caught. “I’d love to join you,” she managed to say, shoving down her embarrassment so that her voice was only slightly squeaky. Guilt bloomed in her chest as Rowanoak settled her onto the bench and Ballaw tucked her crutches carefully under the table before leaving to find their own seats. “I’m sorry I’ve been so preoccupied the last few days.” She’d meant to spend time with Trimp when she saw her friend that first night, truly she had. But then Martin had walked into the room and her world had turned on its head. To her surprise, Trimp only grinned at her.
“I was the one who said you’d like Martin, if I recall correctly, “ she said. “Seems I was right.” A mischievous twinkle shone in her eyes as she patted Rose’s paw gently. “Besides, he seems quite taken with you as well.”
Rose did hide her face in her paws at that, certain her ears had flushed a brilliant crimson. She suffered Trimp’s gentle laughter in silence. Protesting further, she was sure, would not help the matter. Eventually, Trimp’s laughter faded to a soft chuckle, and Rose allowed herself to be coaxed upright by the smell of food.
Trimp was still smiling at her, but the expression had softened somewhat from pure amusement. “My apologies,” she said, catching Rose’s paw in a quick squeeze, “I’ll try not to tease too much.”
They ate in silence for a time, listening to the gentle hum of chatter from the dibbuns around them.
“So,” Rose said, “You’ve told me how you came to Redwall, but not why you stayed. I thought you planned to wander until the season turned you grey?”
Trimp nodded slowly, spreading a scone with honey before she answered. “That was the plan, originally, until I came here.” She split the scone and offered half of it to Rose. “You remember how I told you that my family used to live near the North-western coast?”
Rose nodded, her mouth full.
“I got to see the place, on that same adventure when I met Chugger. It was so strange and quiet, lonely, even. I remember looking up at those cliffs and feeling so terribly alone and small.” Trimp smiled again, her eyes soft and far away. “And then I looked down at the beach below and saw all the friends I’d come to love while we traveled.” She laughed quietly. “Little Chugger was waving his paws for my attention and the others were all preparing for the return journey, and I suddenly found myself thinking that I was ready to go home. Except home wasn’t really a place anymore. It was the creatures I’d met and shared such a wonderful adventure with. So when we returned I didn’t feel the need to leave again. I was home.”
Rose had to blink back tears before giving Trimp’s paw a gentle squeeze. “I’m glad you’ve found your home,” she said. Some small part of her had hoped, seasons ago, that Trimp would settle in Noonvale when she finished wandering. They had so few visitors that found the hidden town and each one was a treasure. That hope had grown smaller with each new season, however. And now, having joined Rowanoak and Ballaw on their final journey, Rose could see why Trimp hadn’t settled in Noonvale. The town was too small and isolated for such a social creature. Trimp would have felt stifled, just as Brome had when they were young. She wondered if Martin would have felt stifled, had he returned. Sighing heavily, she rubbed her paws across her face. It had been a long time since she found her thoughts so consumed by Martin. She wanted to focus on Trimp and forget everything else for a while, but now even Trimp was tied to Martin in her mind. A gentle touch on her shoulder pulled her from her thoughts as she let out a long, shuddering sigh. “I’m sorry, Trimp. I haven’t been very good company this morning.”
Trimp’s face, when she looked up, was full of concern. “Are you okay, Rose?”
“I’m fine,” Rose said, forcing a smile onto her face, “Just a bit sore due to the cold.”
Trimp held her gaze for a long moment before turning back to breakfast. Cavern Hole was beginning to clear as others finished their food and turned to doing chores or enjoying the day together.
“I don’t think it’s just the cold,” Trimp said after the dibbuns eating with them left.
Rose didn’t look up from her plate, her breath caught in her throat.
Trimp glanced around Cavern Hole, presumably checking to ensure no beast would eavesdrop when she continued. “You’ve had a far-away look on your face all morning, I’ve seen it before.” Her smile was almost sad, and Rose could feel her own smile slipping slightly. “Lavender told me about your search for your old friend. I assume that’s who you’re thinking of when you look like that.”
Rose bit back a sigh. There was no reason to hide the truth, even if she wasn’t sure how to explain everything just yet. “It was seasons ago,” she said quietly, “I fell in love with a memory.”
Trimp patted her paw yet again, and Rose got the feeling she would have been pulled into a hug if Trimp wasn’t being careful of her spines. “Your mother told me,” she said. “She said you’ve fallen in love half-a-dozen times over the seasons, but none as deep of true as your first love. She said you followed him into battle, that he promised to protect your life more fiercely than his own, and that he never returned.”
Rose closed her eyes and bit her lip, but she couldn’t stop the tears welling up to overflow. She’d known that Martin had made a promise to her mother, but she hadn’t known what exactly. “He was so brave,” she whispered, “So determined to protect as many as he could. And…”
“And Martin reminds you of him,” Trimp finished for her.
Rose opened her mouth and shut it again. She wanted to shake her head, to explain everything, to shout ‘it was Martin! It’s always been Martin!’ But words failed her and she could do nothing more than cling to Trimp’s paws as the tears poured down her face. She’d fallen in love with a memory, and now she was falling for him all over again. He was not the same Martin she’d known in those wild summer days. He was older now, and wiser, and the rage she’d seen in him when they were young had been tempered by the seasons. But he was still as driven and kind and gentle as she remembered. He still had a deep-seated need to protect those around him. And she was starting to hope, in some small corner of her heart, that there was a chance that he might come to return her love. If she could find a way to remind him of the past. She wasn’t sure she could bear it if he remembered nothing, or worse, if he denied it had ever happened.
It felt like a long time before the tears stopped flowing and she was able to loosen her grip on Trimp’s paws, but Rose felt better for having shed the tears and Trimp was still looking at her with gentle hope.
“Im sorry, Rose,” she said, “I just want you to be happy.”
Rose brushed the last of her tears from her eyes and offered a watery smile. “I think , for the first time in a long time, there’s a chance for that to happen.”
Then sat and talked for a while longer, Trimp more than happy to distract Rose with tales of her travels prior to arriving at Redwall, as well as a few stories from her time already spent at the abbey. Rose allowed herself to become lost in the stories, reveling in time spent with an old friend. It was all too soon, however, that Rowanoak approached the table and Rose had to make her apologies for leaving in the middle of a story. Trimp merely waved her off with a laugh and promised to finish the tale at a later time.
Brome couldn’t help but feel a touch smothered in the crowded library as they waited for Rowanoak and Rose. The original members of the Rambling Rosehip Players, Ballaw, Trefoil, Celandine, Buckler, Gauchee, and Kastern were all in attendance, settling themselves on the floor or various pieces of furniture. Keyla and Tulgrew, who usually sat out these meetings, were cuddled together against a bookcase. They hadn’t had any specific ideas when Brome asked for their help the evening before, but had been willing to sit in on the meeting in case either thought of anything useful. Brome had settled himself into a low chair next to a sizable pile of blankets he’d prepared for Rose, knowing the cold surely had her footpaws aching terribly.
Gonff the mousethief sat a bit apart from the others, perched on the edge of the desk that sat before one of the windows, his footpaws swinging idly back and forth. He looked vaguely unsettled.
Brome’s thoughts were broken when the library door swung open and Rowanoak strode in, Rose carried safely in her grasp. Once he was satisfied that Rose had been suitably tucked into her seat, he passed her a mug of tea with a wink and a smile. “Our friend missed you at breakfast,” he teased, smiling when her ears flushed pink.
Rose smiled and watched her tea studiously. “I was catching up with Trimp,” she murmured into the mug.
Brome bit back a smile and forced himself to observe his sister with a more discerning eye. She’d been crying, he could see, though she hid it well. Whatever had been weighing on her mind seemed not so troubling anymore, or else she’d pushed it aside in favor of the issue they were meeting to discuss. Her eyes were on her tea, but her mind seemed far away, judging by the soft smile on her face. He’d seen that look countless times before, but this time it didn’t hold the usual sad taint.
“Well then,” Ballaw said, drawing everybeast’s attention as he squeezed into the small space at the center of the room. “Now that we’ve all arrived we’d best get down to business.”
Rowanoak nodded and fixed her gaze on each member of the party in turn. “I know Brome has told you all the most important reason we’ve gathered today, discussing how to help Martin recover his memories.” She paused until everybeast had nodded silent affirmation. “However, before we can discuss-” she broke off suddenly and looked about the room, counting heads on her claws. “Where is Grumm?”
“You’m’ll ‘ave ter fergive Grumm, Mizz Row’noak,” Buckler said. “Foremole Dinny askered ‘im if’n ‘e’d loik t’ ‘elp wi’ ee zoop fer ee feast.”
“I see,” Rowanoak said, nodding.
Grumm was, after all, quite talented at making soup.
“Very well,” Rowanoak returned to her earlier thought. “The first thing we need to discuss is our stay here at the abbey.”
Brome saw Rose tilt her head in confusion out of the corning of his eye. She’d missed that conversation at breakfast.
“The snowfall has been consistently heavy since we arrived,” Rowanoak explained. “Travel, at this time, is possible but likely difficult. Thankfully, both Bella and the good Mother Abbess have offered the abbey’s hospitality for as long as we may need to stay. The question now is, do we wish to risk continued travel? Or shall we stay at the abbey until the weather lightens?”
They sat in silence for a few moments before Gonff piped up from his seat on the desk. “I know you lot’ll need to head back North eventually, but it seems to me that the snow’ll just get worse the further North you go right now.”
“And there’s no point in traveling further South,” Keyla added, “Not when the only reason we even came this far was to search for Martin.”
Gonff nodded. “Exactly. Besides, I know there’s quite a few creatures here who’d like to see you stay a bit longer.”
Brome nodded thoughtfully. It would certainly be nice to not need to wade through heavy snow on the way home. He looked to Rowanoak and Ballaw. “You’ve led us well thus far,” he said, “I’ll trust your judgement on this matter.” Murmurs of agreement sounded from around the room.
“Very well, then,” Rowanoak said. “We’ll stay until the weather improves for travel.” She nodded decisively. “The next matter of business is to consider what to do tomorrow evening, given that Ballaw has already promised a performance to the dibbuns.”
Ballaw grinned and twirled his ears. “We could always do the Marshank play,” he suggested. “Two birds with one stone and all that nonsense, wot wot. Give the good abbeybeasts a thrilling story and jog the warrior lad’s memory at the same time. It’s abso-bally-lutely brilliant.” The hare was beaming with pride, but Brome had a feeling things wouldn’t be so easy as that.
“No,” Rose said, shaking her head. “It doesn’t feel right.”
Rowanoak looked at the maid curiously. “While I’m inclined to agree with you, I would like to hear why you feel it would be wrong?”
Rose sat quietly for a moment before speaking. “It’s one thing to perform that story at home where nearly everybeast knew Martin personally or at least knows of him. Or when we perform for strangers who don’t know us or Martin at all. But this is his home now. It wouldn’t be right to tell his story here when he doesn’t remember it himself.” She stared resolutely into her mug as she finished speaking, her expressions set in a way Brome hadn’t seen in ages.
“I’m with th’ missy on this,” Gonff said. He’d pulled a small dagger from somewhere and was twirling it easily in his paws. “It’s going t’ take a bit more than just puting on a play t’ bring Martin’s mem’ries back.” He tossed the dagger in a lazy arc and sighed, looking around the room before settling his gaze on Rose. “I doubt it’s a terribly fun story you have t’ tell, but I think I can be of more help if’n I know what Martin’s fergot.”
Rose nodded and began her tale. Brome had heard her tell of the events many times before, but as he sat watching Gonff’s face he tried to imagine hearing the tale for the first time from Gonff’s perspective. Some parts were so undeniably Martin, he was sure Gonff would have no difficulty believing what had happened. Other things, such as meeting Aggril, or when father forbade the carrying of blades in Noonvale, were met with looks of disquiet.
Gonff had returned the dagger to its place on his belt by the time Rose finished, his eyes hard and serious. Though, Rose didn’t seem to notice through the haze of memories. Gonff’s mouth had set into a grim line when Rose explained how she’d attacked Badrang and been thrown against the wall for her efforts. His own gaze was nearly as far away as Rose’s.
“Well,” he said, some time after Rose had lapsed into silence, “That would explain a thing or two.” He looked around the room again, fixing each of them with his bright stare before returning his attention to Rose. “I’m certain, now, a play isn’t what Martin needs to remember his past.” He hesitated a moment, his gaze softening slightly. “It’s going t’ have t’ be you who reminds him, Rose.”
Rose sat up straighter, tilting her head in confusion. “Why me?”
Gonff sighed and looked down to his paws grasped in his lap, then up again to glance around the room. “I’ve got my reasons, though I’m not sure…” he trailed off and looked at his paws again. “It’s something I haven’t spoken of but once since th’ night it happened.”
Rowanoak nodded. “A private matter, then.” She motioned to Ballaw, “Why don’t you take the others and work on choosing a play. Rose and I can join you once we’re finished here.” She turned to Kastern. “I’m trusting you to speak in my place until I arrive.”
Kastern nodded her agreement and stood, joining the others as they filed toward the door.
“I’m sorry,” Brome said, “But could I stay, please?” He glanced at Rose, uncertain how exactly to voice his concern with leaving her to such a serious discussion without offending her.
Gonff interjected before he had to. “I think that’ll be alright.” He waited until the door shut behind the others before speaking again. “I’ll warn you, it’s not a pleasant story. Hopefully, if all goes well, I won’t need t’ ever speak of it again.” He sighed again and kicked his footpaws back and forth before settling them on the edge of the chair in front of him.
“It happened one night during the war,'' he began, “While Martin, Dinny, an’ meself were traveling to Salamandastron.” He spoke to all three of them, but his gaze was fixed firmly on Rose, all signs of his usual joviality gone and his tone far more serious than it was during his performances in the evenings. “We were getting so close to our goal. Dinny an’ Log-a-log were already asleep.”
Gonff closed his eyes and drew in a long breath, as though the action could transport him back to that far-away night. “I saw Martin sitting by th’ fire holding his sword hilt. He was staring into th’ fire like he was a world away. I remember saying to meself ‘such a shame ‘is sword’s broke, must o’ been a beautiful blade at one time.’”
“It was,” Rowanoak said quietly. “Well made, too, with a near perfect balance. It’s no wonder Badrang wanted it.”
Gonff smiled sadly, and continued. “I got up, wasn’t sleeping yet anyways, plopped meself down next to him, an’ waited fer him t’ notice I was there.” He chuckled. “That took a while.
‘Something wrong?’ he asked me.
‘Think you’ll ever find a new sword, mate?’ I asked back.
He went quiet again. I figured he was just thinking it o’er, ‘til I looked at him.” Gonff ran a paw across his face, turning his gaze to the wall behind Rose. “He weren’t crying, but the look on his face was worse, some’ow. He looked like his heart had been torn out an’ cut t’ pieces. I almost wish he would‘ve cried. I would have known what t’ do. It was like he’d already cried, like he still wanted t’ cry, but he’d run out o’ tears.”
Brome swallowed past a sudden knot in his throat and blinked back his own tears. Looking at Rowanoak, he saw her doing the same. Briefly, he recalled what she had told him seasons prior.
“He didn’t speak at all, except when he woke after the battle and the day he left. As soon as he was strong enough, he would go into the forest daily to grieve alone.”
It seemed likely, then, that Martin had indeed run out of tears.
Gonff continued. “An’ then, when he spoke he was so quiet I almost didn’t hear him.
‘No,’ he says. ‘I can’t. If Boar is willing, I’ll ask him t’ remake th’ blade, but I will never take up another sword again.’ He were clinging to that broken blade like it were th’ only thing b’tween him an’ death. ‘She died because I insisted on getting it back,’ he said. ‘I swore to protect her, but I failed and she died.’” Gonff broke off suddenly, clearing his throat and wiping a paw across his eyes. “He told me- he told me it should’ve been him that died instead. But he didn’t, so now he needed t’ live, because she would’ve wanted that.” He lapsed into silence, the quiet broken only by the occasional sniffle.
“Who was it?” Rose asked. “Did he ever say?”
Brome didn’t have to look to know Rose was holding back tears, he could hear it in her voice.
Gonff shook his head. “He never told me th’ name. Just said she was a maiden as sweet as summer with a heart of gold who didn’t deserve to die so young.” He focused his gaze on Rose again. “But I’ve got a suspicion.”
Rose let out a strangled sound and this time Brome looked at her. She wasn’t crying yet, but he could see tears gathering in her eyes. “Trimp told me this morning- she told me-” another strangled sob “-she said Mama told her that Martin promised to protect my life more fiercely than his own. She didn’t know it was Martin but-” A tear spilled over and trickled down her whisker before she buried her face in her paws. “You’re saying he thought I was dead?” She shook as she cried, and Brome felt his heart breaking for her and for Martin.
“I’m sorry, Rose,” Rowanoak rumbled, breaking the daze that seemed to have settled over them. “I should have told you.” She crossed the room and gently gathered Rose against her chest, one huge paw rubbing across the mousemaid’s shoulders. “I knew that Martin thought you were dead. All of us who stayed with Polleekin thought you were dead. We didn’t know otherwise until we returned to Noonvale, and by that time, Martin had already gone. There didn’t seem to be any reason to tell you and bring you more pain. I thought he left because of memories of the others who had died in battle. If I had known how deeply your supposed death had affected him specifically, then perhaps- perhaps we might have tried harder to find him again.” Rowanoak pulled away, her voice full of sorrow and regret.
“I’m sorry, Rose,” Brome murmured, moving closer to clasp her paw between his own. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way.”
Gonff cleared his throat softly, drawing their attention back to him.
“Unfortunately, there’s more.”
Gonff froze when Rose looked at him, a few tears still trickling down her face, and he almost wanted to take back the words. To say he was mistaken, that he’d mis-remembered and that she’d already heard all there was to hear. But that would hardly be fair to her, or Martin. He was sending her into battle, in a sense. This was Martin’s best, if not only, chance to remember his past and put old ghosts to rest. He would not do Rose the disservice of sending her in without telling her what she needed to know.
“What else happened?” Rose asked quietly. Her voice was small, but firm and she’d wiped the remaining tears from her face.
“After the war,” Gonff said, unable to meet her gaze, “Once we’d realized ‘ow much Martin had fergot, I set t’ helping him remember.” Exactly how long that had taken and how badly Tsarmina had wounded Martin he didn’t say. Martin could tell her later, when the knowledge was less likely to send her back into tears. “I was going o’er our adventure with him, figuring out what he knew an’ what he’d fergot, when I remember that evening I just told you about. I asked him if he remembered it, and what he’d said.” Gonff voice caught in his throat, the words hanging on the tip of his tongue.
They were all watching, waiting with baited breath for Martin’s answer. Brome had shifted closer to Rose again, but she sat straight, not leaning into the comfort her brother offered.
“He got real quiet,” Gonff said, staring at his paws again rather than meet Rose’s too-bright gaze. “Then he said, ‘please don’t ask me about that. I don’t remember who we spoke about, but I remember the guilt.’ He had that look again, like he wanted to cry but couldn’t. ‘It hurts too much when I can’t remember,’ he said, ‘I don’t think I can bear remembering again.’” He sighed and dragged a paw across his face. “He didn’t talk again for the rest o’ th’ evening, an’ he seemed to forget by the next day.” He forced himself to meet Rose’s gaze. “That’s why it has t’ be you that tells him. Everybeast has a weakness, and Martin’s weakness is you.”
He half expected Rose to burst into more tears and refuse to be comforted, but she didn’t. Instead, she met his gaze, her eyes rimmed pink from her earlier outbursts, and nodded. “I understand,” she said. Her voice rang hollow, and looked like she was clenching her jaw to keep from crying. “I-I’ll have to think about how to remind him, but I promise to do my best.”
Brome looked as though he were about to say something, but stopped before the words escaped. Gonff didn’t blame him. Rose had all the information now, what she did with it was up to her.
Gonff found that he suddenly felt extremely tired, as though he’d set down a burden he hadn’t known he was carrying. In a way, he realized, he had. The responsibility of helping Martin remember, and come to terms with, his past no longer rested on his shoulders. And while he did feel a slight bit guilty for placing such a heavy burden on Rose’s slim shoulders, he was also unshakably certain that she was up to the task. Even with her face streaked with evidence of her tears, she still radiated a quiet strength that reminded him in many ways of his own wife. He made a mental note to Columbine as soon as he was finished here, and make sure he told her just how grateful he was to have her in his life.
Rose nodded again. “Thank you for telling me what you know. I’m sure it will be most helpful.”
Rowanoak huffed out a woosh of air. “Well, now that that’s settled, let’s go make sure Ballaw hasn’t suggested too many more crazy plays for us to do.”
Gonff took his leave quietly as the trio went to join the rest of the troupe. The sun was still obscured by the storm outside as he made his way down to Great Hall, though the faint murmur rising from the stones beneath his footpaws told him it was likely later in the afternoon than he had thought. Columbine would be working in the kitchens again, he thought, turning toward the stairs with a re-energized skip in his step. Perhaps he could convince her to spare a scone or two before the feast, after he stole a few kisses, of course.
