Wasn't a bally hare on the mountain could even stay with my dust trail! Those were the seasons, wot! You, too, Stonepaw. 'Heh heh heh! Mebbe so, but I can still remember the days when I could leap three times as high as that trolley, aye, an' run from dawn to dusk without stoppin' to draw breath.

The hare nudged his old friend and cackled. Me, Stonepaw, hardly able to hold a spoon with the same paws that used to lift huge boulders, and you, Fleetscut, doddering 'round with a trolley!' 'No crusts now, wot? Dip it in your soup, m'lud.' The hare perched on the chair arm, helping himself to soup and bread, in the hope that it might encourage his master's appetite. Drawing his dagger, he trimmed the crusts from the still oven-warm loaf. Too crustyhurts my gums.'įleetscut brooked no arguments. The ancient badger sighed with resignation. Hot veggible soup an' fresh bread, that'll do you the world o' good, wot!' 'No y'won't, sire, you'll flippin' well have it now! I ain't goin' t'the bother o' luggin' vittles from the kitchen to watch you let 'em go cold. Stonepaw shook his head at the sight of the food his servant was laying out on the small table at his side. You've got to blinkin' well eat to live, y'know!' 'Hmmm, that's better, wot? C'mon, get this supper down. Sparks from the flint he was striking against a blade, coupled with his wheezy blowing, soon had a flame from dry moss crackling against pine twigs. 'Mmmm, no fire lit again, eh, m'lud? Catch your death o' cold one night y'will, mark m'words!'

He fussed hither and thither, like a broody hen with only one chick, chunnering constantly as he went about his chores. Stonepaw's efforts to ignore him were of no avail. Without bothering to knock, a venerable hare creaked his way into the chamber, leaning heavily upon a small serving cart which he was pushing before him. Drawing his cloak tight against vagrant night chills, the once mighty Badger Lord squinted rheumily out to sea, worrying constantly about his domain. He was far too old the ritual of lying down each night and rising next day had become painful for his bones. In one corner, his bed stood neatly made, unused now for a score of seasons. In his chamber overlooking the scene, Lord Stonepaw sat in his great chair, feeling as ancient as the mountain he ruled. Above the tideline, gales chased dry sand against the rocks, forcing each particle to sing part of the keening dirge that blended with the sounds of the dark ocean. Soughing breakers crashed endlessly upon the strand, weary after their journey from the corners of the earth.

Yet no beast knew the cause of it.Ī pale moon of early spring cast its wan light down upon the face of the mighty deeps, touching each wind-driven wave top with flecks of cold silver. Hopelessness and an air of foreboding had settled over the western shores, casting their pall over land, sea and the mountain of Salamandastron.

Lord brocktree book