Late autumn winds sighed fitfully around the open gatehouse door, rustling brown gold leaves in the fading afternoon.
Bella of Brockhall snuggled deeper into her old armchair by the fire. Through half-closed eyes she watched the small mouse peering around the doorway at her.
“Come in, little one, and close the door.
The small mouse did as he was bidden. Encouraged by the badgers friendly smile, he clambered up onto the arm of the chair and settled himself against a cushion.
“You said that you would tell me a story, Miz Bella.
The badger nodded slowly.
“Everything you see about you, the harvest that has been gathered, from the russet apples to the golden honey, is yours to enjoy in freedom. Listen now, as the breeze sweeps the last autumn leaves off into the world of winter. I will tell you of the time long ago before Redwall Abbey was built in Mossflower. In those days there was no freedom for woodlanders; we were oppressed cruelly under the harsh rule of Verdauga Greeneyes and his daughter Tsarmina. It was a mouse like yourself who saved Mossflower. His name is known to all: Martin the Warrior.
