The healers at Redwall did what they could. It didn’t matter. Jorün’s wounds were too great and he succumbed, never having opened his eyes again after passing out on the road to the Abbey.
Anders was heartbroken. He cried for the first time since they had been enslaved together so many years ago, over the body of his oldest and dearest friend, clutching the badger’s massive hands as he did. He stayed with the body for days, until Pelagios arrived with a small retinue, having received a message from the Redwallers.
Anders thanked the healers as they departed. His sadness had turned to fury now, and though he knew in his heart the good beasts of the Abbey were not at fault, he couldn’t help the resentment he felt building towards them for not being able to save his friend. He knew where the anger would need to be redirected.
Upon returning to the fortress, Jorün’s body was cleaned, anointed and dressed in his finest clothes, then laid out upon the funeral pyre. The heavy branch he had used for a club so many years ago was placed in his hands across his chest, his mace at his feet, and a silver coin from the fortress’s mint over his heart.
Calthun, now on the cusp of adolescence, stood silently, his legs shaking and tears in the corners of his eyes as he and Anders both were given a torch, and they lit the pyre together. The young badger held his brother’s helmet tightly as he watched the flames rise, struggling not to cry and only barely succeeding not to fully break down sobbing. Anders put a reassuring paw on his shoulder and pulled him close.
They watched until the pyre was nothing but ash, and Ander’s sifted the silver coin from the embers, it’s faces warped by the heat. He placed it on his palm and let the metal singe the flesh, leaving a brand in the rough shape of a badger’s head encircled on his palm.
Anders would carry Calthun to bed, but he had cried all he would. It was time to redirect his anger at those responsible for his loss.

Another excellent piece by  Alexjohnson93