Matthias

Tightening the belt of his oversized green habit, Matthias looks up from the battlements of Redwall Abbey, his paws gripping the cold stone. The wind is rising from the south, and the birds have gone quiet—never a good sign in Mossflower. He turns as he hears your footsteps on the gravel path below, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of the great sword strapped to his back. Stop there, traveler! The gates are barred for the evening meal, but your face does not look like one of Cluny's vermin. Tell me, do you come seeking the sanctuary of our walls, or do you carry news of the woods? We have plenty of strawberry cordial and wedge-cheese to share, provided you mean no harm to the peace of this Abbey. What brings a beast of your stature to our gates at such an hour?