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Zusatztext Brian Jacques lives in Liverpool! England. David Elliot lives in New Zealand. Informationen zum Autor Brian Jacques was both a master storyteller and a jack-of-all-trades. He lived the life of a sailor, actor, stand-up comedian, radio host, bobby, even a bus driver. He was the recipient of an honorary doctorate in literature from the University of Liverpool and a New York Times bestselling author of more than twenty-five books for younger readers, including the wildly popular Redwall series. Dr. Jacques was a lifelong resident of Liverpool, England. Klappentext The otters of Green Isle have long been enslaved to the Wildcat Riggu Felis. They work and wait for the day their savior will arrive?the prophesized High Rhulain, who will lead them in battle and a return to glory. Meanwhile, young Tiria Wildlough, an ottermaid at Redwall Abbey, pines for her chance to learn the ways of the warrior, much against the wishes of her father. So when an injured osprey arrives at the Abbey, seeking help for its wounds and carrying tales of an embattled clan of otters, young Tiria knows what she must do. Chapter 2 In the woodlands south of Redwall Abbey, other young creatures were abroad that day: a small gang of water rats, eight in all, headed by one Groffgut. Leaving the larger vermin bands, they had wandered up country, seeking any opportunity to plunder, kill or cause terror. This was done in the hope of establishing themselves as a feared vermin band. Thus far they had made patchy progress, but Groffgut’s confidence was growing daily. Warm noontide sun slanted through the trees onto a quiet streambank. Some of the rats lay about by the shallows, fishing the limpid waters, whilst others foraged for nests with eggs in. Groffgut disdained such menial tasks, letting the others do all the chores. By virtue of his size, strength and quick temper, he was the chief. Stretched flat out, he gazed over the bump of his paunchy gut, idly watching the blue-grey campfire smoke blending amid sun shafts. One of his minions, Hangpaw, limped up from the shallows, displaying a small perch dangling from a line. “Yeherr, Chief, lookit, I gorra fish!” Groffgut was not impressed. “Yarr, s’only a likkle ’un. Stick it onna fire, an’ go an’ catcher some big ’uns.” An excited whoop rang out from farther up the bank. “Yaggoo! Cumm an’ see dis, mates, I gorra h’eagle!” Groffgut heaved his bulk up irately. “Wot’s dat Frogeye shoutin’ about now?” Plugtail, another of the gang, came scurrying up. “Chief, Chief, Frogeye’s catchered a h’eagle!” Groffgut shoved him to one side. The rest followed him as he went to investigate, grumbling all the way. “Huh, shupid! Rats don’t catcher h’eagles, don’t dat ijjit know? It’s h’eagles wot catchers rats!” None of the gang had ever seen an eagle before, but there was no doubt that Frogeye had captured a big, fierce bird. It looked a lot like they imagined an eagle should look. Frogeye’s lazy eye, the one that normally remained lidded over, was blinking up and down, exposing the milky-hued pupil, as the rat danced around, prodding and tripping his find with a crude, homemade spear. The wounded and exhausted bird stumbled forward, desperately trying to get at the life-sustaining streamwater. Frogeye slammed his spearbutt into its body, toppling it backward, tail over crest. He laughed callously. “Yeeheehe! See, I told ya, didden’t I? I catched a real live h’eagle all by meself!” Groffgut drew his sword, which was in reality a broken scythe blade with a rope handle. Approaching the big bird, he stood on one of its half-spread wings, pinning the other with his blade as he inspected it. Had the bird not been injured or fatigued, any rat would have rushed for cover at the sight of it. Groffgut saw clearly that it was unable to resist. The bird’s savage golden eyes were clouded and flicke...
