This year my Inktober was dedicated to the book Sable Quean from the Redwall series, written by Brian Jaques. The words, which didn't fit the book at all, you can find below in a grid.
The Sable Quean held up her paw, the one that had patted Kodra's neck. Lying flat upon it was her small dagger tipped with the poisonous adder venom.
On that shimmering summer noon, a traveller crossing the western plain toward Redwall might have viewed it as a haven of serenity. With Mossflower Wood’s verdant foliage as a backdrop, the ancient sandstone Abbey towered over its surroundings. The Belltower stood silent, awaiting eventide chimes as the sloping roofs and timeworn buttresses, old dormitory windows and long, stained-glass panels reflected the sun’s rays. Below, flower-bordered lawns and gardens spread from the huge main building, meandering round orchard and Abbey pool to the outer wall. Four high battlemented ramparts protected Redwall and its creatures. At the western threshold, stout oaken gates opened onto the path and ditch fronting the flatlands. Beyond those gates, the vision of tranquillity ground to a halt .
Below on the riverbank, two rats and a burly stoat squatted around the fire, roasting roots and wild turnips on sharpened sticks.
Her words seemed to break the spell. The younger of the shrews broke out sobbing.
Tugging gently on the halter about their necks, Zwilt drew the young ones closer. They were dagged and blindfolded; both looked exausted.
The young stoat could see a single star through the small open window.
Abbess Marjoram hovered about the old squirrel anxiously. "Please be careful with the book. It's so old, and very precious".
Beneath a flowing cloak of dull purple, he wore a snakeskin belt with a broadsword thrust through it.
Thwip was large and fat; he flourished a long whip, making it crack. Binta leaned on her yew cane, favouring a limp.
Skipper guarded the open north wall wickergate with good-natured banter for the press of Redwallers who had gathered there.
Down in the depths of the escape tunnel, two lanterns reflected weakly as they flickered over the dark water, which stretched away as far as the eye could see.
With several mighty shoves, Axtel managed to ram the door at an angle into its former frame.
He gave them a lumpy smile, winking one swollen eyelid as he supped up warm vegetable soup through a hollow reed.
Smoke wreathed up. A stench of scorched fur and flesh permeated the air.
Oh, don't run off to sea, my son,
You'll break your mother's heart.
Taking the beaker, she drained it to the last drop.
Slowly at first, the eel surfaced, its smooth snout poking out of the water. It was a huge female yel ow eel, with eyes like milk-hued pebbles. Seeking the warmth of the lantern’s crystal glass, it nosed up against it. Midda held the lantern steady as she studied the creature. A feathery dorsal fin rippled down its muddy olive-hued back. As it rose further, the underside was exposed in the lantern light, creamy yel owish, the colour of old ivory.
Marjoram chuckled. “Is that little Miss Tassy under al that sawdust and woodchips?”
The tiny squirrelmaid piped up, “I been very, very bizzy wivva natchet, chop chop!”
Buckler felt the prickle of excitement running through him.
As his vision cleared, Buckler saw what she meant. He was facing six vermin archers with shafts drawn ful-stretch on their curving bows.
The badgermaid was thunderstruck. “How did you know?”
He ruled by strength and his skil with the double-headed battleaxe—he was a real barbarian fighter.
“Here now, me darlin’s, there’s a few slices of me grandest plum cake. That’l keep ye goin’ ’til ye get back home. I’l see ye agin when I comes to yore fine Abbey t’live!”
Here's a compillation on themes Chicken, Whale, Clock and Expensive.
