The sun rose over Mossflower woods.

Venlow stretched, rather peeved when he noticed that the morning dew had dampened his fur. Fluffing his pelt to dry it, the young marten looked around. Only three others were up and about: the shrew and otter leaders, and Dante.

The latter smiled brightly at the sight of his older brother. "Mornin', Venlow."

"You were always a morning creature, Dante," Venlow commented. "Were you planning on singing to wake up this dozy lot? Er, no offense, Log-a-Log Kunlo, Skipper."

In spite of himself the good-natured otter Chieftain chuckled. "None taken, matey. Did ye say yore brother can sing?"

"Sing, talk, yell," Venlow replied, feeling at ease when talking to Rushlan. "His was voted the loudest voice among the Juskalok young 'uns. Hey Dante, how 'bout you give us a song?"

"Soft, medium, or loud?"

"Go with soft," Venlow advised. "Cody's ears are more sensitive than most."

His younger brother smiled brightly. "Ven, you used to tell me, 'Go with loud. Harun's ears are more sensitive than most.'"

In spite of himself, Venlow snickered. "Just open your gob and belt one out, Dante. Do it soft, though. Don't want to give our position away to the Juskalok."

Ever happy to please when it came to his singing, Dante opened his mouth to oblige. His voice rose softly and gently, to as high a volume as he dared reach.

"Sons of the sea, sons of the saint,
Who is the child with no complaint;
Sons of the great or sons unknown
All were children like your own."

The same sweet smiles, the same sad tears,
The cries at night, the nightmare fears,
Sons of the great, sons unknown,
All were children like your own.

Sons of the horde, or sons from the farms
All of the children ran from your arms.
Through fields of gold, through fields of ruin,
All of the children vanished too soon.

In towering waves, in walls of flesh,
Amid dying birds trembling with death,
Sons of the horde, sons from the farms,
All of the children ran from your arms.

Sons of your sons, sons passing by,
Children were lost in lullaby.
Sons of true love, sons of regret,
All of your sons you can never forget.

Some build the roads, some left to roam,
Some went to war, some never came home.
Sons of your sons, sons passing by,
Children were lost in lullaby."

Dante smiled brightly when he finished, and the last notes faded from the air. Most of the creatures were awake by then, and the little otter Lilia giggled and clapped her paws. Skipper Rushlan stole Kunlo's bright headband and swatted him with it. "You spiky-furred boatbouncer," he snorted good-naturedly. "You told me vermin can't sing."

"Alright, corsairs can't sing, then," Kunlo muttered, rolling his eyes. "I heard a searat serenadin' his crew once... it's not something I ever want to 'ear again, mate."

"We resent that!" Tobie interrupted. "That does it! When we get to Redwall, we're having a singing contest!"

"Well, we have to get to Redwall first," Padra reminded them, stepping forward. "The sooner the better."

The wisdom in the otter's words was fully acknowledged, and within minutes the creatures were making for the Abbey, eating on the move.

Overhead, a pair of scrawny ravens circled and watched. "Kraark! They're on their way to Redwall, Tatterwing."

"I have eyes, Thinbone!" the other snapped. "And we know that Lord Lok's sons are with them. Yagah! Let's get back to the Juskalok."

Thinbone grimaced as his brother banked and headed back to the vermin clan. "Who knows, brother," he croaked darkly. "Perhaps we will actually be fed this time."

"Ha! Don't count on it," Tatterwing replied cynically. "He rewards good news. And even when he does, it's only enough to keep our bones and feathers together. Enough so that we die more slow."

Through Tatterwing's complaint, Thinbone had been watching his surroundings. Suddenly he let out a cry. "Tatterwing!"

Tatterwing glanced back to see what had frightened his brother. "Sparrows!" he squawked, spotting the oncoming flock of small, cheeping birds. "Thinbone, fly!"

Side by side, the two dark birds pumped their wings frantically to gain distance between themselves and the sparrows. But the odds were against them; the sparrows were smaller and quicker, and both ravens were malnourished and barely strong enough to fly at any great speed. In a trice, the unfortunate pair were surrounded.

One sparrow, larger than the rest, darted forward. "Black skyworms! Sparra killee raven enemy!"

"Back, Thornclaw!" another sparrow snapped, blocking his way. Eyeing the ravens fiercely, he addressed both of then. "You spies, Sparra see you! What think we should do, ravenworm?"

Thinbone's nerve deserted him, and he staggered in flight. "Wait, don't kill us! We were just following orders!"

Fighting to hover, Tatterwing attempted to explain. "If we spy, we get fed. That is how Harun deals with us. If we do not, we starve! What would you do in our position?"

The sparrow addressing them glared through fierce, bright eyes. "Rather die than help enemy. Rather be wormfood!"

A slight, dusky-gray sparrow waggled a wing. "King Graystreak Sparra, ravens know enemy. Take 'em to H'abbey place. Otterworm Abbess ask 'em 'bout Juska."

Graystreak, the Sparra King, seemed to think this over. Finally, he nodded. "Shadefeather, idea good. Sparra, fly! Take ravens back to Red Walls."

The two raven brothers looked at each other, their throats bobbing nervously. As they fought their panic, the sparrows positioned themselves in an odd formation around them, and Thinbone and Tatterwing were forced to fly with them. Not just because they feared for their lives, but because escape, they realized, was nearly impossible.

Tatterwing regarded the sparrows. Flying, to him, suddenly required little effort, and yet he could not have flown out of the flock if he wanted to. "Strange," he mused aloud. Then he noted that the birds' configuration, as well as the rhythmic beating of their wings, had created a sort of airborne prison that quite literally sucked the two ravens along. It was a rather advanced strategy for the fierce, hot-headed sparrows. Curiosity overcame his fear. "How did you learn this flying vacuum thing?"

"Learn from hawkfriend," one sparrow chirped shortly, and nothing more was said as the sparrows and their prisoners flew toward the Abbey.

Saria was in a proverbial paridise. It was all she could do to keep from stuffing her mouth with everything at once. "Roopert, cully, are ye sure this be jest brekkist?" she said, spreading strawberry jam on an oat scone. "I en't never tasted vittles the likes o' this afore! 'Ow 'bout yew, Jordy?"

The young vole was helping himself to a fruit salad. "Prime stuff, Cap'n," he said dreamily.

Tori the weasel laughed, stealing an apple slice from under Marek's nose. "Mebbe if'n I wash me paws an' take a bath, they'll let me inter the kitchens ter see 'ow they makes this stuff," she said hopefully as she ladled honey into a bowl of porridge. "Think it'll work, Marek?"

The stoat, who had never been fond of baths, simply shuddered before replacing the apple slice his shipmate had purloined.

Smiling at the young corsairs' obvious enjoyment, Roopert shook his head. "If you think breakfast is good, you should see our Jubilee feasts and Nameday celebrations. There's food enough to feed ten armies, and drink you could float a ship in!"

"Phwaw!" Marek murmured, wiping his mouth. "I could get used ter a place like this."

Rakktam the vole and Erin the mousemaid looked at each other and grinned. Even if most of them were vermin, it was hard not to enjoy the company of the newcomers. In spite of their background and manner of speaking, they were enormously enjoyable company. Dauncey de Mayne had taken an immediate liking to them, encouraging them to try the different foods. Now, the young hare sipped his mint tea. "Shame your ferret chum's missin' out on this, wot!"

"Don't worry," Roopert assured them. "Sister Armel says he's perfectly fine, he just received a bad knock to his head. See, there he is now!"

Damon the ferret came sauntering in with a white bandage knotted about his brow, seating himself between Rakktam and Erin. "Good mornin', youse," he greeted cheerfully. "Wot's fer vittles, then?"

Wiping his lips on a napkin, Dauncey pushed a plate of oatcakes toward him. "Try these, old lad," he advised. "They're absolutely top hole if you spread honey on 'em, wot!"

"I'll try that, mate!" the ferret laughed.

Erin looked up from stuffing as many blackberries as she could manage into a scone she'd hollowed out. "So you say you're pirates," she remarked. "How come you're so far inland?"

"Our ship was wrecked in a storm," Saria explained, finishing her scone and selecting another. "I was washed ashore wid three o' me comrades. Then they joined a party o' h'otters and shrews in the woods. I went on, lookin' fer the rest o' the crew, an' I met up wid these 'uns."

"How come all your crewbeasts are so young?" Roopert questioned. "Pardon me saying, but you're only a bit older than me."

"We was all oarslaves once," Marek explained. "Til one day we up an' rebelled, drove off or killed the crew. 'Course, like the young 'uns we was, we decided ter be our own crew o' pirates. But we 'ardly ever robs nobeast 'ceptin' the League."

"Sure, an' I've 'eard o' the ould league," said Rakktam. "Me ould dad said they was nuthin' but a bunch o' fat 'n' pompous mice."

"That they are, mate," Damon laughed, reaching for the honey. "Say Cap'n, d'ye 'member ol' Willus Rockblade?"

The young polecat let out a roar of laughter, covering her mouth sheepishly when crumbs sprayed from her muzzle. "'Scuse me, lads, won't 'appen agin. Ho, do I ever! Rockblade? More like Rockbelly! That 'un was fatter 'n Jordy 'ere!"

"Gee, thankee, Cap'n," the vole muttered sarcastically.

"Who was he?" Roopert asked, intrigued.

"One o' the League Masters," said Marek, snickering. "Skinny fer a Leaguesmouse, but still tubby t'be totin' a bloody great longsword like 'e wuz doin'. Thought 'e could turn a sword like our Cap'n! 'Course, ye kin imagine wot 'appened."

Erin's eyes widened, and she stared at Saria. "You killed him?"

"Wot? Course not!" Saria let out another hearty laugh (swallowing first this time). "If'n I'da killed that fatbeast, 'e'da been buried wid full honors an' a crowd o' purty mousemaids paid ter look weepy and sad. Ho no, I fenced circles 'round 'im, played about like I was dancin' wid 'im. Pranced 'round 'im, twirled a bit, or kicked me footpaws 'igh when 'e tried ter swing at 'em. All good fun."

"Modest much, Cap'n?" Tori said with a wide grin. "'Tain't all." To their audience, she continued, "While she'd doin' this, she's beltin' out an absolutely bloody awful pirate ditty fer all to 'ear. An' after she's 'ad enough, our Cap'n dances 'im ter trip over 'is own sword, grabs 'is face 'twixt 'er paws, an' says, 'Thankee kindly, darlin', ye've a rare turn o' paw! Rare indeed!' I tell yer, mates, the great lard bucket wuz puffin' an' blowin' like he'd never breathe agin!"

At this, all the youngsters at the table collapsed into laughter, earning strange glances from the Redwallers around them, and haughtily disapproving looks from Araltum and Idga. The latter two clearly opposed their son's growing friendship with their seafaring visitors, but that was to be expected. Most of the Abbeydwellers, despite any initial misgivings, found it hard not to enjoy the company of the cheerfully roguish young pirates.

Jordy guffawed. "Hawhawhaw! Ye shoulda seen 'ow purple the blighter looked, mates. Fer a moment I thought the poor bugger might explode. No loss, eh? Hawhawhawhawhaw!"

Further merriment was abruptly when Todd and Kabbry, accompanied by a pair of sparrows, came hurrying into Cavern Hole, stopping nearby to speak urgently to Abbess Brookflow.

"Mother Abbess, you must come with us!" Todd told her, just loud enough for the young friends to hear him.

"We've captured a pair of the Juska's spies," Kabbry informed the Abbess. "You should hear what they have to say."

Yes, this fic lives on! I have not given up on it, nor will I!

Added in some comic relief with Saria and her friends.