Contentment.

[ღ I s a b e l l aღ]

Maridi sat on the sturdy branch of a large oak tree, whistling a tune softly. Her longbow she held in her paws, an arrow loosely notched in it. The squirrelmaid was quite contented, after just eating a fine meal of berries, red staining her brown coat to prove it. The little tune she was singing came to an end, and she held up her bow and arrow, tightening it.
Maridi resumed her whistling, scuttling down the tree and continuing towards Redwall.

"I search for the summer o'er fields far and still,
Though seasons may take me wherever they will,
Cross vale and o'er hill as the warm winds blow down,
'Twas there I found autumn gold, russet, and brown.
I wandered the lands 'neath a misty morn sky,
'Til the frost rimed a small icy tear from my eye.
O winter, cold winter turns short days to night,
And dresses the lea in a gown of pure white.
So windswept and sad until yon comes the day,
A pale morn of sunlight melts snowflakes away.
See greenshoots a-pushing to pierce the bare earth,
Bringing fair coloured flowers to herald spring birth.
As spinney and woodland grow leafier each day,
Young birds sing that summer is soon on its way.
I'll find me the glade that my heart recalls best,
In my soft summer dell I will lay down to rest."