Mynede Fan-Fic

By SolaceMoon

Chapter 1

Mynede sat with her back to a tall tree. The female weasel’s head rested on her chest, her eyes were closed, her shoulders rose and fell slowly and rhythmically as she inhaled and exhaled. The rest of her body was completely still. Her long slender legs were held close to her with her left arm; her right paw lay atop her left clenching a dagger. So she had been since that morning when the sun had risen gloriously over the horizon, shining into the depths of the woodland. Now it set in the west, casting shadows over the silent weasel’s form.

“Milady,” spoke a deep voice, nearby. Mynede did not stir.

“Is it time?” she asked slowly in a low, carefully neutral voice.

“Yes, Milady,” came the brief reply.

Mynede raised her head and met her correspondent’s eyes. He was a male weasel, very large and strong, dressed in a simple tunic and broad belt.

“Any further reports from the scouts, Jessup?” she inquired with a bit of a quaver in her voice.

“Only that there is a guard of two squirrels in the treetops.”

Mynede sighed and slowly got to her feet. She sheathed her dagger. Jessup procured a flask of water and offered it to her, frowning with concern. She accepted it and took a short sip before slinging it at her side.

“Thank you, Jessup.” Her voice was weary now, unhappy and sorrowful.

“Not at all.” Jessup looked into her doubtful eyes with compassion. “Mynede, you don’t have to do this.” The words were eloquent, but the way they were spoken was halting and unsure. “Sometimes I wonder why… I mean, sometimes it seems that it would be easier to…”

Mynede erupted in anger and frustration.

“To what, Jessup—die of starvation?” She paused, taking deep breaths, choking back the emotion that threatened to burst forth. She looked down. “This is the only way to live.”

“But…we could farm! We could hunt! Forage! The peaceful beasts do it, so why can’t we? Why can’t we live off the land? We could learn—you could learn. It would be so easy for you, just like everything. It would be better than… Better than putting yourself through this every time we have to—“

“Stop! Jessup, I do not want to hear another word from you.” She sighed; her voice lost its edge and became sorrowful once more. “You do not understand. Yes, we could survive in other ways, but this is the only way to live.” She began to walk east. Jessup watched her make her way through the trees and into the shadowy distance. Grasshoppers chirruped in the stillness of the evening and the moon began to climb in the darkening sky. Stars appeared one by one and still Jessup stood there, confused and hurt. She was right, he didn’t understand.

Mynede was usually like this before a raid. It was custom that she went off into seclusion the day preceding and meditated in her war gear. Jessup always came at sunset to tell her any news and inform her that all was ready. Jessup knew Mynede better than anyone in the group. As her right-hand man, he spent a great deal of time with her. He knew her ways, for he was the one to address the group when she had orders, he was the one to instruct them in how a raid was to be carried out, he was the one to collect information from scouts and relay it to her. Jessup saw more of Mynede than any other, so he could notice exactly what she was feeling at practically any moment. He always noticed her nervousness before a raid. He always detected that quaver in her voice, he always saw her hesitance when she raised her head and observed the slight shake in her limbs when she got to her feet. He always saw the unsure quality to her step. He watched her go through this every time, and he hated it.

Today something was different. Something was wrong, but Jessup could not quite see what it was. Whatever it was, it was not present on the surface. But he had seen it, he had seen it in her eyes and in the way she had spoken to him. He had never seen her show so much sincere emotion. Something was very wrong. Jessup looked around at the stillness of the quiet night and absorbed every detail. The bark on the trees, the soft moss on the ground under his paws, the breeze pulling on his tunic. In a moment all of it would be gone. Jessup shook his head and spurred himself to a jog, following his lady back to the encampment.

* ~ *

Mynede took quick, deliberate steps, trying to gain confidence. A small flicker of light came into view, the light of a torch. Night had come. Darkness and silence reigned; a tension was present in the air. Mynede gave a shuddering sigh that threatened to become more. There were so many memories around this place, and she did not want to face them. She made her way towards the single torch, trying to shove her emotions away. The torch illuminated a handful of rag-tag vermin. Rats, weasels, ferrets, the odd pine marten and a solitary fox looked at her eagerly.

“Are all ready?” she asked in a low whisper. Several voices gave a mixed reply of the affirmative. Nothing spoken was above a whisper, but energy was present, threatening to burst out upon the peaceful woodland. Weapons were drawn, bows were strung, and there was a stamping of paws and a grinding of teeth. You could practically hear the flexing of muscles and the eagerness in the short pants of breath. They were certainly ready.

“Good. You know what to do. Move out.”

The torch was extinguished and several forms made their way quickly and quietly through the forest in scattered directions. Mynede’s voice had turned cold and icy. The fragments of fear that had been present were transforming into nervous energy. Mynede felt a kind of anticipation, causing the cold sweat present on her face to evaporate and the nervous flutters in her heart become quick, strong, and even. She reached down towards the forest floor and dug two fingers in the mud. She applied her makeshift war paint in three deft motions, a horizontal streak under each eye, and a vertical streak under the each side of the mouth. It was as if she had become someone else. She felt a giddy sensation fill her and she drew her dagger. The air whistled as she twirled her weapon and tossed it from paw to paw. Mynede took a deep breath and followed her two snipers into the depth of the woodland. The time for battle had come!

Chapter 2

An old female squirrel sat on a high branch of a large oak. She was staring into the darkness, straining her ears to hear any unnatural sound in the night. Noises other than that of her companion jumping around in the treetop above her, that is. The old one sighed with exasperation.

“Kugel! Could you please be quiet? I can’t hear a thing with you gallivanting about up there! Upon my acorns, you’re making us stand out like a mole in a bird’s nest! This’ll be the only tree in the forest having a dance party. Come down here, young wretch!” Whack! A very young male squirrel fell from above, landing directly on top of her. The occupied branch dipped and wavered hugely from the impact, almost sending both squirrels sprawling to the ground. Gaining a firm hold upon the tree limb with one paw and a solid grip on Kugel with the other, the aged squirrel waited for the tree to stop shaking before pulling both parties back to safety. “Thank you, Kugel…” the old one said with another sigh. “Thank you very much.” She straightened her back with a groan.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am. I didn’t mean to land on you, Ma’am, honestly I didn’t! It’s just so hard to see anything when it’s so dark! I don’t know how you do it. It’s an amazing skill, Ma’am. I wish I could be so talen—“

“Stop your blabbering, you wingless chatter-bird. You’re here to learn how to keep watch over the settlement and you’re going to learn it even if I have to pound it into you every night until your whiskers turn gray and fall out from old age! Got it? Now pay attention and do as I do.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” came the optimistic reply. The young squirrel saluted smartly and flashed an enormous grin before hunkering down beside his instructor. For a while they sat in silence. A light breeze tickled the treetops and Kugel began to nod off. Before long the normally energetic squirrel was omitting loud snores and mumbling incoherently. The old squirrel (who was affectionately called Ma’am by her pupil but held the title of Lady Grelay to most others) put her head in her paws and shook it as another monstrous snore escaped from the sleeper.

She supposed he could not help it. He was practically still a dibbun, after all, only 12 seasons old*. She had known that it would be no easy task when his mother had asked her to teach him, but she had agreed anyways. She was getting too old for this—most everyone was.

Kugel and his mother were easily the two youngest inhabitants of the settlement. There had been a kind of relief when she had found Kugel and his mother one early spring day. They had survived a hard winter, having escaped slavery at the beginning of the winter months and then been forced to live off the land during the harsh season. Grelay didn’t know all the details; simply that Kugel and his mother had been the only survivors in their family. Kugel’s mother never talked about it and Kugel was not old enough to remember much.

The important thing had been that there was now someone to look after the old ones in the future. Kugel’s mother had learned how to treat a variety of wounds and sicknesses, and she was a fair cook. Kugel was growing into a fine young squirrel who was expected to take over all duties of protecting the settlement. But Lady Grelay worried that Kugel would not be enough. Vermin were becoming more populous. And while currently it wasn’t too difficult to protect the area with three or four aging warriors, a solitary and inexperienced squirrel would have a tougher time. Besides this, Lady Grelay knew that Kugel did not enjoy his life here. There was no one for him to play with and ultimately no future for him. He needed to find a life of his own.

Lady Grelay roused Kugel with a shake on the shoulder.

“Get up, lazy-bones. You snore louder than Grandpa Vole.”

“I do not,” came the drowsy reply. Kugel raised himself to a sitting position and squinted into the darkness. “So do you think any vermin will attack us tonight?” There was no fear present in the inquiry, only curiosity.

“One never knows. But we haven’t been attacked for a long while. Bulstead has kept vermin pretty clear of the area recently.”

“Bulstead? He’s amazing! I had combat lessons with him the other day. I wouldn’t want to be a vermin crossing his path, that’s for sure. And he’s so strong. He’s the biggest otter I’ve ever seen!”

Lady Grelay smiled at her young charge.

“And how many otters have you seen? But aye, he is amazing, and a great warrior. You should’ve seen him when he was younger if you…” Her voice trailed off. Her ears swiveled to the top of her head and she stared into the forest, scanning for something.

Kugel could see that this was no time to ask further questions. He listened to the darkness and searched with his eyes as Grelay was, but he was told nothing. The grasshoppers and crickets continued with their nightly noise, all seemed to be well. But Kugel had a feeling that something was wrong. Grelay had obviously heard something. Her ears were better trained for this sort of work.

“Get down!” Lady Grelay whispered urgently. She flattened herself against the tree trunk and strung her bow, which had been lying nearby. Slowly she drew an arrow and fitted it to the string. Kugel lay prostrate upon the branch, full of curiosity and wonder; this had never happened to him before.

Kugel saw movement out of the corner of his eye. A dark figure cautiously emerged from the surrounding bushes. He could not see it clearly, but Grelay could. Her arrow shot from the bow with a small “twang” and the stoat fell dead. Grelay immediately ducked around the trunk as an answering arrow thudded in the wood where she had been moments before. Another came from a different direction, and another.

“Sound the alarm! Go!” Grelay grabbed Kugel’s nearest foot paw and yanked him off the branch. Kugel found himself being shoved out into the abyss. His instincts took over and he swung through the treetops, from branch to branch towards the settlement. He heard Grelay cry out and looked back to see her fall from the oak.

“We’re under attack!” he screamed as he flew for his life. Tears obliterated his vision; this couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t real! “Attack! Attack!” He repeated the words over and over as missiles flew past him. He couldn’t see anything. He reached out for another branch and grabbed thin air. Kugel fell to the ground and slid across the forest floor. Pain rushed through him. He couldn’t breathe. He had barely stopped sliding when he found himself being pulled up by the back of his tunic. He was forced behind one of many large trees.

“What’s going on?” came the gruff voice of an otter. Kugel couldn’t speak. He was fighting for breath, trying to make sense of it all. “Kugel! Answer me now! What happened?”

“Bulstead?” he managed to whimper.

“Aye, that’s me, mate. Now, nice and slow, what happened?”

“Lady Grelay…” He halted, panting for breath. “She was…” He swallowed hard. “Shot!”

“How many are there?” asked Bulstead, frowning.

“I don’t know... There were lots of arrows, but—“ Just then a pair of flaming arrows thudded into a nearby hut. Bulstead had heard (and seen) enough.

“Get out of here, now! Go! Run!” Again Kugel was shoved forward. He stumbled and fell down.

“What about my mother?”

“I’ll take care of ‘er, now go!”

Kugel knew it was no time to argue. Somehow he managed to get to his feet and sprint off through the woodlands. He could hear Bulstead’s battle cries behind him, but this time he dared not look back.

To Be Continued…

Author’s Note: *there has been some controversy over how many seasons equal a year. For the sake of simplicity 1 season = 1 year