"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.
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