Gab 'n Grub

[Vin]

Now, some of you may be surprised by this, if you aren't on the discord. But to you that are there, hello! Here are the entries for the lightning challenge I threw up on the discord. For those of you who don't know, or would just like a refresher: I tasked people with writing a 300-600 word story about food. You know. Good, classic Redwall descriptors and the like. That's the "grub" part of the challenge. As an added challenge, they could choose to write a conversation between two characters and balance that with the food. That's the "gab". Tomorrow, after I reread all the entries, I'll be posting any thoughts/feedback I have. I'd encourage anyone who reads these to do so as well, if they have the time. I know firsthand how much writers love their feedback!

So, without further ado, here are our entrants:

The Seafarer's Feast:

[spoiler]A sharp snap echoed across the shoreline as expert paws broke and tugged soft white crab meat from a steaming claw. The grizzled sea otter popped the buttery bite quickly between thickly-whiskered lips, closing his eyes and relishing the flavor quietly before moving the next pot from the cooking rack. He nudged the lid askew with a cloud of spicy steam, squinting critically at its contents with the eye of a master.
Malka watched her father from behind her own red crustacean, picking the spiny shell clean from the inside out. He moved stiffly, but swiftly, brusque with enthusiasm. She smiled at the absurdity of the flower apron coupled with the battle axe across his back.
"When yer ready, I got some seared black pepper scallops 'ere. Brined o'er night." He shrugged apologetically. "Not tryin' ta rush ye, mind, but didn' want ter o'er cook 'em. Nothin' worse 'n gummy shellfish."
The ottermaid dropped the still-warm carapace of her crab atop the bone pile and wiped her paws clean with a checkered cloth. A small burp escaped her and she flinched, but grinned. "Oh I'm ready, Da."
"That's me gal," he winked and scooped three scallops onto a plate, spooning a creamy garlic and lemongrass sauce across the trio with an almost artistic flair. She reached for it, but he held up a finger, whipping a sprig of parsley out of nowhere and adding the finishing touch to her dish with an exaggerated flourish. Malka laughed.
"Blimey, Da, I don' think we can rightly call this a camp-out anymore."
He smiled, showing his missing tooth. "Well then we'll call it what it be: A proper birthday feast." He lifted a sheet off a nearby table. "An' 'ere be the rest."
Malka nearly spit out her shoreberry cordial.
Sweet honey-glazed coconut shrimp glistened in the firelight while her favorite crisped seaweed salad beckoned from a wide-brimmed bowl, sprinkled with cheese crumbles and candied walnuts. Beside them a line of pretty abalone shells reflected rainbows, filled with pink seafoam pudding and caviar pearls. Above it all stood a grand cake, three tiers tall, iced with rose cream and dotted with strawberries and sugared currents in a sparkling, floral pattern. Malka gaped as the old pirate hugged her close with one arm.
"'Appy Birthday, Pipsqueak."
"Da, it's amazing!" the young ottermaid gesticulated. "How did ye ever pull it off?" She shook her head in awe. "And how are we ever goin' ta EAT it all?"
"Well," he chuckled, gesturing at a small procession of torches making its way down the beach. "I did 'ave a bit o' 'elp."
Malka squealed as the familiar beasts came into view, running to embrace her friends and family. "Berta! Auntie Vera! Uncle Walt! MUM! I thought you couldn't make it back in time!" She vaulted into her mother's tender embrace.
"Sorry I'm late, love." The otter squeezed her daughter close, stroking her fur fondly. "I hope your da's been treating you well while your Uncle and I were away."
"Oh Mum it's been a grand day out on the water – and come see the picnic spread he's put together – though I suspect Auntie Vera has something to do with the cake..." She glanced at the vixen who winked coyly, then turned back to her mother. "Mum, it's so fantastic - I didn't think it could get any better until now!" her voice broke with a squeak. "See – even Berta's come all the way out to see me!" She took the hedgehog's paw, patting it affectionately.
"Your father did spend a lot of time plotting and planning."
"An' don' ferget cookin'!" The old sea otter fed his wife a bite of lobster before they kissed.
"It's better than I could have imagined, Da. Thank you."
"Anythin' fer me li'l Pip." He kissed her on the forehead, brushing her with buttered whiskers. "Now stop growin' up so fast."[/spoiler]

Broot

[spoiler]Broot could almost smell the tension in the room, just like the over powering scent of cooked food in the air.
The prey beasts of the abbey tried their best to ignore the fox while quietly scooting away from him. This suited Broot just fine. It was their place as prey to fear the creatures of the wild, their predators. Anything else was, unnatural.
"I see you dressed up for dinner!"
But there was always that one beast that liked to buck nature. The fox only scoffed at the otter maiden across the table, taking particular disgust in the bowl of vegetable stew she was eating.
"The sash looks nice. It really brings out your... uh, tattoo's!"
"I preferred my vest..." Broot growled, prodding the steamed vegetables on his own plate as if they were snake eggs.
"I heard about that. Shame really. The brothers did wash the flea's out of it though! I'm sure it's really comfortable now... even if the squirrel hide got dyed pink by accident." She chuckled while sliding baked mushrooms filled with cheeses and herbs down her gullet. "There are worse things than ruined garments though. You were lucky those merchants found you in that snow bank."
"Lucky?" Broot scoffed, standing. "I think I've had enough hare feed for one..." and paused and sniffed, "Do I smell... meat?"
The fox's nose followed the scent of freshly grilled fish as it was carried from the kitchen to their table for all to grab.
His tail began to wag, until he saw the honey glaze upon the trout along with herbs and spices.
"Oh just try it," the otter-ess scolded Broot like a kit.
Ears flat, the fox gently nudged the fish with his fork. Slowly he bit down onto the trout ruined by woodlander spices.
A long moment passed.
The fox's eyes widened, his ears stood tall and his tail poofed.
Soon Broot was licking the plate clean that the fish once inhabited as the otter slid a fresh one towards him, filled with fish and stuffing and a side of butter battered vegetables. "Try it the way it was meant to be eaten, you might just like it."
The fox didn't argue.
The night progressed in a bit of a blur. The timid prey animals seemed determined to keep the predator from going hungry, and Broot was happy to oblige, especially when it came to desert.
Puddings, tarts, sweet fluffy cakes and warm fruit pies were shoveled into the fox's expanding stomach with gluttony that put hares to shame.
There was a bit of sadness to the fox though, knowing full well that no matter how hard he tried, it was just impossible to sample every dish in front of him.
Swollen and defeated, Broot slumped forward against the table as abbey beasts ended the night cleaning up the mess left behind.
"Going to survive?" The otter chuckled. The fox only moaned as she patted him on the shoulder. "You might want to stop by the healers tonight. Beasts tend to, over indulge, their first night here."
"I don't think my vest will fit anymore..." The fox slowly leaned himself back into his chair, "I suppose I chose a good time to get stranded in Redwall, at least. A feast like this would only come around once a year in my tribe."
The otter raised an eyebrow, "Feast? Honey, this was just dinner." The fox and otter exchanged glances, then a look of concern filled her face.
"Broot, are you... are you crying?"[/spoiler]

The Beginnings of Something Larger

[spoiler]"Nice of you to come to visit, brother." Erlend sighed, munching on his salad quietly. He had come from far away indeed, where Thordan was once. Only once, and he never wanted to remind himself about it. Drat. I've done it again.
"The pleasure's all mine, Erlend." Becker ate more noisily, moving on to the soup within mere seconds after the salad, without leaving room for his poor stomach to rest. One would have thought that the otter was a hare clad in a very good disguise.
Passive and indolent, Erlend was nothing compared to his brother and his fiery heart and his love for his country and many of his other qualities that made him so, so like Thordan himself. In a way, they were like the different soups that were atop their tables. Erlend being sluggish and even-tempered like the cream of mushroom he had yet to touch, while Becker's inner whorl of emotions would be represented by the medley of vegetables within the Ilsadian soup.
The two ate away without saying a word, and Thordan saw fit to comply with the norms. It was a mere party of three - Niels had chosen not to come in case he 'messed things up'.
The next courses continued to be served up, with freshly-caught fish and thick pies, and a marzipan torte that made even Erlend Swalestrom smile. Becker, of course, was too busy eating to do so.
"I trust you two know enjoyed yourselves, did you?" Thordan smiled, wiping his mouth. What I
will do has to be done. Can't have you be pains in each other's tails anymore.
"Very much so." Becker did the same, while Erlend simply nodded.
"Good." Thordan smiled. "Now, I have a little proposition to discuss."
"What would that be?" Becker rubbed his chin. "You could not have dragged us all the way here just to take part in one of your petty schemes again, right?"
"You're half right." King Thordan grinned. "It's less petty than you might think."[/spoiler]

Rat Stew

[spoiler]   The expected rap at the door seemed softer than usual, yet Rawfang loosed his customary snarl anyway. "Gerron wi'  ye!" he bellowed, hunching protectively over his soup. He had actually managed to catch a small chub on his hook, which had added a pitiful amount of meat to the thin broth with a mint leaf for flavor. The only herb he knew on sight, and it certainly made the soup taste... interesting.
   "Oi'm 'ere with yon dinner, Zur Fang!"
   Rawfang hesitated at the unusual accent, then continued with his surly rebuff. "I got me dinner, don' need no more bread!" He spat out that last, his sensitive fang aching already at the remembered hardtack from a lifetime ago, at sea. Yet, the fat mouse from the big red abbeybuilding insisted on sending him loaves. They went back with insults heaped on top.
   His visitor poked a head in, a button snout twitching in a fuzzy face with bright eyes that twinkled at him in good humor. "Oi brung ye summat yur loikin', Zur Fang! They loafen be too thicken, oi reckin'!"
   The molemaid skipped into the room, and Rawfang eyed her suspiciously. "Are ye old 'nuff to be traipsin' about by yerself?" he sniffed. Then he sniffed again, arrested by a tantalizing smell wafting from the large pot she carried in both claws.
   "Burr aye, oi got lotsa lessings 'n hoidin', an trackerin. An' oi din't spill a drop o' yurr zoop!"
   The pot was clunked down with pride, and something sloshed inside, dribbles leaking out from under the lid. The thickness and rich color wove together with the savory smell, and Rawfang had to wipe a sudden moisture from his mouth.
   "Don' need no zoop, I mean soup. I made my own," he protested, with less enthusiasm this time. The contents of the pot were smelling more heavenly by the minute, with scents he couldn't begin to describe. it smelled warm, he would say, with a touch of sharp added to it, and a delicious earthy yet sweet undertone,
   The mole paid no attention to his protest, instead skipping around the room and searching out two bowls and two spoons. She tsked over the state of the bowls and wiped them out with her cheerful apron and set one before him. The thin, fishy gruel he had been slurping disappeared like magic.
   Rawfang watched, mesmerized by her movements, and he drooled when she lifted the lid of the pot.
   White wedges were partnered with purple ones, accompanied by beans and flecks of green. It all floated in a light brown broth, almost a gravy thickness.
   "Miz Gilly bees 'bout despairin', you not eetin' 'er food. How'm you feed yerself, all lonely! Oi beein a rarskally choild, Oi toll her you'm eetin zoop, an' I makes you good zoop instead!"
   "Rarskally, eh?" Rawfang mumbled, all his attention on the heavenly concoction being ladled into his bowl. "Wha's in it?" He tried to keep his tone casual, already wondering if he could reproduce it himself.
   "It bees Deeper'n'ever tater'n'turnip'n beetroot pie, ceptin's it's zoop, instead! Oi added garlick, an spring onions, an'..."
   "And beans!" Rawfang blurted, proud he could at least name one ingredient. The molemaid nodded. "Aye, zurr, beems."
   He couldn't wait any longer. He grabbed the spoon, scooped up a generous helping of the soup, and shoved it in his mouth.
   That one spoonful spread through his mouth in a delicious blanket. Then the burn hit him.
He coughed, almost spitting out his mouthful at the fire that burned it's way down his throat. He grabbed a mug of brackish water and chugged it, Eyes watering, he glared at the molemaid.
   "Oh, Oi added hotten rooters, too."
   "I couldn't tell," Rawfang rasped.
   After a long moment, he began shoveling the soup down again. He worked through the burn, and eyed the molemaid as he slurped up every bit.
   "Teach me," he demanded once the bowl was licked clean. "Teach me how to make that.... Stuff."
   "Oi don' 'ave the fixin's, zurr. Nor th' pots and pans, noither." She paused significantly. "But Redwaller do. You'm been livin' boi yersel ten seas'ns. You'm don' 'ave to stay a lonerly."
   "Ha!" Rawfang guffawed. "Ha," he said more quietly, turning over her words. He looked her in the eye. "Yer not gettin' me that easy!"
   The molemaid started to wilt, then perked when he continued, "It'll take a lot more o' that zoop, I mean, soup!"
[/spoiler]

Snakeskin's Delight

[spoiler]"Yew call this... food?" Snakeskin felt his stomach churn. The young stoat turned to his father, a broad-shouldered and grizzled old hunter with whiskers as strong as steel. "D-dadda yew said they'd 'ave vi'lles."
Before the elder stoat could reply, Snakeskin was tugged aside by the Bat Chief's son, a child of about his age and double his girth.
"Oh but we do! Lotsa things to eat, eat, eat. Lemme show you! Come! Come an' see, see, see!"
The young stoat looked to his father in search of guidance, and was rewarded with a pat on the head. This was all the permission the flabby bat needed to drag the vermin closer to the table.
And what a table it was! Carved right out of the icy tunnels and full of all sorts of delicacies. Bat delicacies, that was. The stoat's pale white fur began to turn green.
Half of the platters were filled with moving things. Pink worms wriggled in a soup of dead fly-wings. Maggots crawled over, inside and around a humongous stuffed beetle. Bees buzzed and drowned feebly in pools of their own honey. Spiders wrapped in cobwebs, their long legs still twitching, were skewered and served on sticks.
"Maggots!" Cried the young bat, tearing off a leg of beetle.
Snakeskin watched in fascinated horror and revulsion as the fat creature proceeded to slurp up the wriggling white things until his cheeks bulged to twice the size of his head.. The young stoat gagged, and struggled to hold back his breakfast.
"Oi'm Shhhhnap by che way, way, way." The bat's table manners made even the young vermin turn away in disgust. He did not close his mouth, but chewed aggressively, sending pieces of saliva and maggot everywhere.
"Yew can call me Snakeskin." Talon and paw met and shook.
Snap swallowed. "So what d'yew want to eat, eat, eat?"
Perhaps it was because of how close he'd come to being reacquainted with it, but for some reason Snakeskin felt his mind wonder to breakfast. What a glorious meal it had been!
"A small snake, roasted 'ole on a spit an' served warm with burn' eggs." The mental image was enough to make his mouth water and his tummy rumble. It also made him forget his disgust, however briefly. Where was roasted snake when he needed it!?
"Eggses?" The fat bat seemed excited again. "We have eggs, eggs, eggs!"
The young stoat licked his lips. "Eggs'll do!" He declared. Fried, burnt, boilt, or raw, snake eggs were some of Snakeskin's favourite foods!
One could only imagine his disappointment when the young bat handed him a pawful of teeny-tiny beetle eggs.
"B-but I'm actually n-not very 'ungry." He tried to return the insect eggs, but Snap refused to accept the offering, flapping his wings in a great show of 'once you take it, you have to eat it, it, it.' "Eating'sh not about hunger." Said the fat bat, stuffing his own cheeks with beetle eggs. "It'sh about tashte." He poked the young stoat's stomach. "Go on. Eat it all up, up, up!"
"I-I-"
"Eat, eat eat!"
Snakeskin noticed a few glances headed his way, some of the elder bats had taken notice of him and were now no doubt muttering about how silly he was, for not trying their food.
Te 'ellgates with it all! The young stoat panicked, threw his mouth open and tossed the eggs in.
He regretted this as soon as the food hit his tastebuds of course, but by then it was too late to turn back. He swallowed hastily and gagged as soon as he did so. The stoat's stomach seemed to burn, and Snakeskin had the distinct impression some of the eggs had hatched inside of him. This was the child in him speaking of course, but the bats seemed to like live food as much as snakes did...
"Very... satisfyin'..." The young vermin's expression said otherwise.
Not that somebeast as blind as a bat would notice. "More?" Snap offered.
[/spoiler]

The Taste of Tales

[spoiler]The palace of God-Queen Charl teemed with envoys. The equinox arrived, and the lioness owed her worthiest tribe a boon.

Every inch of the hollowed sequoia churned with emerald-studded carvings and braziers of chartreuse fire. Porcs, skunks, munks, and even leathery skinks from the southern kingdoms, approached the throne's dais with offerings.

Yet, despite the equinox, Charl had not yet descended from her treetop sanctuary.

Beasts greeted one another when the wait stretched into hours. The brush rabbits shared a tall barrel of manzanita cider, tart and sunrise yellow from the floating lemon pips. The raccoons offered samples of their rye bread and avocado mash, both earthen and sharp from the onions and tomato diced throughout.

A pika steward in age-stained robes delivered the samples onto his tribe's envoy of two. His younger sister etched imaginary battles on the wooden floor, her dress as tattered as the bark parcel on her lap. They breathed deep of the citric and nutty bounty before they ate.

"I've...I've never known these flavors." Toyon, the sister, blinked rapidly as her mind caught up with her tastebuds. "They change by the moment! It's almost too much."

"I'll have your share if it's too much." He gestured at the parcel on Toyon's lap. "Gram's oatcakes will see you full."

"They're for Charl! Have you forgotten!?"

"No, but I fear the God-Queen will."

Toyon considered her portion of bread and its crests of mashed vegetables. The green, red, and white stood so bright against the dark rye, brighter still beside the parcel upon her lap. The oatcakes within did not change flavor when tasted, and would pass as discarded bricks at a casual glance...

Toyon gave her samples to her brother, who downed them at once.

"But what of home?" said Toyon. "We feast while our tribe harvests ruined crops."

"We can beg another tribe for help. They'll demand holdings or marriage, but the pika will live to plant again."

"Charl will help us." Toyon lifted the parcel and inhaled, filling her short snout with the grain and hearth of home. "I'm sure she will."

"I'm as fond of oatcakes as you are, but they're no match for these treasures."

"Have faith. They may have craft, but we have- - -"

All stilled as crystalline bells sounded from every direction. Drapes of lime silk billowed from the sequoia's upper reaches, and through their folds appeared the inevitable. The lioness wore only a collar and sash of office, and strode before her subjects as a golden furred idol.

Every envoy fell prostrate. They awaited the click of Charl's claws upon polished floors, or the mint balms which radiated from her pelt.

First the click and scent laced by the raccoons, remaining only a moment before leaving their colorful mash untouched.

Next she approached the barrel of the brewer rabbits, where Charl sipped, hissed quietly, and moved on.

Then the bark parcel lifted from the floor before Toyon's lowered snout.

A carved mural circled the parcel's interior. Beasts were etched upon each face of the four sides: Charl crossing the Great Sea and greeting the pikas of old with peace, then the lioness at battle with the eastern coyotes, then the pikas gifting baskets of oatcakes to their saviors, and, finally, two pika farmers crying over wilted fields.

Charl bit into one of the oatcakes. Her shoulders rolled as she knew again the mortal days of hearth-warmed confections, driven foes, and loyal farmhands.

Toyon continued speaking on hearing Charl's purr.

"- - -our story, my God-Queen."
[/spoiler]

[Vin]

I posted them all more or less as I received them; if you spot any formatting issues with yours, please let me know and I'll fix them as soon as I can.

[Matra Hammer]

Time for some feedback for these lovely writers.

For this round I will keep things simple and offer the following: craft related thing that Worked, craft related improvement Suggestion, and my subjective Reflection - which I normally don't do but sometimes it's nice hearing "I connect with x, y, and z for a, b, and c reasons." If any of the authors involved want more details, or if they've any questions, then I'm only a PM or reply away.


The Seafarer's Feast

Worked: The story still works if you take out the dialog completely, and this is a big credit to the author's attention to detail. So much of the father and daughter's relationship is illustrated not in their words but in the father's actions. The way he handles food throughout the beginning goes paw in paw with how painstakingly he prepared this surprise. You see real care and attention in the father, and his efforts are reflected by Malka every time. There are also his garnish flourishes, his coy little shrugs, and even the little responses like "Malka laughed" which build the steam until the tablecloth is pulled aside. It was a joy reading through this entry again on knowing the approaching surprise and catching all of the dad's contained excitement.

Suggestion: Be careful with how much ham you put on your description sandwich; reading the lines out loud can help you identify descriptive oddities. The first paragraph in particular contains some reiterations, word choices, and adverbs which bloat or confuse the action. What's there currently works, but it's a tongue-twister of a read. Here are some examples below

"...closing his eyes and relishing the flavor quietly before..." = The closing of eyes alongside relishing implies peace, so the 'quietly' adds little. It's 8 words where "quietly relished" would've accomplished the same.
"...as expert paws broke and tugged soft white crab meat from a steaming claw." = Expert paws (what makes them expert?) broke and tugged the meat (so he's breaking the meat and then tugging?) from a steaming claw (oh so he's breaking the claw and tugging the meat out.) Describing instead how he breaks the claw and tugs free the meat would've made for a cleaner read.
"He moved stiffly, but swiftly, brusque with enthusiasm." = Let us see what brusque enthusiasm looks like. Does his rudder knock into table legs? Does he hum an off-tune ditty? Stiffly, swiftly, and brusque respects our imagination, but it's still a halting effort.

Reflection: This entry makes me sad in the best way possible. I'm supremely jealous of Malka and her seaside family. For any newcomer who hasn't read MO3, this - I assume - is a 'what if' continuation for the character Chak Ku'rill, who gets married, sires a daughter, and makes chums with a hedgehog family and a former fox thief. It's nice seeing Chak come out of his shell (HUR HURR HURRRRR) and show his open affection and effort for something he cherishes. It's grand development after a dirty and grim contest, and a happy snapshot of the slavedriver reformed. Gives me hope for humanity if that old salt can transition from whipping innocents to wholesome birthday fun.


Broot

Worked: The food descriptions are spot on in their simplicity. First, Broot himself is a simple fellow so the very no-frills approach goes paw-in-paw with the character, which helps ground the story's tone and what Broot, the character, is all about. Second, the author could've went all in with telling us what's within the "steamed veggies" or the fish's stuffing, or the tarts and cakes, but the simplicity fits the pace. In my mental image the tarts are filled with strawberry and rhubarb preserves, and the steamed veggies are diced turnips and carrots which fit the winter setting. Is everyone else thinking something else? Yep. Does this variance, or the lack of concrete details, detract from the pace and weight of the story? Not a lick. The author gives us what's needed and moves on with the good-time shenanigans of hardbitten Broot learning what Plenty and Sharing means in Redwall.

Suggestion: Show, don't tell. Every one of the following examples is an opportunity for deeper characterization.

"This suited Broot just fine. It was their place as prey to fear the creatures of the wild, their predators. Anything else was, unnatural."
"But there was always that one beast that liked to buck nature."
"There was a bit of sadness to the fox though, knowing full well that no matter how hard he tried, it was just impossible to sample every dish in front of him."

Let's see Broot bark at the woodlanders to establish his natural dominance. Let's experience a visceral reaction, or some damning line, from Broot when the otter sits down. Let's connect with the sadness by watching him try to stuff yet another tart into his crammed maw.

Reflection: My father was famously picky about his eating habits. Not enough napkins? Not comfy with the dining room crowd? Not as many fries on the plate as he thinks there should be? He'd burn the whole place to the ground. My father was also a famous waffle. He'd all these high ideas about what food should be like and how people should act, but if he saw someone he trusted - like his son, or his dog - eating or relaxing in a way he wasn't familiar with? Well, then he'd pull a Broot and sniff a little, inch closer, and then immediately go nuts on the new and exciting thing. I taught him the joys of greek yogurt, which he described as "thick slop for rich dummies." One of many examples, and I like this entry a lot because it brought up memories of my dad heralding Greek yogurt to his machine shop buddies like it was the second coming. Broot isn't completely drinking the Redwall Kool-Aid yet, but he's close!


The Beginnings of Something Larger

Worked: Comparing and contrasting in the immediate is a powerful force in creative writing. The opposing lines in this entry are very clearly defined, both in the narrator telling us how the brothers differ in temperament AND in the table banter. We don't know what the King has in store for these two, but we're certain there's a rich bit of tension coming. Why? Because the author devotes a threefold approach of contrasting how the brothers think, eat, and interact with their King. Erlend has these inward expectations of Becker's capabilities, his own place in the world, and a palpable apprehension over the current company. All of this would mean little to nothing without counter examples of Becker and Thordan's overt natures.

Suggestion: Reading your piece out loud during the editing phase will help avoid odd structural hangups. Let's look at lines like "I trust you two know enjoyed yourselves, did you?" and "Passive and indolent, Erlend was nothing compared to his brother and his fiery heart and his love for his country and many of his other qualities that made him so, so like Thordan himself." They might read perfectly clear in your head, but a stranger doesn't hear your inflection. When reading out loud you will hear how it reads in the literal, which mimics how us strangers will process it, and any missing words or run-on sentences will make themselves clear. I also understand that this is from a larger series, but one-off additions like "Ilsadian soup" and "Niels had chosen not to come..." distract more than they fortify. Again, they make sense to you in your head because you're familiar, but a new reader sees those tags and wonders why they're there.

Reflection: I like a kindly king. Reading this entry made me think about a lot of current popular fantasy, and how King's are scumbags as a rule. This is the beauty of The Redwall Series as a whole. Absolutes do exist in Redwall, and not everything need be a grey mire of complexity. Though I know little of the larger project, Thordan is immediately likable in how he treats his lessers, and how he's accommodating as a - I assume - host. He gives me the same feeling as an Abbot at Redwall talking to a newcomer or stray vermin in his care. I would like to see more of Thordan and what he has in store for the brothers.


Rat Stew

Worked: The love of food shines bright in this entry. I've never been hungry for bean soup in my life until now. The author made me feel this way by having us experience all the different sensory elements alongside Rawfang. We know what the soup looks like when the lid is lifted. We know what it smells like through Rawfang's amateur attempts at food cataloging. We can taste and feel along with him as the bite of hotroot makes him pause and work through the heat. You can even hear the soup as the mole carries it in - sloshed, dribbles, etc. An author need not force in every sensory detail when describing a food / event / whatever. However, this author elevated the experience by organically, and playfully, working in every sense in their descriptive work.

Suggestion: Press a little harder on the editing sweep to help unslog the pace. I do remember that the 300-600 limit was not a hard one, but this entry went over by near 150 words and you can feel it in the reading. As an example - "The contents of the pot were smelling more heavenly by the minute, with scents he couldn't begin to describe. it smelled warm, he would say, with a touch of sharp added to it, and a delicious earthy yet sweet undertone," Consider why the underlined portion is even there - and I'm sure you've an answer, but is it a strong one? There are a lot of fun and clever lines in this entry, and you can tell the author really got into the swing of things. It's tough taking the ax to your babies, but when you've an entry so full of vibrant lines you must provide equal energy in trimming the not-so-needed ones. A rosebush. Very much like pruning the smaller flowers so the larger ones can thrive.

Reflection: Of all the entries this is the only one that makes me hungry. This isn't to say the others do a poor job of presenting their meals. It's more the weight of the food is center stage in this entry. I'm not thinking about relationships (like the first and second) or popular representations of character types (like the third.) I'm hungering for a big earthenware kettle of bubbling beans. It also makes me want to share food. There's no experience more fortifying than cooking a meal with and for someone else. Chopping vegetables in unison, gathering around the bubbling pot, sharing jokes as you set out bowls, and passing pepper or bread as you all dig in. This story took me to that mindset, that place, and I'm grateful for it.


Snakeskin's Delight

Worked: I really really really REALLY love the cultural difference track this author took. The most important line of this story is (after watching all of Snakeskin's gut reactions) when Snap asks "So what d'yew want to eat, eat, eat?" It's after this hinge that a real dialogue begins between two complete cultural and social strangers. You like eggs? Try these eggs. And Snakeskin tries them! It's an utter No Go for Snakeskin, but he tried them all the same. It's important for authors to think about WHY they're writing a certain tale. We're not responsible for teaching the world, or forcing our ethics on everyone, but you should certainly go into a page or project with "I want to explore/illustrate BLANK" in mind. You can tell the author of this story (consciously or not) had a strong idea in mind about being open to oddities and/or learning to enjoy life for what it is - "Eating'sh not about hunger." Said the fat bat, stuffing his own cheeks with beetle eggs. "It'sh about tashte."

Suggestion: Repetition is a powerful tool if used with a purpose, because the human mind latches onto patterns much easier when reading. I'm not pointing out Snap's cute triplicate speaking habit; The issue stems from how beasts are attributed throughout. Near every time the Bat Chief's son, Snap, is pointed out he's described as fat. There's nothing wrong with a fat character, but when it's pointed out so many times a reader expects some form of payoff, or for it to matter in the greater context of the story. Same goes for Snakeskin himself, as he's very consistently described as young - a young vermin, young stoat, etc. Is there a "rite of passage" scene coming? Will Snap develop tummy problems because of his voracious appetite? Something must matter if youth and girth are brought up so frequently! Yet neither of those resolve, and a reader will become expectant and let down at the unfulfilled signaling.

Reflection: Smoked, cinnamon dusted crickets are my favorite insect snack. A farmer down the road from where I lived would dry, season, and package up a bunch to sell alongside his pumpkins and seasonal veggies. I might've been his only customer, as I only tried them on a dare from my friends. I've heard scorpions are mighty tasty if pan broiled with butter and garlic and heady cheese. Anywho, besides thinking about insect chow this entry also makes me realize that my current dietary spread is rather joyless. A strict sugar-reduction diet leaves me with plain yogurt, raw fruits and veg, and simple proteins like eggs and fish. I'm the most fit / thin I've ever been, and my physical health is mighty fine. But is it worth it? Is it worth not watching the string and grease of pizza slice being ripped from the master circle? Hmm..


The Taste of Tales

Worked: So, I had to google manzanita. Wikipedia tells me this berry-sprouting bush is found in the Southwestern United States, and that Native Americans used it for cider. Then I realized sequoia trees and most of the food items mentioned in this entry also come from that region. Coupled with the array of displayed animals we get an immediate sense of the setting and culture replicated. This author does well in integrating area/culturally appropriate research into their work. This entry made me curious and creative works should spark intrigue in a reader. Also, the non-standard choices for species and setting was in service to the tale instead of being the out and out focus of the tale. It'd be fine if the whole entry was "look raccoons heh aren't they silly" but they're set pieces in a larger thread about the importance of context.

Suggestion: The lead is buried. So, choices and conflict drive a reader forward - we want to see characters make and endure calls. Fancy descriptions and different cultures are fine, but without some overt drama there's little reason for a cold reader to continue. This tale's central conflict revolves around Toyon gambling that her traditional oatcakes will spark a connection with the God-Queen. Cool, fine, but we don't learn about the need (the pika tribe's wilted crops) or the gamble (just plain oatcakes with pretty pictures) until more than halfway through the story. All the necessary parts exist in the story, but an outline, or writing yourself a small summation of what the story is about, can help an author keep what's necessary - what should go up asap - close. Beyond this I'd suggest reading the dialog out loud to help catch some dry spells. The pika siblings are official envoys, so Proper Language tm is expected, but it's a bit stiff overall.

Reflection: The first time I read this story I got distracted by too many questions. It's very dense for how sparse the lines are, and I think the author could've drawn back and let things breathe. Why do they follow Charl? Why do the raccoons and rabbits have so much while the pikas go without? Are they all split by species by choice or tradition? Etc, etc. Though, I'm having fun imagining what those answers are, as it seems pretty forgone that Toyon has Charl's interest, so the 'will it work!?' angle is dead. Also a fun fact - did you know avocado is poisonous to a great many animals? And that only jaguars and gators eat them in the wild now? Used to work as a vet tech for an animal hospital (I'll add it to the list) and we saw A LOT of dogs when the avocado craze spread east.

[Vin]

Ah, I'm dreadfully late, aren't I? With these reviews, I'm going to really going be giving my impressions, feelings, etc. and not so much focusing on minor SPAG details unless I feel it's important. Don't want to keep you waiting any longer, so, in no particular order, here's the 411:

Snakeskin's Delight:

You know, I never did specify what kind of food I was looking for, so maybe I shouldn't be surprised. This one really made me laugh. It's obviously a little light, but that comes with the territory of comedic writing. So while we may not find any brooding characters with deep profound thoughts, we don't miss them in the slightest. It's just a humorous situation in which a poor, innocent stoat child is the victim of an unwitting tormentor. Who hasn't been trapped by societal convention before?  God knows I've been in that exact situation dozens of times myself— not with anything so noxious as spider eggs, but definitely with food I'd much rather not be eating— so seeing it play out in words was doubly amusing for me.

Quick comments about grammar and less quick comments about accent:
- Once or twice you reused exact words and phrases fairly close to each other. (e.x. "as the food hit his tastebuds of course"; 2 sentences later, "This was the child in him speaking of course")
- I'm usually good with accents; unfortunately I can't speak on how well you did the bat accent since it's not that familiar to me (was this how they spoke in the books, or your own invention? I can't recall how or if bats ever talked in the books) but it seemed pretty good to me. However, ending every line with the echo seemed a bit overkill? But that's just my untrained eye speaking.
- Snakeskin's accent is not a bad effort, fairly consistent. That being said, I'd have a few notes for you— though the caveat of this is that this comes from my own personal philosophy of accent writing. First, there are a couple times where the accent verges on not quite understandable for a word or so. Take, for instance, "vi'lles" or "roasted 'ole"; a practiced accent reader might get these right away, but it might cause confusion. It's hard to say exactly why this is, which I know isn't much help, but you have to make sure the words match up. In those specific instances, the accent felt a bit off. Part of that might have to do with the second thing: you're using a yew/yore accent, which should be (again, just my own personal philosophy here) a bit thicker than what you've got. You've got a nice light accent, where a yew/yore accent should almost be verging on incomprehensible. "This" should be "dis"; "can" should be "kin"; verbs should be shortened and word order thrown around here and there. If you want to keep it nice and light, consider switching to a ye/yer accent.

And now for the name of the game. As far as the descriptions of food go, this is the one story I wish you had less description. It's also the one story where that is a good thing. Take, for instance, this line: "Snakeskin watched in fascinated horror and revulsion as the fat creature proceeded to slurp up the wriggling white things until his cheeks bulged to twice the size of his head". Gross. Don't like that. But that's the point, so I have to allow it and grudgingly applaud it. I do think it skews a bit heavily to focus on sight. I didn't quite get the full sensory array of a Redwall feast. On one hand, I'm glad because, well, gross. On the other, I think it really would've made this story pop.

Still. That last line, though. Lol.

Broot

Before I start with this one, two things:
1. Every time I read your writing, it gets better. And I could tell you really had fun with this one, like you said. Kudos.
2. "It was their place as prey to fear the creatures of the wild, their predators." The broader philosophical implications about the hierarchy of species that this probably throwaway thought conveys are fascinating, but altogether way too complicated to disseminate in a meaningful way without completely derailing this review and the subsequent ones.

Now, to the story. Like Snakeskin, this is a bit of fun. It's light, it's humorous. Of course a vermin wouldn't think all the food at the abbey is good. But there's always something for everyone, right? I love that you can tell the exact moment Broot goes from doubter to believer. His finger in the side moment is an almost cartoon expression of surprise, and I love it. Fits the scene perfect. I think I would have liked to see a bit more of the woodlander's fear/hesitation as the night went on— maybe it disappears, or maybe you expand on the line about wanting to keep the predator full— just because it seemed so important in the beginning. I do think, as a stylistic point, the constant line breaks throw off the flow a little bit. Some paragraphs that maybe don't need to be cut up are cut up.

I do wish we got a bit more description of the food. What we had was adequate, but since this piece more than any really was about the feast, I think a bit more description could've helped up its game. Like Snakeskin, the full array of senses isn't fully utilized. Also, I think it would've been cool to be described to how Broot sees the food before he tastes it, i.e. maybe kind of gross, versus how he sees it afterward. We had a lot of visuals, but it could have used everything, if that makes sense.

The Seafarer's Feast:

I really adore this. Because, well, it's adorable. The food description is exactly what I was looking for (I won't point to the obvious passage, which was delightful, but instead to this: "the still-warm carapace of her crab"; something about this really made imagining the meal that much better), not just in terms of the feast outlayed but also that same feast being cooked. Where this piece really shines, though, is its simplicity. At it's bare bones, it's just a dad making dinner for his daughter, and it just feels authentic all the way through. The battle axe and apron combo— lol.

I'm sorry I didn't have much more to say here. Maybe it's just sentimentality for ol' Chak. I loved it.

The Beginnings of Something Larger:

And now for the shortest of our entries (I'll refrain from making the obvious aside here). Now, this piece obviously is a bit short on the "grub". However, I'm going to review it taken as it is rather than what I had been expecting.

To start, I'd like to say I have never read Jade TeaLeaf's work, or much of your own because I'd been told to read Jade's stuff first. The only real familiarity I have with these characters is knowing that a character named Thordan exists, and he is rather important in your stories. For me, however, this did not necessarily detract from my enjoyment or even my understanding of the piece. A lot of the backstory may not be provided in any specific sense, but it can definitely be inferred in a vague way— Erlend and Becker quite clearly have something of a history, and Thordan needs them to set their squabbles aside, presumably for the larger good. I really enjoyed the paragraph that describes Erlend and Becker, especially the soup similes; it's a very inventive way to show us exactly who these characters (who, I'll remind you, most of us will be unfamiliar with) are. Also, this: "One would have thought that the otter was a hare clad in a very good disguise." I think anyone familiar with Redwall reading this will get an exact image of Becker eating without a word of actual description. Excellent.

There are a couple of things that are confusing, though. In this dinner, nobody's speaking until the end, and when they do, it's not exactly 100% polite ("You could not have dragged us all the way here just to take part in one of your petty schemes again, right?"). But when you look at the tone of the ending, and the title, it seems to have this optimistic ring that kind of clashes with what actually happens, and what we have already inferred about Erlend and Becker's contentious history. I know this is intended to be a part of your larger story, so maybe there is context that we are missing or more to the scene that isn't here, but it's a little see-sawesque.

The beginning is also a bit confusing in terms of structure. The first time I read it, I thought Erlend was speaking, then the second Becker, and I finally, I think, figured out Thordan said the first line and is the one "narrating" this whole piece from that 3rd person limited POV. All that's really needed to fix this is a "said Thordan" right at the end of the sentence. Don't be afraid, also, to add a bit more description, since you went so far below word count. (For instance, what exactly is Islendian soup?)

Rat Stew:

In honor of this entry, I'll be doing the rest of these reviews in molespeech, burr aye!

...Yeah, no. Right off the bat, though, kudos for even attempting molespeech, more kudos for doing such an excellent job.  "'Aye, zurr, beems.'", like Matra said, needs a t-shirt. It's also worth noting that, overshadowed by the molespeech, is another excellent accent.

Like with Seafarer's, I don't have a whole lot to say about this one other than it was really well done. I loved the unabashed bravura of the nameless little molemaid, that self-professed rarskally choild, and Rawfang's initial hesitation being overpowered by the smell of the soup was excellent. Speaking of smell, I really enjoyed that we had a character that didn't know what food was what, which meant you really had to describe what it was for us to get any image, and I think you did that really well, from him trying to decipher the smells, to trying to make out the chunks of food, to having to deal with the unexpected spice. The story behind it is also sweet. Realistically, I don't think anything other than the sheer enthusiasm of youth could even begin to break down the walls that would inevitably be set up between a vermin and the rest of the abbey. This, like Thordan's feast, seems to be the start of something larger.

One thing I did notice is it is a fair bit longer than the other entries. I didn't put any of them through a word counter, but I'd say there's about a hundred extra words or so in there. If you weren't trying for the 600, no sweat at all. This works. If you were trying for the 600, and even if you weren't just to make things smoother, a couple of descriptors are longer than they have to be. For example: "Then the burn hit him. He coughed, almost spitting out his mouthful at the fire that burned it's way down his throat." The description is good, but we don't need to be told it burns twice, on top of a fire simile. There are a couple instances where similar redundancies or overwroughtness happened.

Taste of Tales

Now, this is interesting because it's not quite Redwall, is it? Lionesses? Skunks? Oh my! Very exciting to delve into a whole new world that is alien and unfamiliar. Now, the thing about writing a piece like this is that you have to really get this new and exciting world to shine. And you do a good job for a lot of it— the pika dialogue really made the title of God-queen feel earned and yet at the same time empty. Toyon is absolutely devoted to her; on the flip side, the brother doesn't quite show the same devotion. It speaks to an interesting divide that, while not being fully explored, adds flavor. Sometimes, though, it feels like pieces are just being added to tell us how the world is, rather than show us. The long list of species in attendance is interesting, but doesn't have the same flavor. The mural in the parcel (can murals go in parcels? I'm not sure, so I won't take any points off or add them) feels more like exposition than anything else.

What I really liked about this story, though, was the contrast of delicious concoctions and humble offerings. Sometimes the most deliciously described morsels aren't the most important. It's a really interesting idea that I loved seeing explored here. "Her shoulders rolled as she knew again the mortal days of hearth-warmed confections, driven foes, and loyal farmhands."; I am reminded of Taran Wanderer, by Lloyd Alexander— and the idea that sometimes the grandest thing is the one that is humble, honest, and hard-working. Also, the implication that the God-queen is now immortal? Fascinating. Another excellent way you subtly hint at the larger world around them.

An aside: Charl sounds like snarl, which is kinda dope, but it also sounds like churl. I'm not so sure a God-queen would want that kind of association. King Drosta, she is not. That might just be a weird thing that's just me.

Final Thoughts:
I really loved how differently each author chose to approach the prompt. While there were some similar points between certain stories, they were all absolutely unique and fun to read in their own little way. I enjoyed them all for completely different reasons, and they all really gave me something to think about with my own writing and how I can do better.

Also. If you want a more in-depth SPAG check, hit me up on the discord. I'll be happy to go through in depth with you.

[Vin]

Matra, thank you for your reviews. I always enjoy reading them, so look forward to doing that when I've got the time. Hopefully we didn't go over too much of the same stuff

[Vizon]

These were my initial reactions to the submissions!

Rat Stew
Probably my favorite, as it's such a pleasure to read. Full of tactile description and well-rounded. I gathered from the title that Rawfang is a rat, but then on my second read I realized the story never actually says he's a rat. And, in fact, he has a fang, which rats do not. But that's more of a technicality. I suppose a rat would call his incisors fangs. I am amused that Rawfang does indeed have a raw fang. I love the history and age of the character woven into the story in spite of its brevity, the accents, the turn from grumpy "get off my lawn" type to "give me more." The insistently invasive molemaid who doesn't take no for an answer and shows no sign of discouragement until the very end (she is so sure the soup will win over the moody old hermit). So much in so little space! Also love the consideration of how the elderly in the world of Redwall would have little choice but to change the kind of food they eat, as there aren't exactly dental clinics. I like that we are led to imagine that Rawfang's tooth troubles started by eating hard tack, which he equates even with soft bread. So much packed into this blurb of an entry, I was more than happy to read and re-read.

Snakeskin's Delight
This is also a favorite of mine, as the author is wonderfully (disgustingly) descriptive, keeps the humor going, and manages to end it with a funny little twist. I also like the "echoing" batspeech, though I'm uncertain if this is original or from the books (I don't recall reading a Redwall book with bats, but I know they exist). If it's original, color me impressed. The "whiskers as strong as steel" line made me pause, as whiskers are really not...anything like steel. Though they can be pretty stiff, I guess. I do take a bit of issue with the stoat's fur "turning green." I understand that the author is trying to convey sickness in a familiar way, but skin turning pale or sickly is very different from fur or hair turning green. A stoat's fur does change colors, but not like this! Still, I get it. I really liked the phrase, "Talon and paw met and shook," and the fancy presentation of various insects – especially the bees. Clever take on the topic given!

Broot
I really enjoyed this one mostly because of the way it ended. There was a great turn from disgusted skeptic to overindulging convert, and the haughtiness of Broot was conveyed well, though not with subtlety, but maybe that's perfect for a beast named "brute." It was funny that both this submission and "Snakeskin's Delight" mentioned snake eggs. Reminds me of the bee coincidence in previous mini contests. There were some great moments of humor – the snake egg comparison being one of them and the flea comment the other.

The Seafarer's Feast
More "slice of life" than any sort of development of character. Slice of life is a bit boring to me, even if it's written well. There should be at least a little conflict. Oh well. Keep that rusty old writing wheel a-turnin', right? Just needs some WD-40. Get it primed. As seen in the previously mentioned entries, one can accomplish more than you might think in 600 words or less!

The Taste of Tales
This one was pretty good. It definitely takes you out of the Redwall world into something more exotic, but that's okay. Interesting. I had a hard time figuring out what was happening at first, and I never quite felt like I understood the world. Perhaps 600 words is too little to properly introduce an entirely different kingdom? I really liked the concept and think it ended well, though the gap between Toyon's words at the end is a bit wide. I definitely had to go back and re-read the first part of the sentence again, when I read the finishing line ha ha. It was a punchy way to end it though, and I do appreciate that this venerated god-queen can appreciate a weighty memory/story/nostalgia as much as any treasure.

The Beginning of Something Larger
Right off I was pretty confused by the Thordan line and the following 2 lines. I did finally figure out who Thordan was (brother and a king). But there is much unresolved, and I wish that something more had happened – like I was pretty sure the soup was poisoned, but then... we never did find out. And I'm not sure why brother #4 was mentioned at all. I see a lot of potential. I think there could have definitely been more food description.

[Matra Hammer]

Thanks to everyone who provided reviews and/or took time for a read. We really appreciate your time and attention.

A big THANK YOU to Vin for putting this on in the first place. Excuses to write are few and far between, and it takes a great deal of effort and courage to moderate a prompt. Your contributions and reviewing insight are very welcome here, and I look forward to the next run.