Stoneslide - Chapter 21

AN: Well, would you look at that? This is actually the last chapter. You’ve read through it all now. Feel proud. Miiigghhhttyyy proud.

Trill blinked her eyes open. It was dark now, and it was nearly sunset when the assembly was called. She looked around, mind still blurry from what happened underneath the porch. Then she remembered. Rozalin! Trill narrowed her eyes. Here she was in the same position as when Hazelwood was going to be attacked by Highwhisker.

Even Highwhisker would be a better leader than Roz. That was saying something.

“Good to see you’re awake,” a voice rang. Trill looked up, sitting up from her position on the dusty wooden floor. “You’ve been out for a while, you know.” Trill blinked her blurry vision away. It was Larx, smiling slyly. “So, how’d I do?”

Trill narrowed her eyes. “You...” She began angrily, remembering Larx’s utter betrayal. “You what? You lied to Rozalin like that?” Trill began laughing.

“Uh huh. And I’m the only mouse here to guard you. That, my friend, is what you get for being right and cozy in Roz’s little inner circle. Plus I’m Burrowing leader now too...”

“You’re Guildless through and through,” Trill laughed. Larx was a skilled liar, and it had worked perfectly.

Larx raised a brow. “Perfectly and utterly Guildless. Who else would know?”

Trill bit her lip. She had told Tyranos about it, but it was definitely certain that nobody was going to learn about him. Only Fleck was the last surviving mouse of that mission. “I’ve told nobody. You do know that you can come out as Guildless to the rest of the city now,” Trill laughed grimly. “Now that I’ll be dead it’ll be your job to get at Rozalin.”

Larx shook her head. “Nope.”

“No?” Trill echoed. She stood up, dusting the dirt from her paws.

“Of course not.” Larx stepped to the side of the circular doorway. “I’m getting you out of here.”

Trill’s face lit up. “Oh thank the Great Hawk it was you guarding, you sly wolf.”

Larx shrugged. “Well, what are you waiting for, Trill? Hup, hup!”

Trill walked towards the doorway. She took a step out and stopped. “I don’t know about this, Larx. I’m not a coward.”

Larx scoffed. “Cowardice is the backbone of survival,” she said simply. She motioned out. “Why else would I stay close to Rozalin?”

Trill shrugged. “I wouldn’t know, either.” It really did make sense though. Trill leaned in for a hug. “Thank you so much for this, Larx. I didn’t know that you were so good at deception.”

Larx closed her black eyes. “I shouldn’t be proud of it, I know, but you need to leave the city. I’ll cover your tracks.” Larx wrapped her muscled arms around Trill and squeezed.

“And if I don’t come back in one piece, or back at all, remember you’ll be the best leader the Guildless had.” Trill smiled.

“About that...”

“Never mind, I have to go.” She put her paw to the edge of the doorway and prepared to hop to the next branch, a short distance away.

“We might be the last of the Guildless. About everyone agreed to stop the cause for your life,” Larx said sheepishly.

Trill swung around just as she was about to leap. “What?”

Larx put a paw to her face as if she shouldn’t have said it. The fawn mouse inhaled. “Never mind, while you’re out I’ll find a way to bring them back. Now go!”

Trill leaped from branch to branch, swinging down as quickly as she could. If she got injured she could probably find help out there. There were definitely more creatures outside of Wolf Plains then there were inside of it. Maybe he could get help from Hoof Spots. The ground squirrels there were more than likely aggressive, but Trill would probably be able to find her way in all cozied up with them. Maybe she could learn the same powers of deception as Larx had. But only if she got hurt. Otherwise, she’d head to the old hawk nest where nobody with a right mind would look.

Trill saw that there were no more branches below her, so she breathed in deeply and started finding pawholds in the tree’s bark. She inched down slowly, grateful that her dark fur helped her blend in with the full moon night. She started running into the grass, pushing aside any mice that would get a good look at her. Nobody could know she was alive, at least until the Guildless was more powerful than Rozalin’s murderous delight.

She ducked beneath a post at the gate as she saw the glimmering brown eyes of a guard at the top of the last pine, keeping control of what was going on. The mice were definitely back to their Guilds for sure. With a closer look she saw the dark brown brindling fur of Kanter. Funny he wasn’t off at the ring. She waved a goodbye, and ran across the road. At night there was no danger of being hit by a car.

She was finally in the tall grass. Trill smiled. She was free. She was safe, and finally, she had a chance to see Tyranos again, without having to kill him. She narrowed her eyes, trying to remember where he was. Across from Hoof Spots. She could finally see him again, and maybe she could be out of the Guildless forever.

No. She would have to stay. Her father would have no pride in her if she just decided to hang back and live without getting at any ‘Whiskers. Her work wasn’t done until there were no Guilds. None at all.

***

Fleck looked in his satchel, the last gift that Highwhisker would ever give him. Shattered. He snuck through the

“Is that you, Fleck?” Fleck turned to Silas. “What in the Great Hawk’s name happened to you?” Fleck cringed. He didn’t expect this.

Fleck looked around, trying to pinpoint something he could blame it on. He stuttered for a second. “Nothing, Silas. I dropped Highwhisker’s glass shard and I’m going to put it back together.” Fleck looked down at his paws. “And I got a bit cut up picking it up.” Sharp as thorns, the shards were. Fleck looked back at Silas, starting to walk past. “I’m in a hurry, you know.”

“So you’re going to the Blacksmith Guild, then?” Silas blinked.

Fleck nodded. “That I am, Silas.”

Silas blinked his black eyes. “I know the blade’s important you you, so make sure that you get the glass into a good weapon. Highwhisker was one of the best friends I had. Introduced me to Ariak, you know.”

Fleck nodded in agreement, but didn’t even ask about Ariak. He didn’t know about the mouse, so it was best he didn’t mention it. “Thanks, Silas...” Fleck stuttered, “for the kind words.”

Silas nodded. “You’re welcome.”

Fleck continued walking through the thorny hallways, hopping involuntarily as he stepped on some invisible thorn. Fleck looked outside of the rose bush, making sure that no mice were around. Rozalin could very easily have ears and eyes around the entire city. She had a way with manipulation for sure.

There was nobody. It was completely silent. The bell hadn’t rung, had it? Either way, it was the best time to get to the Blacksmith Guild. Maybe they’re back to being with a Guild.

Fleck’s eyes trained on the fire pit, a brick structure grey with ash. It couldn’t be told, because right underneath the pit were the forges, that the forges were all alit. He started running, wiping his paws on his leaf satchel. He dodged spiders and beetles whenever he saw one. He hid behind a grass stalk whenever he saw another mouse in it. It was a slow process, but worth it in every way. The few mice he had walked by seemed sad, as though they had lost someone. Fleck didn’t know why. It seemed like they all too had lost a dear mouse to them.

Maybe they were feeling it for Highwhisker.

Fleck sighed. Yeah, right. Nobody who joined the Guildless would feel anything for Highwhisker. Fleck only knew a bit about the Guildless, but Hazelwood was the leader of it. He tried to kill Fleck.

Fleck tried to hide his bristling fur, it didn’t work. Instead he just started to run. The mice here were sad for something, just like Fleck was. Maybe for different things, but the brown mouse still felt a pang of sympathy for the others. He just couldn’t stop it.

Fleck looked up at the giant brick wall. He had never been in there once, save when he had been in there once as a hopper with Highwhisker. He remembered bouncing around, eyeing all the small trinkets that the blacksmiths had made. He even heard a tale about a mouse who forged a blade for days without eating, but after it was done, a battle was won single-handedly. Just with that one sword.

Fleck looked at the shards in his satchel. He shouldn’t have thrown them. He should have immediately grabbed them and made them into something better. Fleck started walking into the structure. He looked about, trying to forget the memory. Even one memory could be enough to hurt.

Fleck sighed. The place was dark with ashes on the floors. Pawprints scattered the floor of the complex. Were the mice here just as sooty? The complex was underneath padded down earth, just like the Guards’ complex was.

Fleck looked around. Should he change Guilds? It seemed worth it, to no longer be associated with Hazelwood, but abandoning everything wasn’t worth it. Though Hazelwood was a cold trainer... No. Fleck tried to block out the memories. There were black charcoals scattered all around the walls... Like when Highwhisker tried to get him to write. He remembered the messy black mouse he was... Fleck smacked his head. He shouldn’t remember. He shouldn’t remember when he called himself a sootmonster, and Highwhisker’s angry reaction to it. He shouldn’t need to remember the blade given to him by Highwhisker. He shouldn’t remember the pledge that he gave...

The pledge that he would fight for Highwhisker. Fleck stopped dead in his tracks. While he was strolling out there, nearly carefree, he wasn’t fighting for his father. His father had died back there. Fleck leaned back into a wall. The memories hurt with every little detail. He breathed in and clenched his teeth. If he could think of anything... Anything besides Highwhisker, he should be able to get through the day. The place had bright orange lighting about it. The light wasn’t bright. It was more like sunset through a leaf. The brown mouse was running out of things to describe. The place was messy, that was something. Despite his desperate pleas to forget, the memories still hit him, each stinging more and more by the thought.

Fleck clenched his teeth harder. He felt tears stinging his eyes. His friend betrayed Highwhisker. Highwhisker’s very own friend.

“Are you okay, fellow?” He felt a paw on his shoulder. It held firm, just like Highwhisker. Fleck narrowed his eyes, pushing the paw away.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t have the paw on my shoulder.” Fleck didn’t look back at the mouse. “It reminds me of someone.”

The mouse nodded. “Look at me, Sonny.”

Fleck tried to hide his frown. He looked back, not even bothering to have a fake smile. It wasn’t worth it. “Sorry, mister.” He looked at the mouse. He had fiery amber eyes, like Tyranos but without the same... Look to them. He hadn’t seen Edvard’s body, but it was sure to be out there. His fur looked like it could be grey with white patches. Underneath all of that soot, of course.

“Now, why are you in our complex?” he asked, taking a glance at Fleck’s paws. He tried to hide them, but as it was with everything nowadays... Too late. “And what in the Great Hawk’s name happened to you?”

Fleck gulped. “I dropped my blade and it broke.” He looked down at the glass pieces inside his satchel.

The mouse shook his head. “You definitely did more than drop it.” He shrugged. “But never mind. What kind of blade would you like? Or what was it before?” He took Fleck by the paw and started leading him through the hallways of the complex. He just led back and forth through the tunnels. “Name’s Pyrill by the way.”

“I’m Fleck,” Fleck said. He imagined he was smaller. He shouldn’t have thought so. He smiled a bittersweet smile. “It was actually just a glass shard.” Fleck said. He imagined he was looking at all the old blades in a room, he couldn’t remember which though. He remembered pointing at a sword, and Highwhisker told him it was a dirk. he remembered telling Highwhisker that he wanted to be the bravest warrior out there, and that he and his trusty dirk would be by his side. A dirk...

Fleck looked down at the blue-ish tinted glass. It looked about only enough glass for a dirk. Maybe though it would be a spear. But he shook his head. The spear wasn’t enough to honour his memory. Fleck was not Highwhisker. And probably never would be even half the mouse Highwhisker was.

“Well, what blade would you like?” Pyrill urged.

Fleck didn’t have to think any further. “A dirk,” he said immediately. “Do you have enough coal for that?”

The sooty mouse scoffed. “Ha! The Blacksmiths not having enough coal for simple glass?” He chuckled heartily. “Trust me, I know we have enough.”

How would he? Fleck opened his mouth to ask but Pyrill already had it covered. “Don’t worry. You haven’t seen me because the Blacksmiths are a funny group. There are two trainers and two Leaders.”

“What?” Fleck asked. “Then why are there only two mice at the semi-circle?”

Pyrill shrugged and giggled. He started giggling louder. “Why of course, both Leaders are the mice brought. I’m the Trainer for the Storekeepers part of our Guild, and while Kipp and Kodak, they’re twins, go to council meetings, Fiola and I stay back. Then when Kipp and Kodak get back, we’re told what happened.”

Fleck shrugged. The idea seemed nuts. “Alright then...”

There was silence for a moment. “Sad one it was these past few days, what with Highwhisker and Hazelwood and the Guildless.”

Fleck bit his lip. “And the expedition.” He didn’t want to tell this Pyrill about himself. He just needed to stay back and act like any other mouse. For all he knew, Pyrill could be loyal to Rozalin.

Pyrill sighed. “Highwhisker will be missed.” Fleck tried looking around the room again. There must be something new in these halls. The doors. They were the same. He remembered chasing Highwhisker around like a little hopper.

Fleck nodded, trying to stay in the conversation. “He will.” Fleck looked at the ashes sprinkled around the outsides of the doorways. He remembered when Highwhisker took the childish chase to Fleck and hid behind a door, scaring the living daylights from Fleck. Fleck inhaled deeply. He had to forget. He couldn’t take it.

Pyrill stopped at the doorway. “Fleck, you’re passing the door,” he said.

Fleck turned around. “Sorry about that.” He said. He blinked back a tear. Highwhisker will be missed. He stepped in. “Is this the forge?” The room seemed to be alit with flames of all kinds. Its base was bright orange, lighting up the entire room. Fleck was surprised it couldn’t be seen at all behind the moss curtain. Besides the soft glow of course.

“So, can you give me your glass?” Pyrill put a sheet of black glass over his eyes. They were connected by a thin wire. “And wash your hands. No bloody tools around here.” The black and white mouse smiled, motioning to a pool of still water in a small bucket.

Fleck put his paws in the bucket, wiping the now-sticky bloody from his paws. “Sorry about that, Pyrill.”

Pyrill shrugged. “Well, I’m going to ask you to leave the complex.” He said, absently pulling a pair of tongs from the hooks behind him. “I’ll have a Messenger bring you your dirk.”

A messenger? Messenger mice always kept a log of their deliveries. To whom it was delivered, when, and then what was delivered. A dirk for Flekkanos Smallsnout, two days after Highwhisker was killed. That would spark suspicion.

“I’m sorry, Fleck, but you’ll have to leave now. Your phasing in and out of reality is quite annoying,” Pyrill snapped.

“No, please don’t take it to a messenger!” Fleck said.

Pyrill nearly dropped his tongs in the fire. “What?” he asked. “Why so?”

“I just don’t want Rozalin to know.” Fleck said, trying not to let too much be known.

The sooty mouse nodded. “Alright. Now, be off with you. I’ll get a storekeeper trainee to get your dirk to you.”

Fleck smiled, and then left.

***

“This is bad,” Fleck said. “This is very bad.”

Fleck stood stock still as a mouse pulled him to the side with a grunt. It was the- the Edvard lookalike.

“Alright, I know something happened out there. Where’s my father?” he whispered ferociously.

Fleck leaped back, brown fur bristled. He didn’t know what to say, though.

“I knew it,” he turned away, lashing his tail. “You won’t tell me, just because I’m a trainee.”

“It’s Archer, isn’t it?”Fleck asked, dumbfounded. He still remembered that night, and for good reason too.

“Yeah. He’s dead, isn’t he?” The mouse rubbed his tail sorely.

Fleck didn’t respond. Archer probably knew. His bristled fur and blazing green eyes told Fleck that.

Yet somehow, the trainee didn’t act differently. He actually seemed more annoyed by the fact he was a trainee. Sort of like Fleck was when he was still one, at seventeen seasons.

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter,” he muttered, baring his incisors. “You haven’t lost a father.”

Fleck stood up taller. “Highwhisker was my father, Archer. I was on that mission too.”

The mouse sighed, swishing his tail in the mud. He flicked his head. “Then follow me. I’ve got a place to go.”

***

Fleck could hardly notice while Archer was nearly dragging him to wherever he wanted to go. Usually, Fleck didn’t head anywhere past the crabapples tree when he went up north, but apparently, there was a lot he was missing out on. Small marshes, streams, pools, all shaded in deep pines and pussy willow trees.

Finally, Archer stopped and motioned at a table, like it was completely made for conversations. Fleck took a look at the stone table and the twig chairs, then back at Archer.

“Why here?”

“It’s where I’d hide out. Always have, always will.” Archer seemed much calmer now, twitching his whiskers as he sat down first. “Well?”

Fleck shrugged and tentatively sat on the wood. He was odd, this mouse. He had the same cool demeanour as Edvard, yet seemed a completely different mouse. Maybe Archer was right. Just because he was a trainee, Fleck saw him differently.

“What killed him?” Archer asked finally, brushing his blond fur down.

Lots of things could’ve killed him, even the rogue muskrat. Funny that Tyranos was the one that got him. “He’s dead now,” he sighed.

The mouse stood in silence, and then stood up. “Don’t lie.”

Fleck was about to open his mouth in protest but the words died on his lips. He just shut his mouth, unable to stop the twitching of his ears. It didn’t matter if he was lying, Fleck got an idea about what this Trainee was thinking. Maybe he was just as fond of revenge as Tyranos was.

“He was going to see my graduation, you know,” he said, voice quavering. He clenched and unclenched his paws, Fleck finding himself mirroring the action.

Fleck looked down, feeling a bit of sympathy for the mouse. He scratched the wound on his chest. “Edvard was… Edvard was a good mouse.”

“I don’t want sympathy.” Archer’s fur bristled. “I just need to know if you’re lying.”

Ironically, Fleck found himself lying again. “I’m not. All you need to know is that he’s dead.”

Archer clenched his paws on the top of the crude table. “Alright, then. Both of our fathers are dead. Now what?”

Fleck stood up immediately. “Kill Roz the first chance I get.”

“And I, for one, know that you’re lying about Tyranos. He’s alive out there, but I’ve seen the brute. I can’t fight that.” He sighed, slumping down on the back of his chair. “So, we’ve got no hope.”

Fleck shook his head at the mouse, who looked so angry yet forlorn at the same time. He shouldn’t need this. He was too young. For that matter, Fleck was too.

“You can always hope,” Fleck unconsciously repeated the words of an old poem Highwhisker taught him. He trailed off, biting back a bitter smile.

“Fine then. We’re powerless,” Archer snapped. “You can’t kill Sunwhisker, and I can’t kill Tyranos. Well, because she’d get you first, and I can’t find him.”

“Such an optimist,” Fleck said sarcastically. He ran his fingers over the scars on his ears.

“Well, we can’t flipping do something at this age!”

“Sure we cou-” The words stopped immediately at the unimpressed glare of Archer. Well, he’d gotten something besides his looks from Edvard. “Fine.”

Fleck looked down at his paws, holding his paws shut tight. One look at Edvard’s son, and he realized that he might be making a friend. One step closer to actually living normally.

Sure, he never wanted to go down a tunnel again, or even fall in love, but that didn’t matter. He still had something of him left, if he could still find himself trusting a stranger. Fleck just hoped that something good could come out of it. Well, besides nearly getting killed because he knew the mice.

“We need to make an oath,” Archer said abruptly.

Fleck looked up at the blazing green eyes of Archer. “Oath? Why?”

“Because I saw you up there. Angry and scared. So, if you just want to die off knowing what Rozalin did to Sir Highwhisker, that’s all fine and dandy.”

Fleck nodded, understanding exactly what the mouse was saying. He ground his paws into the mud, feeling the underground water numb his toes. “I, Flekkanos Smallsnout, swear that I will get back at Rozalin. Highwhisker didn’t need to die like he did.” His voice came out feeble and weak, uncertain that he should be vowing to kill someone. For extra measure, he added, “I’ll reclaim my rightful position as ‘Whisker when she is dead.” Somehow, his voice hardened, stiffened like a dead creature. His voice felt all but dead though. He felt every emotion he ever had flowing into the words like a stormy day. It was just lucky the emotions weren’t being used physically.

“And I, Archenne Redclaw, swear that Tyranos will be brought down. Edvard may have done wrong things, or even just plain bad things, but he was still my father. And if I fail, I’ll be taking down his sister instead.” Archer glared at Fleck. “You’re a horrible liar, Fleck. I know Tyranos is still alive, and I know his sister will be too.”

Once more, the blond mouse’s ever-curious eyes darted around the place, unsettling Fleck ever so slightly. It was like Archer wanted to remember everything for any cause, even for battle.

Fleck closed his eyes at the sight of a Messenger mouse passing by and hoped it wasn’t the blade. It wasn’t, thank the Great Hawk. Though it was still nice to see that mice were getting back to their Guilds. Another question though, was Trill alive, dead, or somewhere else? He didn’t know, but he doubted Rozalin would let her go like that.

Then he looked at his paws. He’d possibly wrecked everything. What if he didn’t ask Hazelwood what he meant, and just let Hazelwood think what he wanted to? Maybe it would have just died down and nobody would have thought more of Morlyle with his mad ramblings. Maybe.

“Well,” Archer’s voice cut through Fleck’s thoughts. “Rica’s picking a new trainer. I’m going to see who it is.” He stood up from his chair and stretched his paws, but still held them clenched like he was holding a blade. “I’ll see you later.”

Fleck nodded and waved back slowly. “Well, I’ll see you later, then.”

***

Fleck took a quick glance around the complex and at the Trainees running around, leaping into the walls as they could. Particularly Hex and Damma, who ran through the newly made tunnels, and crashing into walls. Yet they just smiled and shook their fur like nothing happened. Fleck tried to suppress a smile. Maybe he should join them, if only to forget about Highwhisker for just a while.

“Hey guys!” he called to them. His mind already made itself. “Can I join?”

Hex nodded, his bright blue eyes shining. “Sure! We’re playing Hideaway.”

Fleck nodded. He knew Hideaway, a game that he always unintentionally played on Highwhisker. He’d leap out and scare Highwhisker though, which probably wasn’t part of the rules. Though Fleck sadly kept away from the other trainees, so he’d never actually played with them.

“Well, if you’re joining, then…” Hex said with a devilish grin. Was that the grin that Rozalin had when she killed Highwhisker? “You’re counting.” Hex started running through the tunnels. “Count to twenty!” He disappeared behind a corner, giggling.

“Alriigghht.” Fleck raised his eyebrows and covered his eyes with his paws.

By the time he hit ten, he was tapped on the shoulders. Fleck pivoted, eyes wide. Instead of seeing an angry or threatening face, it was the sympathetic one of Silas.

“I don’t want to interrupt, but…” Silas tapped his paws. “I’m sending out a party to grab some rowan berries. Could you join them?”

Fleck nodded, studying Silas’ face. Mouth twitching, eyes dull, he was just trying to make Fleck forget.

The brown mouse nodded, but also took the paw off of his shoulder. Brown eyes blazing, he said, “I don’t want sympathy, but I’ll do it, Silas.”

Silas nodded. “Then, thank you. Can you take Damma with you?”

Fleck nodded again. “Sure.”

Silas blinked black eyes and pointed out of the bush in the direction of the power pole, or the old complex, whichever way he wanted to look at it. “They’ll be over there.”

“I’ve got it,” Fleck said impatiently. He’d think that after thirteen seasons of training Fleck would know where the rowan tree was. He took a look down the halls. “Sorry, guys,” he called into the complex. “But Damma, I’ll need you.”

***

Fleck looked down at Damma. The medium grey mouse looked ready to nod off, and Fleck wouldn’t blame her. What Silas failed to tell Fleck was that the group being sent off to grab the rowan berries consisted of Fleck, Damma, and a mouse named Karrila. And that sunset was a far ways away.

She stood at the top of the tree, balancing there artfully. “Last one,” Karrila said. Quickly, she grabbed a berry and flung it it down at Fleck. Fleck caught it, though tried keeping his balance on the branch by digging his paws into the waxy bark.

“You ready, Damma?” Fleck snuck a glance at the complex behind the rowan tree. There was the complex, still lifted up at the angle it was, and still unable to use.

“Yep!” she chirped from the ground.

“Alright.” Fleck tossed the blood red berry down in an underhand swing, hoping Damma would catch it. She did, nearly falling backwards onto the small red pile that she had accumulated down there, but still managed to stay up.

There was the sound of the house’s door opening, a creaking sound, and then metal slamming on metal. From the dark entry way of the house, stepped the man, and another human, a woman.

“Damma!” Fleck hissed. He didn’t need warning this time, especially after the incident with the complex. “Hide!”

The man started taking steps through the grass, crinkling and crunching it with each step.

Stomp.

Fleck hide in the rowan berries, flattening his fr to make himself so small he was nearly invisible. He didn’t see what Karrila did, but he noticed Damma darting beneath the tree.

Stomp.

Fleck stood stark still in the grass, watching the man and his wife come closer. It took only a few seconds before they were nearly at the rowan. They both split apart, saying words that Fleck couldn’t understand. Low pitched, rumbly voices were audible, and Fleck couldn’t help but twist along with the humans. As they passed the rowan tree, not even taking notice of the mice hiding in and beneath it, Fleck let out a sigh, even with his heart still pounding. There was silence from the mice, Fleck watching carefully as the humans moved their giant silver vehicle out of the way. Next, they slowly held the complex beneath them, holding their forelegs out straight.

The black-haired man turned in the direction of the rowan tree and Fleck looked away. The man didn’t see him, did he? He heard the story about Moraine, who didn’t have her hopper in her guild’s complex. The man found all of them and stomped them.

Fleck heard a thump that echoed through his ears so loudly that he was brought back to reality by the sheer thunder of it. The humans walked back, both walking right past the rowan as if nothing happened.

Fleck turned back slowly, and his ears fell back against his head at the sight. The complex had been pushed down. The Gatherers could be back again, couldn’t they?

“Damma? Karrila?” he stuttered. Anger started burning in him, mixed with wonder, and even happiness. Yet even in there was that drop of bitterness, which he doubted he’d ever lose after Highwhisker died.

“Yeah?” the youngest mouse called, her voice tiny from beneath the tree.

Fleck got a look at th wooden barrier and at the hole that the burrowers had attempted to dig. Black netting surrounded the entire complex. He gave a bitter chuckle. “We aren’t getting back in there, are we?”

Karrila from above gave a blank stare down at Fleck. “Guess not.”

Fleck found himself giving another oh-so-slightly mad chuckle. So the complex was just going to come down anyway? The Gatherers could have just moved on with life and got a new complex? Then why, he asked himself angrily, why did Highwhisker have to die? Why did Edvard? His lips curled. Here he was, right where he began, yet with nothing to lose.

Trust, gone.

Friends, gone.

Father? Fleck felt tears stinging his eyes. Killed by his best friend.

And he knew why. Because the man had to lift up the complex, and just put it right down again. Because of a Stoneslide.