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fandomweekly2019-05-12 11:39 pm
autobotscoutriella) wrote in fandomweekly2019-05-12 11:39 pm
Entry tags:
[#013] Southern Skies (Redwall)
Theme Prompt: 013 - Clear Skies
Title: Southern Skies
Fandom: Redwall (set post-Martin the Warrior)
Rating/Warnings: G / Survivor's guilt
Bonus: No
Word Count: 731
Summary: After the tragedy that ends the battle of Marshank, Martin the Warrior has a decision to make.
Thanks very much for the extension!
Mist hung over red and gold leaves like a shroud, blanketing the autumn forest in silent hazy grey and filtering the sunlight down to faint shafts of gold that never quite reached the forest floor. It was a cool morning, but winter's chill had yet to fully set in, and the trees still clung to most of their leaves; the dusty path could still be clearly seen weaving through the wood.
Martin knelt at the base of an old oak tree and watched the mist swirl, heedless of the tears coursing down his face and leaving tiny splashes in the dust, one paw resting as always on the hilt of his father's sword.
The last time he had come this way, it had been full summer, hot and bright and green. He had not been alone then. He had been with his friends, making camp for the night, laughing and talking of Noonvale and their journey, making plans for their next path now that they were free. They had only just met Pallum then, a new yet already faithful friend. Grumm had already been planning their meals, concerned that his friends would not have enough food. And Rose...
Rose.
The warrior lowered his face into his paws and wept.
When the hurt had eased enough for him to look up at the world around him again, the mist had begun to burn away, revealing golden treetops and hints of the sky far above.
Martin looked north, toward Polleekin's odd little treehouse, and the path to Noonvale. Dark clouds hung over the woods, warning of storms to come; autumn was fully arrived now, and with it, drizzling rain that would eventually turn to snow. No doubt the creatures of Noonvale would be settling in for the winter; cutting firewood, ensuring that every roof was solid and every wall built up to keep out the cold, storing food and gathering the last of the harvest. It would be a warm, comfortable, safe place to spend the winter.
He could never go there again.
Something inside of the warrior had known that all along. Since the moment he watched Rose fall to the ground at Marshank, he had known that he could never return to Noonvale, where she would never sing again, never listen to another story, never welcome another stranger at terrible cost.
He could not stay with Polleekin, either. The old mole had been more than kind and generous, and no doubt would welcome guests for as long as they chose to stay, but her life was not for him.
He was a warrior, and with his path came suffering and destruction and death. So it had been with his father, and so it would be with him. Too many lives had already been lost. Windred, his grandmother, the only mother he had known. Felldoh, who had walked into battle knowing how it would end for him. Hillgorse, the slave who had sacrificed his own life to save his friends. Every creature who had fallen in the final battle to free the shores of Badrang's cruelty forever.
Rose.
Rose.
There was no other choice for him. He could not, in good conscience, bring such suffering and loss to Noonvale, or to Polleekin, or to any other of his friends.
Martin turned to the south.
The skies in the south were a cold crisp blue, sunlight beaming down over the hills and the woodlands that lay beyond them. South would take him far from Marshank, from Noonvale, and from any path that might unwittingly lead him back to either place. South, where the skies were still clear and where he could be alone with his memories.
His choice was clear.
But he couldn't do it without saying goodbye. Grumm and Pallum and Rowanoak and Polleekin had cared for him for half of a season. He would tell them he was leaving, before he took his sword and his grief south and left them behind.
Polleekin had asked him for firewood. Martin picked up his sword and set off for the dead tree he had been cutting branches from for the past week. He would bring her enough to last a few weeks, before he left. It was the least he could do to bring one good thing to his friends, after costing them so much.
Then he would follow the clear skies south.
Title: Southern Skies
Fandom: Redwall (set post-Martin the Warrior)
Rating/Warnings: G / Survivor's guilt
Bonus: No
Word Count: 731
Summary: After the tragedy that ends the battle of Marshank, Martin the Warrior has a decision to make.
Thanks very much for the extension!
Mist hung over red and gold leaves like a shroud, blanketing the autumn forest in silent hazy grey and filtering the sunlight down to faint shafts of gold that never quite reached the forest floor. It was a cool morning, but winter's chill had yet to fully set in, and the trees still clung to most of their leaves; the dusty path could still be clearly seen weaving through the wood.
Martin knelt at the base of an old oak tree and watched the mist swirl, heedless of the tears coursing down his face and leaving tiny splashes in the dust, one paw resting as always on the hilt of his father's sword.
The last time he had come this way, it had been full summer, hot and bright and green. He had not been alone then. He had been with his friends, making camp for the night, laughing and talking of Noonvale and their journey, making plans for their next path now that they were free. They had only just met Pallum then, a new yet already faithful friend. Grumm had already been planning their meals, concerned that his friends would not have enough food. And Rose...
Rose.
The warrior lowered his face into his paws and wept.
When the hurt had eased enough for him to look up at the world around him again, the mist had begun to burn away, revealing golden treetops and hints of the sky far above.
Martin looked north, toward Polleekin's odd little treehouse, and the path to Noonvale. Dark clouds hung over the woods, warning of storms to come; autumn was fully arrived now, and with it, drizzling rain that would eventually turn to snow. No doubt the creatures of Noonvale would be settling in for the winter; cutting firewood, ensuring that every roof was solid and every wall built up to keep out the cold, storing food and gathering the last of the harvest. It would be a warm, comfortable, safe place to spend the winter.
He could never go there again.
Something inside of the warrior had known that all along. Since the moment he watched Rose fall to the ground at Marshank, he had known that he could never return to Noonvale, where she would never sing again, never listen to another story, never welcome another stranger at terrible cost.
He could not stay with Polleekin, either. The old mole had been more than kind and generous, and no doubt would welcome guests for as long as they chose to stay, but her life was not for him.
He was a warrior, and with his path came suffering and destruction and death. So it had been with his father, and so it would be with him. Too many lives had already been lost. Windred, his grandmother, the only mother he had known. Felldoh, who had walked into battle knowing how it would end for him. Hillgorse, the slave who had sacrificed his own life to save his friends. Every creature who had fallen in the final battle to free the shores of Badrang's cruelty forever.
Rose.
Rose.
There was no other choice for him. He could not, in good conscience, bring such suffering and loss to Noonvale, or to Polleekin, or to any other of his friends.
Martin turned to the south.
The skies in the south were a cold crisp blue, sunlight beaming down over the hills and the woodlands that lay beyond them. South would take him far from Marshank, from Noonvale, and from any path that might unwittingly lead him back to either place. South, where the skies were still clear and where he could be alone with his memories.
His choice was clear.
But he couldn't do it without saying goodbye. Grumm and Pallum and Rowanoak and Polleekin had cared for him for half of a season. He would tell them he was leaving, before he took his sword and his grief south and left them behind.
Polleekin had asked him for firewood. Martin picked up his sword and set off for the dead tree he had been cutting branches from for the past week. He would bring her enough to last a few weeks, before he left. It was the least he could do to bring one good thing to his friends, after costing them so much.
Then he would follow the clear skies south.
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So sad but lovely.
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