Kristen

“The dormouse was a jolly plump old fellow, clad in a rust-colored jerkin, his white beard curled and trimmed neatly. An infant mole, who could not sleep because of the onset of spring, sat beside him on a mossy beechlog in the orchard. Together they shared an early breakfast of oatcakes, hot from the kitchens, and two of last autumn’s russet apples. Dawn was touching the earth with its rosy paws, promising sunny spring days as a compensation for the long winter Redwall Abbey had endured. Soft white clouds with golden underbellies hung on the still air, dewdrops glistened on new green grass, budding narcissus and snowdrop awaited the coming of the sun-warmed day. The dormouse nodded sagely. “Soon be pickin’ a Nameday for this good season, aye, soon.” The small mole chewed slowly at his oatcake, wrinkling a black button snout as he gazed up at the elder. “You’m said you’m tell oi a story, zurr.”
― Brian Jacques, Salamandastron

“cul-de-sac!”
― Brian Jacques, Redwall

“Salad-anna-sconn, lookit yurr ’ee come.”
― Brian Jacques, Mossflower

“Yurr bee’s moi ’eart, an’ yurr bee’s moi paw. Wellcum, an’ henter ee thru this door. Friends of’n ee bee’s friends o’ moine, us’ll all ’ave ee gurt ole toime!”
― Brian Jacques, Rakkety Tam