He wakes... elsewhere.

No matter how far you get from the Thunderpath, there's still a faint smell, not quite like it but more like it than anything else. Like the Twolegs have tainted everything, even the places they've never been.

This place doesn't smell like that. It smells like fresh moss, the day after a rainfall. Soft, peaty earth. The thousand scents, living and dead and new, that make up the smell of a forest.

There's no monsters growling in the distance, either.

Hm.

He considers hating this, for the briefest flash, but a night's rest was enough to break his inertia and he really shouldn't let that start up again.

Letting the overwhelming 'Hm.' build very much momentum would also be an incorrect course of (in)action.  He stands up and starts sniffing around the general area, with particular attention to any scents of cats, prey, or non-cat predators.

Cats: no, none nearby.

Prey: yes. There's scent trails ranging this way and that, but... mostly that way. 

Predators: again, none nearby.

Also... these are some weirdly short trees and bushes. 

Interesting.  This is all very interesting.  There is something wrong with his paws - no, not wrong, they still hold him up just fine; there is something different about his paws and that's interesting too.

He checks very thoroughly that there are very definitely no other cats around and then stalks off in the direction with the most prey.

As he follows the trail, more prey-smells accumulate. There isn't as much spoor as he might expect of a path frequented by this many mice and squirrels, and - something's off about the tracks, too. The earth isn't wet enough for there to be pawprints proper, but the plants are bent and broken in a way he's not given to expect from prey. 

And still no scent of Twolegs?  At all?  Hm.

He continues, cautiously.

The thick treeline ends abruptly, and he beholds... something.

There are walls, built of massive slabs of rosy stone, and a gate of thick oak wood, which stands open. Beyond it lies a Twolegplace, if a Twolegplace were made of that same stone rather than wood and plaster and the other things houses are made of.

It's so tall.

Also, there's... something... else. It smells like a mouse. It stands like a Twoleg. It's wearing a blue robe, with a... metal thing... at its waist. It's currently gathering berries from the bushes by the walls and putting them into a wicker basket.

. . . The Dark Forest is not real.  Even if it was, descriptions don't mention it being nice even superficially - it's not even dark here - and if it did, short trees and tall Twoleg nests would not be the way it was strange.  And the mice would be many times his size, probably, not just a tail-length (that is still a huge mouse) (what do the cats here use instead of mouse-lengths; do they just say however many kitsteps or what portion of a pawstep something is?), or there wouldn't be any prey at all.  And even if all that were true he isn't dead; what could possibly have killed him without waking him up.  And even if he were dead he's done nothing to merit getting sent to the Dark Forest, which continues to not be real in the first place, so there's absolutely no chance that that is where this is.

Tigerclaw watches the Twolegmouse from behind the treeline while he contemplates this, and keeps doing so at least until it starts doing something else.

The Twolegmouse continues berrygathering!

Then the wind turns, and it sniffs the air, and its tail twitches.

"Hello?" it asks, in... fully comprehensible Twolegspeak?

"Greetings," he returns, and emerges slowly from the forest.  He corrects his gait a few times to be less threatening and as unhuntinglike as he can make it.

The Twolegmouse chuckles, though he stays in a ready posture. "Greetings indeed, my friend! Are you a traveler seeking shelter? A pilgrim here to see the Abbey? Our gates are open to any goodbeast who'll abide by our laws."

"I have come here from very far away but not with any particular purpose."

Twolegmouse nods peaceably. "What are you called then, traveler? I'm Jojo, the present Warrior of Redwall Abbey."

"Tigerclaw.  Of no Clan."

Another nod. "Redwall Abbey welcomes you, Tigerclaw. Do you intend to stay for tonight's feast? Most of our fare is vegetarian, but there'll be a few great fish on the table."

"I haven't decided."

Jojo returns to his berry-picking. "There's no rush, of course. Can I answer any questions for you? I fear I've been interrogating you."

"Does Redwall Abbey have more than one type of warrior?"

Headshake. "We're peaceful folk. One of us takes up the mantle so the rest don't have to - though in times of great need, we can come together and fight as one."

"I see.  What do the rest of you do?"

"Some tend to the fields. Others fish, or gather forest herbs, or brew ale and wine. We've got one Abbot or Abbess, who leads us, a few scribes who keep the library and record our histories, a good pawful of cooks... Everyone pitches in to keep this place running, one way or another."

So they still have patrols and hunters, and RiverClannish preferences which makes sense if the ThunderClan-typical prey can all talk, and multiple medicine cats (. . . or mice) which makes sense if their camp is this big, and a leader but no deputy which seems bad, and - elders?  Who take care of a certain place instead of being fully retired but still tell stories to kits.

"What do the cooks here do?"

"They prepare the food, taking it from raw ingredients to a full meal. Do your people mostly eat their food raw?"

"Generally."

"Well, I personally don't... care as much about food as some people..." (clearly this is a slight sore point) "...but I know many people say that well cooked food is one of the great pleasures of life."

"People," (what a word) "do say a lot of things."

"They do, don't they," Jojo says ruefully. "-at any rate, I should bring in these berries, but it was good to meet you, Tigerclaw. Ah - and if you wander through Mossflower Wood today, I'd advise you keep away from the northernmost reaches. There's, erm, a vermin horde approaching, headed east to west, and they'll blow past us by their current heading but we'd rather not tempt fate."

"Thank you, I'll take that under advisement.  Which directions are those?"

"Ah - the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. North is the direction you face when you stand with east at your right paw and west at your left. South is away from north."

"I see.  And which direction did the sun rise from today."

Jojo points away from the gates.

"Thank you.  How many vermin make a horde?"

Jojo hums. "The squirrels are still scouting out the exact numbers, you understand - but, if not in the thousands, several hundred at least. Where the Abbey supports a population of five hundred and some comfortably - though we've allies who don't traditionally live in the structure itself, and when those alliances are called in it does become a bit cramped. As indeed it is now."

Tigerclaw makes sense of very little of that but there's no need for this to be externally apparent.  "It's an impressive camp."

"When called upon for it," Jojo agrees. "Usually it's just... home."

Tigerclaw nods.

"What code do those in Redwall Abbey follow?"

"The most important is not to hurt another without immediate cause - defend yourself as you must, or defend others, but if there's no one who'll be in danger if you don't act now, the dispute's to be settled by a neutral party. No feuding, no fighting, no bullying. The other one that really matters is that we don't take what isn't freely given, but accordingly we shouldn't hoard what we have. The second half of that is a softer rule than the first, but both matter." He scratches the back of his head. "And, you know, based on the history of what's gotten people in trouble there's a thousand little rules about - when to stop singing after lights-out, or what is and isn't acceptable to say at the supper table. But if you tread someone's tail with one of those, it's enough to just apologize and remember not to do it again. The other two are the ones that keep everyone safe."

"Sensible.  I'll come with you, and follow those."

"-oh! Excellent, we'll be glad to have you. Safer together, you know."

Jojo leads the way through the gates, carrying his basket of berries and whistling a little tune.

Well, the whistling, strange as it is, at least gives him a bit of cover for walking as quietly as he's used to.  While he's in no danger of falling prey to his instincts and accidentally hunting this strange, very large, Twoleggish mouse . . . others' perception of him is more in question.  He scuffs a paw or a tail on the ground every once in a while just in case.

Jojo continues providing flak whistling until they begin passing by other assorted rodents (of varying size, but mostly only slightly taller than Jojo), at which point he switches to chatting with them. Tigerclaw, he introduces as "Tigerclaw, a guest at least for now". Most of the rodents accept this.

An exception to both the "rodents" and "acceptance" rules presents herself when he passes by a cluster of child-rodents, and their caretaker, a badger at least a (typical) mouselength taller than Tigerclaw and several mouselengths broader, who stands from her seat on a stone bench and lumbers over to glare at him, one eye milky and another one like flint.

"Who's your friend, little one?"

"This is Tigerclaw, Mother-" Jojo begins.

She pats his head, not taking her eyes off the cat. "Think I'd like to hear him introduce himself."

Tigerclaw bows his head to her.  "Tigerclaw, a guest.  At least for now."

She rumbles with laughter. "So I hear. My eyes may be going, but not my ears... Tigerclaw. What a name. A warrior's name, no? Perhaps we're lucky to have you now."

"Perhaps."  His tail swishes.  "A warrior's name, yes.  And what's yours?"

"Jenhora Wolfharrier. I got that second part for killing a wolf. It took my eye, but I took its skull."

She picks up a vole child tugging insistently on her habit, who shouts joyously as she tosses him in the air. She lowers her voice.

"I haven't been a warrior in a long time, though. I certainly couldn't kill another wolf. But if somebeast came here with evil intent, spying or assassination or anything like that - I'd say he should find some way to kill me before he started it. Because I can kill anything less."

Vole back on ground, pat pat. Voice back to normal volume. "Anyway. Hope you like it here. We cook a damn good fish."

Tigerclaw flashes through several emotions.  One, it's very strange to see rodent young doing cute little kitlike things, or at least to see it and have reason to care about it as if they were cats.  Two, rage, despair - why is this happening again - but these . . . beasts . . . don't know him, they don't have any reason to trust him, unlike his own Clan; there isn't much grounding for blaming them for being suspicious.  And what's a wolf.  He resents not knowing this fraction of the words in this strange way of talking more than he might resent not being able to understand or speak it at all.

Wolfharrier speaks of wolves as if they're impressive, and he's inclined to believe her.  Especially if killing one warranted a name change.  After the initial flash of defensiveness, he finds he respects her quite a bit.  She's acting to protect her Clan; he wouldn't do anything less.  (If he had a Clan worthy of his dedication.)

"Thank you for your generosity.  I won't forget it."

His reaction, in turn, seems to raise him in her estimation. She nods to him and hauls herself back over to the bench.

Jojo rubs the back of his own head nervously. "...Jenhora can be a bit. Intense. But she means well."

"I can see that."

"It does seem like you held your own. Anyway, I think the room by the West Tower stair is open, and it's sized for hares so it should fit you pretty well, and I can show you around while we head in..."

Jojo does that. Here's the gardens, which are close to harvest; here's the pond, which Jojo mentions is fed by an underground river which keeps it stocked with fish. Here's the library, full of the sounds of rustling paper and child-rodents being told stories. Here are the cellars, stocked with barrels of berry-juice in various stages of fermentation and wrapped cheeses.

"We'll probably avoid the kitchens and the Great Hall for now," Jojo says. "They're buzzing with preparation for the feast, and I fear we'd get in the way."