Days shortened, and the flowers of summer died one by one as leaves began turning brown and gold. It was on one such mist-shrouded autumn morning that Martin sat in the odd tree house, with the molewife Polleekin and his three friends, Boldred having long since departed for her mountain and her family.
All through the remainder of the summer Polleekin, Grumm, Pallum and Rowanoak had spent sleepless nights and restless days, nursing the Warrior back to health. Martin had come through it in silence, never speaking a word. He looked young still. Though healed in body and getting stronger by the day, his eyes still had a faraway look in them.
Grumm was about to speak when Polleekin silenced him with a glance. She nodded to the sword at Martin’s side. “Oi be a-needen more foirewood, Marthen. Will you’m cut some?”
Wordlessly Martin took up his sword and went off, descending to the forest to cut wood. Pawing at the scar cut through his backspikes, Pallum got up as if to follow, but the molewife forbade it. “You’m set thurr, ’edgepig. They Wurrier garn off to shed tears!”
Rowanoak shook her head wonderingly. “I heard him yesterday as I was walking through the forest. It must be very hard for him, he never mentions Rose.”
Polleekin busied herself with breakfast. “No, marm, nor will him’n, oi doant think never. That liddle mousey-maid be locked in Marthen’s ’eart, and thurr she’m bound to stay.”
Grumm blinked and sniffed. “Marthen be a gurt brave wurrier, tho’ him’n woant go back to Noonvale; too many mem’ries furr ’im thurr.”
* * *
Polleekin’s breakfast was good homely fare, oatmeal with honey, nutbread spread thick with strawberry preserve and a steaming pot of mint and dandelion tea. Martin ate automatically, neither tasting nor commenting on the food. When he had finished he made a simple announcement. “I am leaving today.”
It was the first time he had spoken since the battle at Marshank. His friend waited for him to say more, but he sat silent, staring at his empty plate, face calm and resolute.
It was then that Rowanoak knew Martin had rejoined the land of the living. “Will you come to Noonvale with us? We will be leaving to go there today.”
The young mouse sat, testing the swordblade against his paw, pressing so hard that he almost drew blood.
“I can never return to Noonvale. I will travel alone. South.”
Grumm knew it was no use trying to change his friend’s mind. “Whurr be you’m a-goen? Wot be you’m a-goen t’ do, Marthen?”
They listened carefully, knowing that this would be the last time he would speak to them at any length. “One day maybe I will hang up this sword and be a creature of peace. Until then, I must follow the way of the Warrior; it is in my blood. Have no fear, I will never mention Noonvale, or any of you. Noonvale is a secret place untouched by evil. I could not forgive myself if I unknowingly sent trouble there. Nobeast will know from where I came.”
Pallum stared quizzically at his stern-eyed friend. “But what will you say? We had such adventures together, maybe in another time and another place you will tell the tale.”
“Never!” Martin shook his head slowly. “I will only say that I guarded my father’s cave against searats while he was away. When I felt that he would not return I began my wanderings. How could anybeast understand what we went through together, the freedom we won and the friends we lost?”
The comrades sat in silence, each with their own memories. Polleekin rose stiffly and cleared away the remnants of their final meal together.
* * *
Soft autumn sunlight had cleared away twining wreaths of mist that hung over the still woodlands, leaves were falling in a crisp brown carpet, and a mild hoar frost melted to glistening dewdrops as the five companions took their leave of each other in the silent, timeless morning. Martin carried his sword slung across his back over an old cloak. Polleekin had made packs of food for them all. Grumm held his ladle in front of his face to hide the tears he could not stop from flowing. Rowanoak embraced the Warrior awkwardly, standing back as Pallum and Grumm did likewise. Polleekin kissed them all on the cheeks.
Rowanoak squared her broad shoulders and smiled. “We will never forget you, Martin the Warrior. Come on, let’s see if we can make this place ring one last time with the old war cry!”
Birds flapped their startled wings as four voices yelled aloud, “Fur and Freedoooooom!”
* * *
Polleekin stood alone, watching as Martin was lost among the trees, a solitary figure going south. The ancient molewife slowly pawed her flowery apron, eyes clouding over as the destiny of the lone traveller stole unbidden into her mind.
“Hurr, oi told you’m ’twould be bad fate iffen you’m returned t’ Marshank wi’ thoi mousemaiden. Naow thurr be on’y you’m left, young un. Bo urr, you’m got some ’ard days to go yet awhoil, tho’ ’appiness will be thoine in toime yet t’ come. But furr all seasons everybeast shall amember thoi name, Marthen ’ee Wurrier!”