Bong! Boom! Bong! Boom!
The first bud on the rose bush opened slowly, as if the bells were calling to it.
Bong! Boom! Bong! Boom!
A ghostly figure could be seen emerging from the fog. It was a mouse, and a warrior at that. Clad in armor and holding a great sword, it could be none other than Martin the Warrior, who liberated Mossflower Country from tyratns and who later helped build Redwall.
Bong! Boom! Bong! Boom!
Martin strode towards teh bush. When he reched it, tears could be seen glistening in his eyes. They coursed, unchecked and silent, down his face, some falling on the flower that had opened just moments before. He stared at the rose, his mind lost in memories of a beloved friend.
The spectral mouse started in surprise as the fog around the rose began to take shape. Slowly, the form of a young mousemaid could be seen.
"Rose?" Martin's ghostly eyes lit up with hope. "Rose, is it really you?"
"Of course it is, you silly mouse! Who did you think I was, Rowanoak?" The mousemaid, Laterose of Noonvale, flung her arms around her long-lost friend.
"But... but how? I am destined to roam the halls of Redwall for as long as it stands, but you... you should be resting happily in Noonvale..." He trailed off, remembering the words Polleekin the mole-wife had said when she thought he was out of hearing range. That liddle mousey-maid be locked in Marthen's 'eart, and thurr she'm bound to stay.
"Oh, Martin! Did you really think my spirit could ever truly rest until I found you again? Come, let us walk together. Tell me, how did you come to this great red-stone place? Tell me everything!"
"Of course Rose, of coruse!" the warrior chucked, "but first let the rafters of Redwall ring with one of your songs. I haven't heard you sing for ages!"
The mousemaid's voice broke through the night's silence, filling the air with a song so pure and good the graylings in teh pong stopped swimming to listen. Tears shone once again in Martin's eyes, though this time from joy.
As the last notes died away on the breeze, another more solid mouse stared out into the darkness. He had just gotten up to get a drink of water when he could have sworn he heard singing coming from teh Abbey grounds. He peered through the night and fog, straining for the sight of anybeast.
All he saw were wisps of fog which looked to his tired eyes all the world like two mice, one in armor and the other with a rose in her headfur, conversing as they merged with the other fog.
The mouse rubbed his eyes to clear them of sleep and looked out again, this time seeing nothing. He went back to the dormitories, not knowing exactly what he had seen or heard. No, he must not have seen or heard anything. It was just his old, tired eyes. That was it.
Still, he crawled into his bed with Rose's song in his head, where it stayed, locked tight, for the rest of his life.
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(Polleekin)