Extract from the writings of Craklyn the squirrel, Recorder of Redwall Abbey in Mossflower Country.

Healing the wounds of war takes a very long time. It is four seasons since the victorious warriors returned to us, but still the memory of that terrible time is fresh in all our minds. When Lady Cregga was brought to our Abbey, we feared greatly for her. She spoke little and ate even less, lying in the Infirmary with her whole head swathed in bandages. Pasque Valerian and Sister Viola both knew Cregga would be blind, even before the bandages were removed.

Alas, when we did unbandage her, the rose-colored eyes were no more. They had been replaced by tightly shut eyelids. She no longer had the desire to slay, the Bloodwrath, they call it; all that was gone. Throughout the winter she remained in an armchair by the fire in Cavern Hole.

It was pure accident that a miraculous change was wrought in her. One day the baby Russano got loose and crawled off, and we found him perched in Lady Cregga’s lap, both badgers entirely happy. Since then she lives only to rear and educate Russano. He is her eyes, and now that he can walk in a baby fashion, they are seen everywhere together. Tammo reminded me of the second half of the rhyme Martin imparted to him:

One day Redwall a badger will see,

But the badger may never see Redwall,

Darkness will set the Warrior free,

The young must answer a mountain’s call.

After the battle, the Warriors buried the Rapscallions in the rift and our own on the ridgetop. When spring arrived, they returned to the Ridge of a Thousand (for that is what it is known as now). Major Perigord took Lady Cregga’s big axpike. Moles chiseled a hole into the top of the standing rock on the summit, and they cemented the axpike in it, upright, with the old green homemade flag that bears the red letter R fluttering proudly from the piketop. There it will stand until the winds of ages shred the banner and carry it away with them.

The moles are good stonemasons; they carved Pasque Valerian’s poem to the fallen on the rock.

Slumber through twilight, sleep through the dawn,

Bright in our memory from first light each morn,

Rest through the winter beneath the soft snow,

And in the springing, when bright blossoms show.

Warriors brave, who gave all you could give,

Offered your lives so that others would live.

No one can tell what my heart longed to say

When I had to leave here, and you had to stay.

Aye, there are memories that die hard and others that we want to keep forever. What courageous creatures they were; as the Long Patrol would say, perilous!

I wish that little Russano would never grow up, but that is an idle and foolish thought. One day he will have to take his place on that mountain far away on the west shores; he will be Lord of Salamandastron. Lady Cregga is certain of this. He is a quiet youngster, but he seems to radiate confidence, understanding, and sympathy to all about him. Already the hares call him Russano the Wise.

The owlchicks of Orocca and Taunoc are big birds now. My goodness, how quickly they grew and learned to fly! They chose the names Nutwing, Nutbeak, and Nutclaw, because “nut” was the only word they spoke for a full season. All three are fine birds, though not as well-spoken as their parents and inclined to be a bit impudent at times, but they are still young.

I am the official keeper of the medals, did you know that? I’ll tell you about it. The treasure we brought up from sunken Castle Kotir was melted down by order of my good friend Abbess Tansy. She decreed that a solid gold medal, each set with a separate gem, would be made for everybeast who fought at the Ridge of a Thousand. Redwallers get a ruby, Waterhogs and otters a pearl, shrews a peridot, and hares a blue john, every one set in a small gold shield attached to a white silken ribbon. But I am left in charge of them all because they will not wear them to work!

What work, did I hear you say? Why, the rebuilding of our south wall, of course. Major Perigord, Skipper, Log-a-Log, Gurgan Spearback, and our own Arven all agreed that they cannot abide idle paws. So we have a veritable army working on the south wall, filling holes, tamping down earth, and relaying the massive red sandstone blocks. It will soon be completed, and then there will be double reason, nay treble, for festivities. One for the new wall, and two to celebrate the lives of those lost in the battle last summer. The third reason is so exciting that I can scarce bring myself to write about it.

Tammo and Pasque are to be wedded!

It’s true! Taunoc flew off some time back to bring Tammo’s family from Camp Tussock to attend the celebrations. Mem Divinia was very proud of her son, and even old Colonel Cornspurrey had to admit that his son was a true Long Patrol warrior. Abbess Tansy saved enough gold and three beautiful emeralds to make a paw bracelet for Pasque. She is the prettiest hare I have ever seen, and I personally think that she knows more of healing wounds than anybeast. But don’t tell Sister Viola I said that. Alas, even Pasque can do nothing for Tammo’s limp, which the spear wound in his leg caused. But Tammo just laughs when asked about his injury. He says that he never intended being a Runner and gets about better than most. I agree with him, the limp is hardly noticeable.

When the sad day arrives that Russano has to leave us, our Abbey will not be without a badger. Lady Cregga has decided to live at Redwall as Badger Mother. The Dibbuns adore her, and though she has massive strength, her gentleness toward them is touching to see. And talking about seeing, Mother Cregga is learning to see more without the use of her sight than most of us can see with two eyes!

The Guerilla Union of Shrews in Mossflower, or the Guosim, as they are known, have faithfully stayed at our Abbey to help rebuild the wall, as have the Waterhogs. Redwall is full of fast-growing Dibbuns with even faster-growing appetites. Log-a-Log has been hearing the call of the streams and rivers of late, though he says he will wait until Russano is ready to go, then the shrews can accompany him.

Gurgan Spearback keeps his houseboat on the water meadows, merely for the pleasure of his large family. What a quaint beast Gurgan is. He has relinquished Chieftainship of the Waterhogs to his eldest son, Tragglo. Gurgan’s great interest now is being Abbey Cellarhog; he was so enthusiastic about brewing October Ale that old Gurrbowl has retired and passed the job on to him.

You will forgive me, but I am about to put aside my quill pen and scrub the ink from my paws. I have an appointment with Friar Butty. Together with the Friar and Captain Twayblade, I will help to plan the triple feast. There will be ten kinds of bread, from hazelnut and almond to sage and buttercup loaves.

Cheeses, well, last autumn’s cheesemaking was the best ever. We have some huge yellow ones, with celery and carrot pieces in them, and all the different cheeses in between, ending with tiny soft white ones.

Friar Butty has drawn up a recipe for a South Wall Cake, it will be the centerpiece of the tables. Though if you could see the recipe and the amount of fruit, honey, and meadowcream the cake will take, you would wonder how any other food could find room on our festive board. The seasons have been kind; there will be more than enough for everybeast, but then they deserve it.

What more is left to say, my friend? Redwall Abbey is as it has always been, basking in the shelter of Mossflower Wood, the gates ready to open any old sunny day to weary travelers, friends, and visitors, all good honest creatures like yourselves. Please come and feel free to stop for a season, any time. You are always welcome.

Craklyn Squirrel, Recorder of Redwall Abbey