It was an hour after dawn when Abbess Meriam discovered Bryony had left the Abbey. Sadly, she sat on the empty truckle bed, looking at the disarrayed sheets and touching the dented pillow where her friend’s head had lain.

Meriam read again the note that Bryony had left. “Redwall will not be the same without our little flower,” she whispered, and turned to see Bella standing in the doorway.

“Alas, no, my heart will be heavy each time I see her empty place at table,” said the ancient silver badger as she sat beside Meriam on the bed. “Do you think she will ever return?”

“Oh, yes. One day when Bryony is older and wiser we will see her walking back through our gates, of that I am sure.” Then the Abbess’s paw clenched and her voice became harsh. “Unless some bad fate befalls her as she follows Veil—trouble pursues that vermin like winter follows autumn. A young maid alone . . . we should send someone after her.”

Bella rose slowly. “No, Meriam,” she said gravely. “The path that Bryony follows was marked out for her by fate and seasons long ago. All we can do now is send our hearts and feelings out to her, wherever she is.”

Bella leaned on Meriam’s paw, and the two friends quit the deserted room, which seemed emptier than it had ever been before.

*   *   *

Grasshoppers chirruped their ceaseless dry cadence; somewhere high in the cloudless blue a skylark trilled; bees droned busily from kingcup to meadow saffron, and butterflies perched upon scabious flowers, their wings like small, still sails on the calm air. Bryony stopped awhile, enjoying the feel of dry curling grass underpaw as she got her bearings. The sun was still easterly and climbing toward high noon. She moved until it was against her right shoulder, striding off after Veil. She had overheard Skipperjo’s challenge to the ferret and knew that the great mountain lay somewhere due west.

It took Bryony some time to shake off the feeling of depression she had encountered when leaving Redwall. All morning she kept looking back at the Abbey, watching it diminish in size as she got farther away. Finally she crossed a long rolling hill and Redwall was lost to sight. The mousemaid knew what she must do: find Veil and bring him back, even though he had been made Outcast and sent away. Bryony had been forming her own plans for both of them. Her Mossflower friends would help; together they would build a small dwelling in the woodland, close to Redwall. There she would live with Veil, teaching him to behave well and showing all at Redwall how he had changed for the good. Maybe, just maybe, Bella would one day regret her decision and allow Veil to return to the Abbey. Cheered up by these thoughts and her resolute optimism, Bryony strode onward, singing an old Abbey ballad.

It was midnoon before Bryony decided to take a break and eat something. Choosing a shaded patch on the side of a broken hill, she sat down and opened her haversack. Pouring pennycloud cordial into her beaker, she selected a russet apple and recalled helping to store the apples in dry straw at the end of the previous autumn’s harvest. It was only when she took out one of Friar Bunfold’s home-baked oat scones from the pack that emotions overcame her. There was nobeast around to see, so the mousemaid gave full rein to her grief, weeping unashamedly as she drank cordial and ate her scone. Memories of Redwall flooded over her like spring tide hitting a dry beach. Teardrops spattered onto the half-bitten apple and dampened her traveling habit.

“Er, hrumm, hrumm, I’ll ’ave that if y’don’t like it, mouse!”

She looked up to see a very fat robin watching her. It nodded at the scone. “Y’don’t ’ave to eat that if’n it makes y’cry. Give it t’me, y’ll feel ’appier, I know y’will.”

Bryony tried wiping her eyes on her sleeve, but the tears kept rolling down unchecked. She broke off a piece of the scone and tossed it to the robin. “H . . . h . . . here, n . . . now g . . . go ’way and leave m . . . m . . . me!”

The robin pecked at the scone critically, bobbing its head. “Mmm, mm, very tasty, very nice. Gone an’ give y’self hiccups now, ’aven’t you, should never whinge while eatin’, bad f’you!”

Bryony turned her head away, still trying to stem the tears. “I’m n . . . not whinging, j . . . just l . . . leave m . . . me alone p . . . please!” She broke off another piece of scone and gave it to the nosy bird.

Huffily he seized it and fluttered off slowly. “Chipp! Not very good company, are y’mouse?”

Bryony got her hiccups under control and shouted after the bird, “You didn’t see a ferret pass this way, by any chance?”

The robin flew swiftly back, eating his piece of scone before he ventured a reply. “Might ’ave. Give me the rest o’ that cake an’ I’ll tell you. Cake’s no good t’you, on’y makes y’cry.”

Bryony passed over the remainder of the scone. The robin began pecking it thoughtfully, head to one side.

“Got any more o’ these in that bag?”

The mousemaid sniffled away the last of her tears angrily. “No, I have not. Now will you please tell me if you saw the ferret pass this way!”

The robin nodded. “Yes, ferret passed this way las’ evenin’.”

“Well, which way did he go, please?”

One wing shot out pointing west and slightly south, the exact direction in which Bryony was traveling.

“That way! Bye-bye, crymouse!”

He flew off fast, with Bryony shouting after him, “And good-bye to you, greedybeak!”

Suddenly the mousemaid felt drained and tired, exhausted by the long walk and her emotions. Curling up, she fell asleep in the twinkling of an eye.

A breeze, or an insect, or something tickling her whiskers brought Bryony back to wakefulness. Slowly, she opened one eye. Immediately she closed it, fear making her lie very still. There, in front of her eye, she had seen a huge flat paw with big blunt claws.

“Wake ee oop, missie, et be only oi!”

Pushing the footpaw away from within a hair’s-breadth of her face, she sat bolt upright, crying, “Togget! What are you doing here?”

The mole wrinkled his button nose and shrugged. “Watchen ee sleepen, yurr, you’m an orful snoarer, Broinee.”

Bryony stood up, brushing herself off indignantly. “I do not snore!”

Togget put down his haversack, chuckling. “Ahurrhurrhurr, that’s ’cos ee never be’d awake to ’ear eeself, ’ow you’m knowen if’n you’m snoar if’n ee be asleepen?”

The mousemaid stamped her footpaw. “Never mind whether I snore or not. I asked you what, pray, are you doing out here? Why did you leave the Abbey?”

Togget took her paw. “You’m moi gudd friend, missie. Togget wuddent leave ee to go off a surchin’ for ee maister Veil all alone, burr no!”

Bryony seized Togget and hugged him. “You’re a true friend, Togget, a good, loyal companion. Thank you!”

Togget covered his face with his great digging paws, as moles will do when embarrassed by anything. “Hurr, oi’ll go straightways back to ee h’abbey if’n you’m goin’ to be a squeezin’ an’ ’uggin’ oi!”

Bryony understood, and without another word the two friends set off together, traveling southwest.

*   *   *

It was evening, still light, but getting on to dusk, and Veil was hungry. The ferret had eaten only a few young dandelion shoots and some edible roots all day. Sucking a flat pebble to ward off thirst, he carried on across the darkening landscape. After a while he noticed a faint glow from some hills, to the north of his route and, overcome by curiosity, he sneaked silently over. As he drew nearer the hill, he could tell the glow was being made by a fire in a small hollow at the hill’s base. Flattening himself belly down against the grass, the ferret wriggled forward quietly. When he was close enough, he lifted his head and looked.

It was an old male dormouse with two little ones, sitting around the fire roasting apples. To one side lay a homely looking cottage loaf and a big wedge of dark yellow cheese. Veil noted that the old dormouse carried a knife, which he used to cut the bread, and that there was also a stout walking staff at his side. Veil walked into the firelight with both paws spread wide and a disarming smile upon his face.

“Pray, friends, don’t alarm yourselves,” he said, keeping his voice soft and low. “I come in peace.”

The old dormouse inspected him critically. “In peace, aye, an’ in hunger, too, by the looks of ye. Sit ye down, there ain’t much, but yore welcome t’share supper with me’n’the grandmice. Last bad winter took their parents, an’ I’m the only one left to look after ’em, pore mites. We’re travelers, livin’ where we can, starvin’ when we have to.”

Veil sat opposite the oldster, accepting a slice of cheese, a hunk of the loaf, a roasted apple, and a large seashell filled with water from a flask. He ate gratefully, improvising a pack of lies to the kind dormouse.

“My name’s Bunfold. I’m the same as your little ones, lost my mother’n’father, aye, an’ a sister, too, last winter. I’ve been on my own ever since, wanderin’ field an’ forest.”

The old dormouse stared into the flames. “The babes are called Hoffy an’ Brund, same as their parents. I’m Ole Hoffy. Arr, Bunfold, ’tis a hard life for porebeasts without a dwellin’ place. See the little ones are asleep already, wore out just like their paws from trekkin’ an’ livin’ rough. Here, young ’un, cover y’self with this against the night chills.”

He dug out a ragged blanket from a bark carrier and tossed it to Veil. The ferret wrapped himself up and snuggled down, saying, “Sleep well, Ole Hoffy. Who knows, mayhap tomorrow’ll bring us all good fortune an’ a bit o’ luck, eh?”

The dormouse threw some twigs on the fire before settling. “We could certainly do with it. G’night, Bunfold!”

Veil lay with his eyes half closed, listening to the crackle of the fire and waiting for his chance.

*   *   *

Togget was awake before Bryony the next day, unpacking food for them both from the haversack he had made up before leaving the Abbey. Picking a kingcup, he placed it gently between the mousemaid’s folded paws.

Bryony sat up, staring at the flower. “Where did this come from?”

Togget busied himself slicing cold deeper’n’ever pie. “’Ow shudd oi know, missie, et be thoi own biznuss if you’m want to roam roun’ all noight a-picken flowers, hurr aye!”

Bryony curtsied prettily to her molefriend. “Thank you, sir. Ooh! Deeper’n’ever pie with dandelion-and-burdock cordial. What a good breakfast!”

They dallied awhile after the meal, enjoying the bright summer morn. Then, packing their gear, Bryony and Togget set off, still trekking southwest. About midmorn they reached the top of a high grassy hill and stopped momentarily to enjoy the breeze.

The mousemaid looked around. “You know, if this hill were any higher I’ll bet I could see the tip of Redwall Abbey from here. It’s not that far away, really, only just over a day’s journey.”

Togget was looking the other way. Shading his eyes against the sun, he peered southwest before scanning all the land around. “Yurr, missie, lookit, thurr be somebeasts a wanderin’ o’er yon!”

Bryony looked hard in the direction he was pointing; she could make out a huddle of dark shapes. “Well, I don’t think it could be Veil, he’d be traveling the wrong way. Can you make out how many of them there are?”

Togget had exceptionally good eyes, for a mole. “Lukks loik two, nay three, aye, et be three. Yurr, wot if’n they be foebeasts or villyuns?”

Bryony decided that they should lie flat so that the otherbeasts could not easily see them. Stretched out on the hilltop, they watched until the trio drew closer. Bryony stood up. “They’re dormice. Looks like two of them are only small. Come on, Togget, they won’t harm us. Let’s find out what they’re doing in this country.”

The two little dormice were weeping piteously, clinging to the blanket draped about Ole Hoffy’s shoulders. He had a wound on his head, crusted with dried blood around a swelling lump. Staggering crazily toward Bryony and Togget, he fell, pushing the babes from him as he toppled over.

Bryony was at his side in an instant. “Oh, you poor thing! What happened?” she cried. Damping a cloth, she bathed the dormouse’s head as he relayed a halting account of the previous night.

“Ferret, said his name was Bunfold, camped with us, gave him supper an’ a blanket to sleep. Must’ve rolled over an’ burnt my paw in th’ fire embers, woke me up this mornin’, head achin’, food gone, knife an’ staff gone too. Huh, ferret gone an’ all!”

Bryony looked at Togget and shook her head. “Bunfold! That could only be Veil. Build a fire and take care of the babes, Togget. I’ll see what I can do for this old fellow. Hmm, he’s not badly injured. He should be all right.”

Togget issued the little dormice with a slice of deeper’n’ever pie apiece and some dandelion-and-burdock cordial. He also dug out a packet of candied chestnuts for them. They had not eaten since the previous night, and both fell gratefully upon the food.

The mole patted their heads. “B’ain’t much wrong wi’ these two gurt rascals, they’m a vittlin’ oop loik a pair o’ ’arebeasts!”

Bryony soon had Ole Hoffy feeling better; she cleaned and dressed his wound and fed him. He told her of his life so far and the hard times he had experienced with the two babes. And the mousemaid came up with a solution that would solve all the dormouse’s problems.

“You must carry on walking east for a day, or a bit more, and then you will see a path. Once on that path you will be close to Redwall Abbey—go there with your babes. Tell the Mother Abbess Meriam that Bryony sent you. Redwall Abbey is a place where all goodbeasts are welcome; you may live there in peace and plenty. The babes will be brought up well, never again knowing hunger or want. You will all find the love of good friends there. Have a safe journey, and fortune attend you and your grandmice, Ole Hoffy.”

The dormouse did a little jig, surprising for one of his long seasons, then he bowed to the two friends as he took the babes’ paws. “Good comes out o’ bad, some say. Last night that villain wished me good fortune’n’luck on the morrow. Who’d have thought that a bad ferret’s wish brought me’n’the babes good!”

Calling loud farewells, they went their separate ways, but not before Bryony and Togget had donated one of their food haversacks to the dormice, more than enough to see them to the Abbey.

There was no talk of Veil between the two friends. Bryony set her face and refused to discuss what he had done to the good dormice. In silence the two set off, tracking the ferret once more.

*   *   *

Veil was back on the southwest trail again. Armed with a knife, staff, and food, he had cut the blanket up to make a cloak for himself. Finding a patch of wild strawberries, he ate as many as he could, streaked his face and renewed the red on his paws with the juice, then stamped the remainder into the ground until the strawberry patch was a sludge of red fruit and bruised leaves. Blissfully unaware that Bryony and Togget were less than a day behind him, he strolled off in search of the great mountain of Salamandastron and the father he had never known. He wondered occasionally if his parent, the one called Swartt, was as cunning and tough as himself. Mentally Veil wagered that he wasn’t.