Disclaimer: Ne.
A/N: This is going to be a sort of collage-ish bit of collected work about, well, I do not want to give it away, but let's just say that if you look at WRC, TYATO and CA, you realize I write only one species in Redwall, don't you?
*
Set me free. Set us free
I waited, ignoring the petrified silence of the night air. It was a never-ending cycle. I knew that. It could not be any other way. Vermin came, vermin went, we came, we went, too.
It never stopped. It never changed. Embedded as it was in the rounds of the moon and sun, punctuated into the very existence of Mossflower, burned into our souls; hearts; livelihood. Our very tangible forms and created bodies, it lay there, like an ugly scar, never to be removed.
What about our souls, then?
It slept there too, usually dormant in the face of all we went through. It changes with the years, but never drastically. It could not be changed in that manner, even if all of us tried. It could never truly hibernate forever, even with the most evenly tempered of us all.
It affects us all. It is a fire unquenchable. It is a curse, and a lifeline. Our duty.
Sparks of it escaped wherever we went. Inflamed tempers, recklessness, boldness, flippant attitudes and a general sense of either aloofness or a masterful disguise of cheerful, naive foolishness.
It became us. We became it.
Free us from it. Free me from it. It can never be. I can never be. Never. Never ever. They say we are the protectors. They call us brave, honourable and dauntless. They will never know. What daunts us is ourselves. Faced with peril, faced with death. Faced with a prison we never knew existed in the first place. Bound by duty. Bound by fate. Bound by ourselves, never to let what we truly are ever free.
Some of them fear us. Say that we laugh at death. Lies. Lies made by us. Lies we never wanted. We do not laugh at death. Death laughs at us. We kill to live, and yet at the same time, we live to kill.
Our ever ironic existence.
Will they ever open their eyes? Will they ever see the blades that each and every one of us hold as individual blades? Can they not see that each of us is held to their weapon, and all of our arms form one entity: Truth. Honour. Disgrace. Darkness. Death. Duty. Severing us off from the rest of them. From them all. From ourselves. Will they never open their eyes? Will they never see past the facade we are forced to put up, so as not to fall into the black pit of despair and realization? Can they not let accept that we will never be who we really are?
Set me free. Set us free.
Let us out.
Let us go.
Let us leave these shores.
Let us leave Salamandastron.
Let us leave this all behind.
Let us truly be hares.
Or will you all savour your peace, savour it too much to realize the true sacrifice behind it? Each and every one of us would gladly die without resistance under an enemy blade to free any other one of us from this life. Cowardice. We hate it. Yet we love it.
Just let us go.
Set us free.
*
No one can hear you screaming in the dark.
No one can see you cry.
No one can feel you ripping out your heart.
No one can feel you die.
Heart and mind numbing. All encompassing. A life that exists without reason or time. A life that goes every on and on, dying in the evanescence of thought and cultivation of mind. You spend so much wasted time, thinking and pondering on how to go about living, that in the end, you never live at all.
No one can hear you screaming in the dark.
No one can see you cry.
No one can feel you ripping out your heart.
No one can feel you die.
It is the pondering and amazement, then, that leads us, each and every one of us, to discover our gory fates and endings? Our beginnings in blood and our endings in blades, cut, shattered and scattered upon the waves. Our reflections shine in the clear waters: Nothing but shells, hollow houses for something that died the day it was born.
No one can hear you screaming in the dark.
No one can see you cry.
No one can feel you ripping out your heart.
No one can feel you die.
Have any one of us ever truly felt alive? Maybe and no. Those younger, youngest, oblivious and free, untainted yet by the truth that all of us draw away from them. It is death, for death, to death, because of death you live. But they do not know that. Most of the older hares believe they do not have to, either.
No one can hear you screaming in the dark.
No one can see you cry.
No one can feel you ripping out your heart.
No one can feel you die.
In our eternal trinity of honour, life and death, we left out purpose. Purpose was left to wither and die, shriveled and unbecoming, echoes of what we could have been. Helpless to do aught but watch, we live on. But we are already dead.
No one can hear you screaming in the dark.
No one can see you cry.
No one can feel you ripping out your heart.
No one can feel you die.
And somewhere, somehow, on a starry dark night out in the open on a patrol somewhere, some poor young leveret will turn in his or her sleep and dream. They will dream of honour, glory, peace and war. They will think of battles, gore, abbey's and calm. Then they will wonder, in their silent, subconscious thoughts: Why? Why us? Why not some otherbeast, somewhere else, not us? Why are we tied to the doom, forever mere sentinels of the shore? Why can we not be more than this? More than our deaths that were entrusted upon our lives from the beginnings of time?
No one can hear you screaming in the dark.
No one can see you cry.
No one can feel you ripping out your heart.
No one can feel you die.
Then in that black, dormant night, the fire is awoken. And they realize.
No one can hear you screaming in the dark.
No one can see you cry.
No one can feel you ripping out your heart.
No one can feel you die.
In our dark, in our death, in our torture and our shining night. In our lives, in our deaths, in our eyes. In the night. In the dark. In our plane of existance.
No one can hear you screaming in the dark.
No one can see you cry.
No one can feel you ripping out your heart.
No one can feel you die.
They realize. They see. They comprehend. And they do not wish to believe. They will never be young again when they discover.
No one can hear you screaming in the dark.
No one can see you cry.
No one can feel you ripping out your heart.
No one can feel you die.
In our dark, nobeast can hear you scream.
No one can hear you screaming in the dark.
No one can see you cry.
No one can feel you ripping out your heart.
No one can feel you die.
In our dark, nobeast can see you cry.
No one can hear you screaming in the dark.
No one can see you cry.
No one can feel you ripping out your heart.
No one can feel you die.
In our dark, nobeast can feel you hurt.
No one can hear you screaming in the dark.
No one can see you cry.
No one can feel you ripping out your heart.
No one can feel you die.
In our dark, nobeast can hear you scream.
No one can hear you screaming in the dark.
No one can see you cry.
No one can feel you ripping out your heart.
No one can feel you die.
In our dark, nobeast can touch your soul.
No one can hear you screaming in the dark.
No one can see you cry.
No one can feel you ripping out your heart.
No one can feel you die.
In our dark, nobeast can tell your lies.
No one can hear you screaming in the dark.
No one can see you cry.
No one can feel you ripping out your heart.
No one can feel you die.
In our dark, nobeast taste your tears.
No one can hear you screaming in the dark.
No one can see you cry.
No one can feel you ripping out your heart.
No one can feel you die.
In our dark, nobeast can smell you fear.
No one can hear you screaming in the dark.
No one can see you cry.
No one can feel you ripping out your heart.
No one can feel you die.
In our dark...
Nobeast will care you died.