Disclaimer: Everything related to Redwall belongs to Brian Jacques. The words belong to me. And, as always, things are never what they seem.
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I built these walls with my hands.
They rise high into spires and towers, broken with windows and doors and balconies. I remember the east tower. My crony Woodwill fell to his death making that tower. It's a strong one. The stone shines red in the sunrise. Yes, Woodwill died for these walls, and so will I.
They came in promising peace to Mosflower. So they fought and won freedom for the land, and as free beasts we built them these walls of peace and strength to stand for the ages. Close to the River Moss, a fine flat place. We cleared trees and rubble; we drew stones from the quarry; we mixed mortar and heaved blocks to their places on strong, willing backs. Now the walls rise high, nearly finished.
Now the walls have killed me too.
There's danger in building solid towers and thick walls. The stone that crushes my back can prove that; the stone pinning my demolished body to the cool damp ground will be a fierce addition to impermeable walls. Woodwill gave his life for these walls, and so have I.
But these walls will stand forever. They stand for unity of Mossflower, they stand for conquered foes, they stand for prosperity. These walls will stand for my now-fatherless children in times of terror and of need. They will stand as a testament of our battle for freedom, and they will stand as a memorial to me.
Perhaps they will bury me in these walls. Then my ghost can walk its passages, serving its residents and protecting its secrets as long as they stand. And I know, through the pain of knowing that soon the pain will be gone, that these walls will last forever, rising to the sky, rising to the sun, and that as my children rise to become grownbeasts, they will be proud to say that their Papa died at these walls, and for all they represent. They will be refuge and representation. They will live because I died.
The wildcats who unified Mossflower say that they will call the castle Kotir. It's a good name for a grave.
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I built these walls with my hands.
They rise high into spires and towers, broken with windows and doors and balconies. I remember the east tower. My crony Woodwill fell to his death making that tower. It's a strong one. The stone shines red in the sunrise. Yes, Woodwill died for these walls, and so will I.
They came in promising peace to Mosflower. So they fought and won freedom for the land, and as free beasts we built them these walls of peace and strength to stand for the ages. Close to the River Moss, a fine flat place. We cleared trees and rubble; we drew stones from the quarry; we mixed mortar and heaved blocks to their places on strong, willing backs. Now the walls rise high, nearly finished.
Now the walls have killed me too.
There's danger in building solid towers and thick walls. The stone that crushes my back can prove that; the stone pinning my demolished body to the cool damp ground will be a fierce addition to impermeable walls. Woodwill gave his life for these walls, and so have I.
But these walls will stand forever. They stand for unity of Mossflower, they stand for conquered foes, they stand for prosperity. These walls will stand for my now-fatherless children in times of terror and of need. They will stand as a testament of our battle for freedom, and they will stand as a memorial to me.
Perhaps they will bury me in these walls. Then my ghost can walk its passages, serving its residents and protecting its secrets as long as they stand. And I know, through the pain of knowing that soon the pain will be gone, that these walls will last forever, rising to the sky, rising to the sun, and that as my children rise to become grownbeasts, they will be proud to say that their Papa died at these walls, and for all they represent. They will be refuge and representation. They will live because I died.
The wildcats who unified Mossflower say that they will call the castle Kotir. It's a good name for a grave.