Young Writers Society

The dawn rays filtered through the Court Burrow, leaking in through a crack Highwhisker left in his door. Highwhisker woke immediately, and grimaced as he tried sitting up. “Hawk-dammit,” he growled in pain. He was the leader of the city, not some feeble old mouse unable to walk! He narrowed his ice blue eyes and tried to sit up without a pained face on. It didn’t work. He could sit up, but his side sent jolts of pain through him.

Highwhisker grunted and put his knees beneath him. With a kick of his paws, he stood up, but leaned over as the spear wound once again told him who won that fight. He growled beneath his breath, but he still needed those leaves. His tail swished on the ground as he began to walk over, leaning heavily on the shelves. He breathed in deeply to numb the pain, and took another step. He should have asked for a twig for support. Maybe his spear would work.

A harsh breeze flew in through the shelf-door’s crack and sent a pile of leaves into the air. The leaves dropped to the ground, and Highwhisker cringed at the new mess. Thank the Great Hawk that it was only one shelf.

Highwhisker clenched his jaw, and the familiar pain of the once-broken jaw hit him too, but at least it distracted him from the spear wound. He leaned over, picking up the pile and straightening it out. Words flew at him. Zagrobel, Annaliss, Tandrai… Highwhisker clenched his paws into fists. These were most definitely Shalewhisker’s notes.

Shalewhisker had a Frozenmoon mouse kill his brother, Amberwhisker. When he wouldn’t pay his end of the bargain up, that was when the war started. It went on for multiple seasons, then Frozenmoon disappeared until only a few weeks before Hoof Spots. Then one killed Juniper at the battle.

Highwhisker leaned over and put the leaves on Shalewhisker’s shelf. With a look at his side, he saw the moss was lighter-coloured, meaning it was dry. He’d stopped bleeding, thank the Great Hawk.

He leaned over to his shelf again, and picked up his pile of blank leaves and the charcoal next to it. Highwhisker grimaced as he stepped over to his shelf.

Not bothering to sit back down on his moss bedroll, he started writing a simple greeting for whichever Messenger would take the note. Or more so, whichever Messengers.

“Edvard,” he murmured, then only thought the names out on paper. Guildless eyes and ears could be anywhere. Even Flekkanos would hear.

He wrote the name on one sheet, and then started to write the location of the names on each new leaf. Edvard would be in the Sewing complex, especially at dawn.

Ketani rolled the leaves up, the soft crabapple leaves keeping supple throughout all the time they had been in the ‘Whisker’s quarters.

As quietly as he could, he stepped through the small tunnel of the quarters, and walked out of the Court Burrow.

“Aye, Agenta!” he called at the sight of the leader of the messengers’ Guild.

Agenta gave a small glare to Ketani, but shook it away. “Hello, Ketani,” he said stiffly, eyes narrowed. “What’s the wound there?” He motioned to the moss on Ketani’s side. Agenta was Juniper’s father, and had never taken a liking to him, especially after Juniper’s death. Yet Ketani always tried to keep friendly.

“Fell over in the Burrowers complex. Just a scrape.” Just because he didn’t want to sound hostile didn’t mean he had to be honest.

“Alright, Ketani, what do you want?” Agenta put a paw out. He had been caught. Usually they avoided each other.

“I have a few messages.” He raised his paw, and waved the three crabapple leaves quickly. “Two of them for the Guards’ complex, and another for the Sewing.”

Agenta walked closer and took the scrolls from Ketani’s paws. “Thank you. I’ll get some others to grab them.”

Ketani sighed. “Sorry to be so frank, Agenta, but they’re urgent.” After what happened last night, as soon as possible was the best time.

“Understood. Only because you were Juniper’s fiance, though.” Agenta turned and stormed off.

“Thank you,” Ketani called weakly. As soon as the Messenger leader disappeared among the grass, Ketani took slow steps down the Court Burrow, where Flekkanos was stirring. He was wincing less and less with every step. Now, to make a deal with Ariak. The expedition would need supplies.

Highwhisker took a glance at his foster son, and continued to take steps down the court burrow, stopping at the glass window that led to the house. He knocked on the window lightly, stopping as he saw the mouse at the gondola.

Highwhisker gripped his side, and waved to her. Ariak nodded, the black mask on her face illuminated by the dawn light. She hopped up the window and he heard a latch open. He saw Ariak’s teeth clench as the window opened just an inch. Highwhisker reached for a pebble so she didn’t have to open it.

“Good morning. Come in,” she said, flicking her tail. “And thanks for that rock.”

Highwhisker laid down and inched himself through the crack in the glass, avoiding rubbing his wounded side against anything. He stood up as soon as he was through and dusted himself off. “And good morning to you, Ariak.”

“I heard everything about the messages. But why would you want the Scavengers?” She took long graceful strides to the wire and tugged it. “It’ll hold two, Highwhisker, don’t worry.”

Highwhisker took tentative steps to the bright orange cord, and then looked right into the open-ended gondola, a can big enough to hold at least three mice. It still swung precariously over the basement’s floor, feet below. “I’m starting an expedition. Hoof Spots,” he said to the Scavenger leader. “I just need some basic supplies and that’s it.” He wouldn’t tell anyone about the expedition. At least more than they needed to know.

“Oh.” Ariak stepped onto the metal gondola and stood in the centre. She grabbed a string that hung from a wire above it. She swung the rope out until it hung a foot in front of them. She motioned Highwhisker to step on. “And please, sit in the middle.”

Highwhisker did as he was told, and didn’t look over the edge. He only looked around, at what must be the world’s largest burrow. At least, one dug by the people.

“How’s Silas?” Ariak pushed the rope closer to her, moving the gondola off the basement ledge. It began moving freely down the line, swinging harshly this way and that.

Highwhisker stood stark still as Ariak smiled with a false breeze in their faces. “Silas is alright. Why?”

“Damas won’t let me near Silas. It’s not good right now.” Ariak tugged on the rope, and the gondola halted to a stop.

“You haven’t heard ‘not good’ yet, Ariak,” Ketani scoffed. “Have you heard about the Guildless?”

Ariak stepped off the gondola, and held her foot out to steady it. “Not what it sounds like, is it?”

“Exactly what it sounds like.” Highwhisker stepped off steadily, keeping his jaw clenched.

“Scat,” Ariak swore. She turned onto the white stone counter and looked up. “This is exactly what Damas has wanted. Talking about this forever.”

Highwhisker’s heart must have stopped that moment, but he immediately replied, “Don’t tell Damas, then. If you’re the only loyal Guild left, then that’ll be fine.”

“Alright.” Ariak pulled the rope from the gondola and tied it into a lariat. She whipped it up, and tugged down. The knot held fast, and the Scavenger mouse looked over to Ketani. “Can you help with this one?” Ketani nodded and held onto the rope. The magnet went slack after a tug and the wood cupboard flew open.

Ariak climbed up. “These cupboards all have hooks on them, so we’ve made these. Now,” she said, as she climbed in between the jars. “Feathers, cotton or fabric?”

Ketani looked down. “Cotton. It’s warmest.” Especially considering the ground would probably be soaked for the next few days.

“Whatever you say, Highwhisker.”

That was one item off the list. Now for some kind of extra energy. In case they needed to run.

***

Fleck woke to the sound of Highwhisker at the window. “Yes, Ariak. That’s all I- we’ll need. They - the ground squirrels, that is, need to be here as soon as possible. And thank you.”

Fleck opened his eyes, seeing a dark grey mouse with a black mask on her face nod. “No. Thank you, Sir. I needed to know what’s been going on outside.”

He got up and took a look around the Court Burrow. The dirt floor was still packed down, but it’d been kicked up enough to hide what happened the night before.

His mind began to wander to the thoughts of ground squirrels. He’d never seen one before.

As the sound of Highwhisker walking hit Fleck’s ears, he closed his eyes and pretended to sleep.

Ground squirrels? He’d heard they lived out in the field, and Highwhisker told him stories about them back when he was a hopper. Giant creatures, they were.

“Flekkanos.” Fleck felt a paw on his side, nudging him gently.

Fleck moaned and rolled over. As he opened his eyes he saw Highwhisker’s warm face. He crouched over, and his paw was now on his knee. “I need to speak with you.”

“Huh?” Fleck faked a yawn as he stood up. He couldn’t see the Scavenger mouse anywhere. Maybe she’d disappeared behind the glass pane.

“Come on up here, son.” He started walking up the stairs, however slowly.

Fleck shook his head quickly and started padding up the steps. A leaf flew away and landed in the court burrow with a breeze, but Fleck didn’t run to grab it or anything. “Alright.” What was it?

Highwhisker sat down and winced. “Come, next to me.” Highwhisker put a furless paw on the pebble next to him. He didn’t wait for Fleck to sit to start talking. “Hazelwood nearly killed you last night,” he began, “Thing is, I knew it would happen.”

Fleck turned to him. “And you didn’t… I don’t know, stop it?”

“I didn’t stop it early enough,” Highwhisker said, and then paused. “I’m stopping it now, starting with the root.”

“How so?” Distrust edged Fleck’s voice, but he knew it shouldn’t be there. Highwhisker was his father, for the Great Hawk’s sake.

“I need you to go on an expedition,” Highwhisker breathed.

Fleck stood up. “Who with?”

“A small party is best. Just you, Edvard, Tulun, and Tyranos.” Highwhisker opened his mouth to say something else, but stopped. “You need to grab some ground squirrels. If the Burrowers couldn’t do anything, we’ll need the experts. Just hope Bansen’s still friendly to us.”

Still?

Highwhisker produced two scrolls. "Give the one for Bansen to him, but if mutiny happens, then open this one. Only then, do you understand?"

Fleck nodded gravely.

“I hoped you would. Now, the other mice can keep everyone safe, but in case… someone or something comes after you, you’ll need this.” Highwhisker reached into his satchel, and it rustled with far more than just what he was looking for. “Here it is,” he said, pulling out something. It glimmered in the dawn sunlight. He laid it on the wood block table.

It was a glass shard of smooth blue glass. “It isn’t much, but I didn’t have enough time to get it made into a blade.”

Fleck stood in awestruck silence. It was a blade, and Highwhisker would be trusting him with it. He lifted the light blue glass and held it above him, looking at the reflections on the wall. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.” He turned to Highwhisker, who smiled weakly.

Fleck dropped the shard and went to hug Highwhisker who returned it, though he kept his hips away. “I’ll miss you when you’re gone, Fleck.” That was the first time Highwhisker had ever called him Fleck.

Fleck leaned back and put his arms to the side. “I’ll miss you, too.”

***

Edvard Redwillow’s emerald gaze fell upon the sleeping trainees. “Alright, it’s dawn now. Wake up!” he called, whacking two of his old arrows together.

Trainee mice nodded in their neatly arranged bed rows. “Come on, Edvard!” a young mouse named Lanin muttered, her white and black fur dusty from the hay bale.

“Nope. Time to wake up.”

“Nope. Satchels to patch up and thread to make.” Edvard took a step towards Lanin’s bed, where she lay beneath the covers. “And first, it’s thread.” He leaned over and pulled the young trainee’s moss blanket off of her. She squeaked and sat up, rubbing her fur. The twelve-season old glared.

“You said it would be a lazy day today, Edvard,” Arlo spoke up.

“You shouldn’t be complaining,” Edvard’s son, Archer, stood up from his blanket. Good son, he was.

“Exactly, Archer. Wake up and start cloth making.” He reached over to Arlo’s bed and pulled the woven grass blanket off of it.

“Come on, guys. We should get working,” Archer sighed.

Edvard turned at the doorway and put the arrows to his side. “Make your beds and meet me at the training room.”

He turned down the halls, walking down the straight hay tunnels. He nearly walked into Rica, who had a needle tucked into the satchel on his back. The grey-brown mouse frowned. “And good morning to you. Bit harsh?” He lifted a brow.

He wasn’t being harsh at all, however many times he tried to explain it. “I’m not being harsh. I’m moulding them. The other guilds could use it.”

Rica didn’t respond and continued walking down the halls.

“Now, where is that room?” With the hay bale being eaten away by the horses and replaced every month or so, it was hard to remember where the new tunnels were. And in order to stop thieves from stealing the satchels, the Sewing mice kept on constant guard. Spring and summer provided good breaks from that, as the horses only ate the grass.

Edvard walked into the training room and pulled out a giant pile of grass threads made by the trainees yesterday. He lay them all on the table in rows of two threads.

Archer stepped into the room and saluted. “Ready for training, Dad,” he said.

“Good man. Can you help the younger ones with grass thread? Least till I’m back.” The blond mouse put his paw on Archer.

“Sure, Dad.” Archer averted his eyes as he sat down in the chair. “I could teach them if you need to grab something.”

“Thanks, Archer.”

“No, that’s good.” He looked at the entrance, where Arlo and Lanin both started to walk in. Then came Jengri and Manah. The shuffled in, and rubbing their eyes, sat into their chairs. “Alright. Manah and Jen, you might not know this.” Edvard lifted two threads of string and held them together. “Grab these, and hold one corner down on the table.” He held the two other ends of the string up. “Now, put them into a four shape, and then finish the knot.” He pulled it tight and then held the string up to see. Do this until the knot is finished. It creates a hardy fabric for simple armour, or a floatcoat.”

Edvard nodded at Archer. “Now, I’ve got to grab something. Can you help them out?”

Archer nodded.

He left the room and didn’t look back. His room was only at the end of the hall. He lifted his satchel up as he looked in his closet, a small cardboard box that always managed to stay in the trainers’ rooms, even with all the moves. He rummaged through it, until he pulled out a floatcoat, and another made out of a steel wooly substance. It was impossible to slice through with a sword, and just as hard to get through with a spear. Sadly it was rare to find the substance around, so only the ‘Whisker wore it.

He walked down the hall and turned into the training room. He pulled the armour out of his satchel and put it on the table. “See this armor?” He gestured to the thick armour, a dark green crabgrass with pinecone scales laced in it.

The trainees nodded and Archer didn’t even lift his eyes as he took each string and knotted it into thick thread. He’d done this lesson many times before. About time he was graduated.

“Good. It’s a floatcoat. Great for riverside battles or spear attacks. It would fall off your body before it even cracked.” Best for the eldest to make, because they had the dexterity for it. “The older ones can make the thread. Jengri, Manah?”

The young mice lifted their ears.

“You guys can go out and look for grass shoots. Bring back full pawfuls and don’t screw around. Got it?”

They smiled and nodded.

“Good. Arlo and Archer. You’re on thread-making duty.”

“What about me?” Lanin asked, raising a brow. She then sighed a second later, like she realized what she’d be doing.

“You separate the grass into thread. You’ve done this before.”

“Of course, Edvard,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.

“Now, Archer. Come with me. I’d like to talk.” He flicked his head.

“Yes?” He stepped out slowly, taking a glance back at Lanin.

“Come,” he said, a dark edge to his voice.

As soon as they crossed the corner, Archer lowered his ears. “They’re suspicious, you know.”

“Suspicious of what?” Instinctively, Edvard raised a paw. He stopped at another corner and looked at his son with deadly seriousness.

“This is exactly it. And if I learnt one thing from this rebellion-”

“Don’t talk about the rebellion in this complex,” he said, curling his lip up.

“It’s that nobody has a right to control others.” Archer narrowed his eyes, the fourteen season old glaring right back. It was like looking into a mirror.

“You little-” He raised a paw as anger swelled inside of him.

“Excuse me, mister Redwillow?” A mouse’s voice came from behind the corner.

“Yes?” When he saw the mouse, a Messenger, he turned right back to Archer. This wasn’t over.

“Apologies, but I’m doing something.”

“I can see. But Highwhisker wants you. Now.” He shuffled in his satchel and Edvard heard the flipping of leaves. “Woke up before dawn for this. Just go.”

“I need a different time.” He turned back to Archer and narrowed his eyes.

“Now,” he snapped, “Come on. Court Burrow.”

Archer gave him a fascinated glance, brow bones cocked. Edvard sighed. Archer was testing him.

He muttered under his breath, “Don’t speak about the rebellion, fine.” He then said louder, “Fine. I’ll go. And Archer? When I come back, you’ll be graduated. Understood?”

Archer nodded, resentment burning in his eyes.

“Good. Now go and tell the hoppers,” he sighed. It pained him to say this, but he said it anyway, “that they can have the day off.”

The messenger mouse blinked, revealing dark brown eyelids. “Good. I need to get to sleep.”

Tulun snuck out of the Guards’ complex. She took a glance down at the burrow, but didn’t say anything. She just hoped the sound of pine trees rustling in the wind would be enough to drown out the sound of her stepping on their needles.

She checked in her satchel. The petal was still there.

With a sigh, the black mouse climbed up a pine tree. She took a glance back at the trees. Maybe they wouldn’t be looking. Maybe they’d think she was still on the night shift. She closed her eyes as she made her way up the slick bark. The pine needles scratched at her fur, but she barely noticed. The dawn light rose over the treetops, illuminating the rain drops orange. Birds began their morning chorus, a sparrow making curious glances at the mouse. She stood up at the middle of the tree, looking outside of Wolf Plains. The gravel road stretched out in both directions, so far that Tulun couldn’t see the end of either side.

The pine trees on the other side barely hid the sounds of creatures murmuring. Something had happened over there. And yet she was never allowed to leave the city.

Tulun reached into her satchel, pulling out the petal. Its soft outside warmed Tulun’s fingers as she ran them over it. She glanced back, and held the petal close to her. She stopped. No. This was her past. She didn’t need anything keeping her back. It didn’t matter if the flower came from Wolf Plains or outside it, maybe as far as even Saldiro. She lived at Wolf Plains now, and that was what mattered. If she couldn’t remember anything, maybe it was the universe. Maybe she just wasn’t meant to know these memories.

She held the soft pink petal out in front of her, her eyes reflecting the sunrise and the bright petal. Her fingers began to lose their grip on it. The breeze was hungry, ready to take it away and drop it where all forgotten things lay, wherever that would be.

“Tulun, come on down!” She winced at the sound of Tyranos’ voice. Her cheek still stung, and her pride still felt shattered from the blow.

She didn’t respond, and just sat down.

“Come on. Highwhisker wants us.” His voice rang in her ears, and she sighed. If Highwhisker wanted them, it was different.

She hopped down the fan like branches of the pine, trying to avoid the thoughts of Trill. Hopefully the healers could do something for her, yet Tyranos didn’t know where she was. He thought she was dead, and he didn’t sound the same. She took the last leaps down, landing on the right pine nook at the right time. Finally she was on the ground. She looked over at Tyranos, fear in her gaze. Maybe he wasn’t the mouse she knew for all those seasons.

“Look. I’m sorry, Tulun. But-” He stopped and closed his eyes, “I just killed someone. I wasn’t myself.” His voice was uncertain like he didn’t believe it himself. And if he didn’t, neither should she. She didn’t respond, taking silent strides alongside her big brother.

She took a glance back into her satchel. The petal was still in there.