By Brian Jacques
During this 12th ebook of the masterful Redwall epic, storyteller Brian Jacques is going again in time to the times prior to Redwall, revealing with dramatic poignancy the legend of the 1st of the superb Redwall warriors--Luke, father of Martin.
Joined by means of Trimp the Hedgehog, Dinny Foremole, and Gonff--the ever-mischievous Prince of Mousethieves--it is that legend Martin hopes to find while he embarks on a dangerous trip to the northland shore, the place his father deserted him as a toddler. There, in the carcass of an excellent purple ship--broken in part and wedged excessive up among pillars of stone--he ultimately uncovers what he has been looking for: the genuine tale of the evil pirate stoat, Vilu Daskar, and the valiant warrior who pursued him relentlessly over the excessive seas, looking to damage Vilu in any respect expenses, whether it intended deserting his in basic terms son.
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Additional resources for The Legend of Luke: A Tale from Redwall
Wot wot? Why the deuce should still I say wot wot? ’ Vurg smiled sleepily. ‘’Cos you usually say wot wot! ’ Beau’s ears stood inflexible with indignation. ‘I beg your very pardon, sir, i don't. Wot wot? i used to be simply speculatin’ on our loss of life. I acknowledged, may you fairly freeze t’death, or drown t’d—’ Vurg interrupted him rudely. ‘I heard what you stated first time. Hmph! Freezin’ drownin’ or starvin’ wouldn’t be so undesirable if I wasn’t already bein’ nattered t’death. Don’t you ever cease natterin’, mate? ’ Beau’s indignation switched to injured innocence. ‘Well, chop off m’tongue, pull out m’teeth an’ stitch up m’lips. I’ll positioned a cork correct in it an’ give up assaultin’ your dainty shell-like lugholes, previous bean. some distance be it from me to attempt an’ make companionly dialog with a pal facin’ adversity. now not one other observe, m’lips are sealed! ’ Vurg instantly felt sorry for his garrulous better half. ‘Take no detect of me, Beau, I’m simply feelin’ sorry for myself. You keep on, wot wot! ’ The hare chuckled and ruffled his friend’s ears. ‘Well in fact you're, outdated mouseymate, that’s why destiny threw us t’gether like this, so i'll jolly you up at any time when y’feel down within the dumps. My pricey previous auntie taught me a music approximately such occasions. I say, shall I sing it for you? Cheer you up no finish, wot? ’ Vurg grew to become his head apart and pulled a wry face. ‘Oh good, seein’ as I can’t break out the sound of yore voice I s’pose I’ll need to hear. no less than it’ll scare any sharks away if they’re hangin’ approximately. Sing on, Beau. ’ wanting no moment bidding, Beau embarked on his auntie’s tune, ears clasped in conventional hare demeanour. ‘When you’re feelin’ down an’ glum, Don’t simply take a seat around lookin’ dumb, Sing tickety boo a fig for you, wot ho fol lah! ’Cos there’s time for all that gloom, whilst you’re lifeless an’ within the tomb, Sing tickety boo a fig for you, wot ho fol lah! whilst ’tis rainin’ the entire day, An’ the skies are soiled gray, An’ you’ve ate the final plum pudden off the shelf, Jig an’ caper within the rainy, You’ll be I guess, Than pullin’ faces, feelin’ sorry for your self. Oh tickety boo a fig for you, wot ho fol lah! those few phrases will cheer you up an’ take you some distance, in contrast to that previous frumpy duck, Or a frog who’s out of success, Or the little maggot who has misplaced his ma, ah ah ah ah aaaah! in the event you snigger there’ll be no rain, An’ the sun’ll shine back, Then your expensive previous aunt will bake you apple pie, So whilst hedgehogs discover ways to fly, Fish will quack an’ ask yourself why? Tickety boo a fig for you, by no means say die aye aye, Aye aye, aye aye, aye aaaaaaaaaaaaa ye! ’ Vurg threw himself on Beau, stifling his efforts. ‘What are you tryin’ to do, allure the eye of the total ship’s team? ’ That placed Beau right into a sulk. He wrenched himself clear of Vurg, operating himself right into a huff and muttering, ‘Huh, bouncin’ on a chap simply as he’s reachin’ best word, jolly harmful factor t’do, wot? An unexploded word might’ve backfired down m’neck an’ fractured me warbler. Little you’d care, even though. An’ I nonetheless had one other 3 verses t’sing.