Early morning shadows stretched across the leaf-covered floor of southern Mossflower woods.  The summer sun beat down, burning off the tendrils of fog.  Mariel and Dandin trekked ever southward, with no particular destination in mind.  Each had a well-stocked haversack slung under their shoulder.
    “What a beautiful morning,” Dandin commented, breathing in the loam-scented air.
    “No rain in sight,” Mariel said.
     Somewhere in the distance a sparrow twittered.  Mossflower was at peace.
     Suddenly, the anguished cry of a young beast shattered the stillness.
     Mariel and Dandin stopped dead in their tracks.  “Did you hear that?” Mariel asked, putting a wary paw on her Gullwhacker.
     “I sure did,” Dandin said, visually probing the misty depths of the forest.
     The cry came again.
     “It’s coming from over there,” Mariel said, creeping cautiously eastward with Dandin in tow.
     They followed the miserable sound and found it to be issuing from a hollow log.
    Sword in paw, Dandin peered into the log.  To his immense surprise, he found a tiny foxbabe, clad only in a thin shift.  The infant was damp with dew and shivering.  She whimpered feebly.
     “It’s a newborn fox,” Dandin said, stepping back.
     “Vermin,” Mariel said contemptuously.  “We should leave it alone.”
     Dandin’s Redwall upbringing said otherwise.  “But she’s only a babe.”
     “She’s still a vermin.”
     “She’s obviously been abandoned.  We can’t just leave her here.  She’d die.”
     “One less vermin to worry about.”
     “Mariel!  She’s just a Dibbun!”
     The mousemaid looked down at the quivering little fox.  Her expression softened.  “Oh, all right.  We’ll take her with us.  But just until we find someone to take her in.”
     “We could take her back to Redwall, I suppose.”
     “That would take weeks!”  Mariel made a sour face.
     Dandin nodded.  “You’re right.”  He stooped to pick up the tiny fox and immediately wrapped the chilled infant in his cloak.  She opened her jet-black eyes and whimpered pitifully.  Mariel put a paw on the fox’s damp, furry head.  “I wonder where she came from.”
     “Who knows?  Wandering foxes are all over the place.”

     Mariel and Dandin took turns carrying the little fox as they wandered southward. The sun rose ever higher, drying off the infant.  Soon it was time to stop for lunch.  It was then that they realized their biggest dilemma.   Mariel inspected their food supplies.  “There’s nothing here a newborn can eat.”
     “You’re right.”  Dandin winced as the fox scratched him with a tiny claw.  “She’s restless, too.  I’m sure she’s hungry.  But what can we do?”
     “I really don’t know, Dandin.”  Mariel pursed her lips.  She guiltily ate a handful of berries.  The moisture in her mouth gave her an idea.
     The best they could provide for the baby was a little berry juice.  She smacked her lips enthusiastically at the sweet red liquid, then cried for more.  But the mice had nothing more substantial to give her.
     What would Mother Mellus do? Dandin wondered.
     They continued on their journey, but the pitiful baby wiggled and wept inconsolably.
    Supper came and went in much the same fashion.  It was summer, so no fire was needed for warmth overnight.  Mariel and Dandin bedded down on cushions of leaves and wrapped themselves in their cloaks.  The baby’s ceaseless whimpering kept them awake, however.
     So it was that both mice were alert enough to hear the footsteps of somebeast hurrying through the forest.  While pretending to be asleep, Dandin got his paw on his sword, and Mariel did the same with her Gullwhacker.  The footsteps halted a short distance from where they were feigning sleep.  The baby continued fussing.
     “Softbrush?” came a fearful female voice.
     Dandin and Mariel cautiously turned toward the voice.  A trembling young vixen stood at the edge of the clearing, dressed in a loose green healer’s cloak.  Her brown eyes were wide with terror at the sight of the two warriors.  She held up her paws beseechingly.  “Please don’t harm me.  I’m unarmed.  I’m only searching for my daughter, Softbrush.”
     Mariel and Dandin exchanged a quick look.
     “Uh...what does she look like?” Dandin asked.
     Wringing her paws anxiously, the vixen said, “She has large black eyes and is only a week old.  My husband had wanted a son, and he took her from me.  I don’t know what happened to her...if she’s even still alive.  I left my husband forever after that.  I’ve been searching for Softbrush ever since.”  The vixen swallowed to clear the lump from her throat.  “You haven’t seen her, have you?” she implored.
    “As a matter of fact...” Mariel said, stepping aside to reveal the furry lump in Dandin’s cloak.  “This might be her.”
     “Softbrush!” the vixen exclaimed, rushing to the baby.  She nuzzled the little fox against her face.  “Oh, Softbrush, my baby!  Thank you.  Oh, thank you so very much,” she said, tears of joy running down her face.
    Dandin and Mariel could see she was not an evil fox and relaxed their guard somewhat.
 “I have nothing but my healing skills with which to repay you,” the vixen said. “Are either of you in need of a healer?”
     Dandin shook his head.  “Thankfully, no.”
     “Oh,” the vixen said, looking somewhat disappointed.
     “We are mice of Redwall,” Mariel explained.  “We need no reward.”
     “Then take my thanks.  You saved my child’s life.”
     “You’re very welcome,” Dandin said politely.
     “If ever you need a healer, find me.  My name is Longbrush.”
     “We will.”
     “Thank you again!”
     “You’re welcome.”
     Longbrush hurried off into the depths of Mossflower, speaking softly to her infant.
     Dandin turned to Mariel.  “Now aren’t you glad we took her along?”
     Mariel gave a twisted smile.  “Yes.  She wasn’t too bad...for vermin.”
     Dandin shook his head fondly, and they resumed their travels.
     Neither mouse knew what tomorrow would bring...