A/N - This is my first fanfic ever, so I hope you enjoy it :)

From the writings of Craklyn Squirrel, Recorder of Redwall Abbey in Mossflower Country

'Winter has come in much worse than normal this year. It is bitterly cold and we are all finding it so much more of a struggle. We have taken many woodlanders in for the season, for I fear that if they stayed out in Mossflower then they would be frozen within a week. Skipper and his crew are here too, and the Guosim shrews have sought shelter in our walls, for they worry the rivers and streams may freeze over. Our Dibbuns, however, are perfectly happy, spending all their days outside in the snow, and their nights curled up in dormitories or in front of the fire. We still have enough food, although Abbess Tansy has put all feasts on old for a while so we don't use it all up. The otters break the ice on the pond every morning so we still have freshwater and we have enough wood to last us 3 seasons! Arven has begun to start being more responsible - though he is still a playful babe at heart and everybeast still refers to him as 'likkle maggot'. Martin has become restless though, and he is training more often and harder - I know he fears vermin may see this as a time ripe to take our Abbey. Clecky and Gerul spend their days writing songs and bemoaning over the lack of fests and extra food, and my good friend Rollo is training me as our new recorder! Fancy that, me the Recorder of Redall! But then again, who would've thought Viola could become so good in the infirmary - though I fear that she has taken a great liking to petticoats, bonnets and all manner of fancy dresses! I have heard that Martin and Skipper are going patrolling in Mossflower soon, for Martin has visited the warriors in their dreams ad warned them of a new threat. But I do not believe anyone will be arriving this winter, for who could survive out there? They are also regularly tending the ship SeaKing in case of some form of battle. Most of us, however, are content with our lives and all we are worried about is the Dibbuns' behaviour and how to find some extra food. I must go now, for the bells are ringing for dinner and I need to scrub my paws thoroughly as they are covered in ink. I will never understand how Rollo manages to have spotless paws after writing for so long.'

Martin the warrior stood in the doorway of the Great Hall shivering, his eyes fixed upon the tapestry that hung upon the wall. His footpaws moved automatically as he reached the base of it, eyes reading something that wasn't there. In his mind, his namesake spoke,

'Martin, look to the west as your old friends arrive. They will bring with them a warning. Heed it well!'

In his mind, Martin saw images of green and red fletched arrows, and a horde of vermin attacking an otter. He saw blood and a battleground, and in the midst of it all a great Wearat, sword dripping with blood. He saw a small ship being tossed and turned upon the waves and the wails of young creatures rang in his ears.

'Protect them!'

Martin started as a huge paw came down on his shoulder. A grey, ancient badger mother looked down on him.

'Everything ok, Martin?' Auma asked gently. Martin nodded soundlessly then hurried off.

'Sorry Auma, I must find Skipper and Log a Log, it's urgent!' Auma smiled and turned away, chuckling to herself. Martin was a true warrior, always wanting to protect, and she knew that his namesake had told him something important. She bustled off, hunting for the naughty Dibbuns that needed bathing.

Winter had come to Ruddaring, and it was bitterly cold. Harsh winds swirled inside the mountain and the waters were wild and vicious. Food was low and morale was even lower. The cold had taken a toll on the otters who dwelled in Holt Rudderwake and many had passed earlier than their seasons showed, for it was harsh and bitter. Their chief, Wallyum Rudderwake, was old and frail, the seasons and cold taking a toll on him. His wife, Dorumee, had succumbed to the cold, and he knew that most of the otters would not las the season. They had taken the motion to let Inbar, his son, and his mate Grath lead them to the Abbey of Redwall that they often spoke of, to seek aid and shelter for the rest of the season. Only those two could cross the seas and navigate Mossflower safely, due to their battle experience and Grath's background. He just prayed that the rest of the Holt would be able to survive too.

Grath Longfletch was worried, there was no other way to put it. Her mate Inbar swore that they'd be fine but the seas were treacherous and she feared for the Holt's survival. Too many had fallen to winter's cruel whims and she didn't want any more dead. Redwall was the only place that she believed they would be safe, but the journey would be long and harsh. Her kit, Birch, lay sleeping in the logboat that she'd used so long ago, wrapped in blankets to keep her safe and warm. She sighed and looked across the stream to the caves where the other otters were packing up their belongings for the bosts they'd made. A huge paw descended onto her shoulder and she turned to face her mate.

'Grath, 'tis pointless fretting over what may ' 'll be safer in Mossflower, you know that, and Birch'll be fine too. She's your kit after all, y'know, and she's made o' tough stuff.'

She sighed and looked back to the Holt. Grath hadn't returned to Mossflower for two seasons and she dreaded going back to see the cave where her family lay dead, victims of a pine martens greedy plea for riches. However, she knew that she had to go, for the safety of her family and Holt Rudderwake.

'I know, Inbar, but I'm worried for the others who don't know the logboats like us. And say we get separated? What then? Ach, listen t' me, I sound like an old mousewife. T'will all be fine, we can fight and guide, and the others ain't exactly defenceless.'

She laughed in spite of herself, and Inbar laughed too as he tossed her a quiver full of green fletched arrows and her bow. They called out to the Holt, and soon enough all the logboats were loaded up, otters wrapped in furs and blankets ready to paddle. Inbar and Grath lead them all, in the logboat that had been the remaining part of the ship Freebeast. Inbar stood up and roared out,

'Count the waves, mateys, an' tug on the cable. 3,2,1! Ruddariiiiing! Holt Lutraaaaa'

And with that, the otters shot out of their beloved island onto the treacherous waters of the open sea, seeking shelter from the beasts who had once been so kind to them.