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In the days after the Solstice, I continued to aggressively patrol the area around Lark's Rise at night, under the watchful gaze of the moon, Fuma's Tail, and what I imagined was a number of the residents of that small hamlet. A number of the furs that would be non-combatants in any stand-up fight had been passing back and forth over the border, depositing all manner of goods and possessions with their relatives, some of them staying on Imperial territory. I did notice that the ones that were staying were taking active measures to gather and prepare equipment.

Another thing I noticed was that the Grand Duchy was not being idle. At least twice, I did see scouts in the area; wolves with bows and swift and sure movements. There was a sore temptation to take my bow and arrow and make sure neither of the ones I saw could report back, but I held my fire. In part this was because I did not want to tip my paw as to what I was up to, and in part because I didn't want to bring down retribution upon Lark's Rise any more than I had to. The rabbits I quietly conferred with grunted their agreement and approval. One pointed out that the wolves were likely as not going to give me hot return fire, and it was best to wait until more favourable numbers were present to deal with them.

That I was able to patrol at all was testimony to the fact that I was either determined, or nearly as mad as Silverbrush was. During the day, there was bone-chilling rain, and while as I say I could see the moon and Fuma's Tail at night, the temperatures did drop below freezing. I could tell that the lake to the east of Lark's Rise was already starting to form a skin of ice.

The squaddies continued their tutelage under Aethelwulf in the arts of using the sling-staff. By now, I imagined that I had one expert (Aethelwulf himself) and perhaps four squaddies out of two dozen or so that were proficient. The rest were to hone their short swords and look after their spears. Some had already occupied the field fortifications between Mossford and Mill River, on the two hills, and one enterprising squaddie had begun to march out distances, carefully measuring the range to certain landmarks, and posting the results on a sheet inside the door to the dugout.

It had to be said, on bitterly cold nights, that the foresight of the squaddies in constructing the shelters on the underside of the hills was great indeed. This was often on my mind when I was warming my paws on a mug of tea in the wee hours of the morning.

I continued to send reports back by King's Messenger to Persoc Tor, though responses that got back to me were terse, though not discouraging. The helpful Major in Flourford did his best, in the midst of appalling road conditions, to keep communications open between Thorn Platoon and its parent regiment. In notes to me, he indicated that there had been a trickle of refugees from Sainted Oaks and beyond, indicating that order was breaking down in the United Cities, source unknown. Messages had been sent from the Chief Burgomaster to King Adler and vice versa, but the Major himself had no indication of what was in the messages, nor had there been any official mobilization orders. In talking to the despatch-riders, I got the impression that Flourford, at any rate, was digging in, with log-barriers being erected near the key roads.

The first overt sign of trouble was relayed to me from the Gazers' monastery. With their high vantage point, they were the ones who could see the fires on the horizon and the glare of continuing blazes at night, in the direction of Sainted Oaks. Flourford and Mossford exchanged messages on this piece of intelligence. The Major didn't like the looks of it, and I was in full agreement with him.

The rabbits of Lark's Rise had begun to aggressively patrol their area, using the fires as a cover for their activity. Two nights after the fires had first been spotted, they began to see the first refugees fleeing the United Cities, down the road straight to the border and Flourford.

Even if you discounted the nature of refugees to exaggerate, owing to fear and exhaustion, the picture they drew of conditions in the United Cities was a grim one. There had been open fighting in the streets, with the watch forces in each city being gradually overwhelmed. Sainted Oaks was the last city to erupt in disorder, and was also the city where the watch fought the hardest. Of the latest situation, there were no clear reports as to who had the upper paw.

I reported this to the Major for forwarding to Persoc Tor, and asked him if there had been any diplomatic couriers from the Imperial Embassy. The Major noted in his response that he'd been on the look-out for couriers, and had not spotted any. He requested that I immediately bring any fur from the Embassy that fell into my paws to safety. He didn't have to ask twice on that score.

The patrols of wolves became more and more aggressive, with the scouts now appearing in pairs, and there was even one rather daring ant-rider who made a night recce close to the outskirts of Lark's Rise. He might have stayed, save for the frantic and loud gronking of the ants still quartered in the hamlet. I still held my fire, and told the squaddies to keep their heads down and make sure that the field fortifications were still camouflaged by leaves and branches.

Six days after the fires had been seen, and four days after the first refugees, I got my first explicit orders from GHQ in Persoc Tor. Contact had been lost with the Imperial Embassy in Sainted Oaks, and I was to use my judgement as to a recce to Sainted Oaks to find out what had happened. A King's Messenger would be sent to Mossford to await my return and report.

While I had my misgivings, I did decide to bring Aethelwulf with me, in part to have a second (and silent) ranged weapon at my disposal, and in part to carry equipment. The misgivings were the fact that he was probably the most experienced squaddie left in Mossford. However, the others promised that they would stand their ground, and if they ran into trouble, they would use the King's Messenger to send for help.

You might well ask what about Captain O'Bloom and Lieutenant Kedgeay. The former was still holed up in his bed (and damnit, my orders still hadn't been opened after all these months), generally oblivious to all action, save for when it interfered with his meals. Lt. Kedgeay confined himself to leaving me suggestions for my nightly recce. I was slightly disturbed to find that his suggestions were, in fact, helpful and his information accurate. Nevertheless, I had no idea of how much I could rely on an officer that was, seemingly, invisible.

My preparations for the recce were something of a revelation to Thorn Platoon. Apparently, none of them had actually seen me engaged in any magick, up close. They had assumed my habit of wandering off to visit the Mill River had something to do with an eccentricity. Given their experience with both officers and Sergeant Crater (of whom they had no knowledge), I suppose that was to be expected.

In any event, in the hours before the recce, I began to prepare both myself and the big canine for movement in the forests along the roads. I traced a finger over Aethelwulf's battle jerkin and fur, to break up the patterns and change his fur colouring. I stepped back to inspect my work, to discover about twenty jaws open in astonishment. There were also twenty variations on such expressions as "Cor!" "Coo!" and "Bluidy 'ell!" Aethelwulf himself looked at his now-dappled fur, and sniffed at it, his ears swiveling.

"Arr, be this washable, Corp?"

I had to undo the magick and redo it to give him assurances that he would not go through life looking like a variation on a fawn. Not that I thought that was such a bad thing, but you know canines.

I checked out Aethelwulf to make sure that he had an herbalist's kit, ropes, iron rations, spare staves and cloaks, and a few other things that I thought might be necessary for the trip; of course, he also had his sling-staff and a decent supply of lead bullets. I also took care to make sure that he had nothing on him that would make noises when he moved. Aethelwulf did the same for me. I limited myself to some more iron rations, a water-flask, a staff and as many arrows as I thought was practical and safe to carry.

Under cover of a steady rain and dusk, we set out. We did not cross at the ford, which I had a feeling was being watched. Instead, we marched further to the east (over toward Silverbrush's house), and I created a narrow ice-bridge over the Mill River.

It was well that I was careful, for when we circled around, there was a wolf-scout on duty at the point where the terrain started to dip toward the former river bottom. He had a good vantage point of the ford from there, and was watching it keenly.

Of course, that meant that he was not watching the area behind him nearly as keenly. A lead bullet to the back of his skull, courtesy of Aethelwulf's sling-staff, drove the point of his folly home.

We dragged his body under cover, and searched it. The fact that he was carrying coins issued by the Grand Duchy, as well as an identification disc from the Grand Duke's army, told us much of interest. He was not carrying any written orders, more's the pity, but he was carrying a small flask of brandy, which Aethelwulf and I shared. (He got the bulk of it, on the grounds that he had earned it.)

Lark's Rise, itself, did not appear to be occupied, but it was clear that it was under surveillance. A half-dozen more scouts surrounded the village, and were watching the roads in and out. One of them was blocking a path that I wanted to use. I thought he looked a bit tired, so I gently urged him to sleep. Obviously, a suggestion that was welcome, because there was no resistance, and in a few moments, he was slumped forward, snoring gently. Aethelwulf and I were thus able to pass quickly and quietly, and soon we were traveling along the road leading to the Sainted Oaks-Flourford junction.

I should say, more accurately, that we were traveling parallel to it, along the wood-line. While the steady rain would have masked our scent and muffled our noise, I wasn't at all sure that even the night would provide us with sufficient cover. It was fairly slow going, but for all that we got through to the junction without having to do much more than put a few more scouts to gentle sleep.

There were a number of furs scattered about the ground at the junction. At first, I thought they, too, were sleeping. However, the angle at which their necks rested soon disabused me of any notions of rest, other than of the eternal type. Evidently, some of the wolves had caught up with a party of refugees and had dealt with them. The poor furs lay amidst a tangle of smashed carts and scattered belongings. A few of the furs looked as if they had...well, how do I put this? They had been "interfered" with.

Aethelwulf and I said a quick prayer for their souls, and moved northeast, toward Sainted Oaks. The Grand Duke's army, in seeming overconfidence, had not taken the obvious step of watching the junction. The explanation, when it came, was much simpler. The squad that no doubt had been detailed off to watch the junction was in the midst of consuming food and wine that they had looted from the refugees. There were six of them sitting around a fire, while a seventh was capering about, drunkenly, wearing what had been one femmefur's finest.

My comrade crested, and I could see him ready his sling-staff. I made a motion to him to hold, and to give me cover. I'm not sure he was totally happy about this, but he nodded, and crouched on one knee, ready to fire.

I slipped to a point about ten steps from the camp-fire. The wolves, lolling about and laughing uproariously as their comrade squealed in a falsetto, all had bottles of wine in their paws, thus presenting a ready target.

Drunken louts and killers all

Sample a poisoned vintage old

Be of a strength to make you fall

Dead, and your bodies run cold

That said, I slipped back to Aethelwulf, who raised an eyebrow and frowned. I held up a finger and pointed back to the gathering.

The wolves had continued to drink deeply from their bottles, and very shortly, each of them was seen to pass out. The one that had been in femmefurs' clothing was a little miffed that his audience was no longer paying attention to him, so he grabbed a bottle to refresh himself. I think he may have drunk about half of it before he fell with a headlong crash, like a sickened oak.

Aethelwulf bared his teeth and gave a long, slow snarl of satisfaction. Roe deer don't have anything to match that, but I have to say that I, too, was satisfied. Again, we checked the bodies for intelligence. This time, we did find a written order to the group to watch the junction and defend it to the death. Well, that they did, after a fashion. We did borrow a few pieces of uniform for possible use later.

As we got closer to Sainted Oaks, there was more and more evidence that the United Cities had not let their capital fall without a fight. A number of squirrel and chipmunk mels lay sprawled, stripped of any weapons and armour they had been wearing. However, we did spot more than a few areas where bodies had been carted away. The lads had sold themselves at a stiff price, it seemed. We said a few more prayers for them.

In fact, it sounded like there was an account still open, because there was crashing through the trees near one side of the road. A patrol of a dozen wolves, led by what was clearly an officer, was making a sweep, and they were obviously close on the trail of their quarry.

Aethelwulf and I nodded at each other. I didn't have time to string my bow, and given the conditions of dark and wet, I think it would not have been a good weapon, in any event. The element of surprise was more important, and I softly clapped my comrade on his shoulder.

Quick as a wink, one of the patrol fell dead, to earn a rebuke from the officer, who imagined that he had been clumsy and had tripped in the dark. There was some doubt in his mind when a second soldier fell, and then a third. The patrol was immediately recalled, and a defensive circle formed.

The bowfurs in the patrol began to struggle to string their weapons, which was not an easy task, given the stress of a fight and horrible conditions. One by one, Aethelwulf began picking them off. They got wise, and crouched down on one knee to perform their task, and finally managed to ready their bows.

With a bit of misdirection, I was able to produce sounds that indicated furs were in this, that or the other direction. They began to loosen streams of arrows in haste, before their officer, cursing them, told them to cease-fire and get down. The wisdom of his order became apparent when two of the dwindling band collected lead bullets in their heads.

The officer and the remaining four furs hunkered down, frantically trying to find the source of the opposition. Soon, the officer discovered that his orders were falling on deaf ears, as his command had fallen fast asleep. He was in the midst of frantically attempting to wake them up when three arrow-heads appeared in the centre of his chest, and he toppled over, dead.

The night became quiet again, save for the steady dripping of water through the trees. I could hear the approach of another fur, so I motioned to Aethelwulf to take cover and ready himself on my orders. I crept forward a few paces, as a small, hooded figure emerged from the surrounding woods and approached the patrol.

Inspecting the still-sleeping wolves, she drew a knife, and made sure that their sleep would remain undisturbed. Given this obvious sign of which side the figure was on, both Aethelwulf and I stood up.

The figure turned, and focused on me. It approached, and at a few paces, put its bow around itself, and lowered the hood.

"Good. I was hoping the Marshal would send you, Westersloe. It's been a nasty few days, as you can imagine."

Meadow may not have been surprised to see me. You couldn't have said the same for me, however.