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fandomweekly2020-03-30 08:16 pm
autobotscoutriella) wrote in fandomweekly2020-03-30 08:16 pm
Entry tags:
[#046] The Calm After The Storm (Redwall)
Theme Prompt: 046 - Horizons
Title: The Calm After The Storm
Fandom: Redwall (pre-Martin the Warrior, Legend of Luke-era)
Rating/Warnings: PG / focuses on grief
Bonus: No
Word Count: 652
Summary: In the aftermath of his wife's death, Luke the Warrior turns his gaze to the horizon beyond the sea.
Cold wind swept across the beach, stirring the sand into small whirls and whipping dark gray-green waves into small white peaks that crashed against the rocks in a steady rhythm. Ominous clouds swirled overhead, the only remnants of the storm that had torn across the shoreline throughout the night, and fog obscured the distant line where the clouds seemed to meet the swells on the horizon. It was beautiful, in the way the far northern coast often was; cold, harsh, and stark, but with elegance sweeping through each curling, breaking wave and a song all its own singing through the rocks in each gust of wind.
Luke the Warrior was blind to all of it, gaze fixed on the faint hint of darkness in the distant fog that marked the horizon. The red ship was long gone, far beyond his reach from the moment it set sail, but in his mind’s eye he could still see it vanishing into the distance. He could not have said how long he had been watching the horizon. Hours? Days? Months?
Sayna would have chided him for his single-minded focus. She had never had much patience for silent brooding, and would have drawn him out of it with a few words about the beauty only she seemed to be able to see in the wind and rocks and waves, or a reminder that she and Martin and Windred were waiting on him for dinner, or—
He could almost hear her voice, the laughter underpinning the words. The sea isn’t going anywhere, Warrior, she would have said. But your dinner might, if you don’t come inside. Our son is going to grow up to have quite the appetite.
The sea was still there, and she was gone.
It wasn’t a fair trade.
Something moved in the fog. Luke’s entire body tensed and his eyes narrowed as he focused on the shadow, trying to make out its shape and any color it might have had. His paw closed around the hilt of his ancient sword, half dreading and half hoping that it would resolve into the red ship.
Another gust of wind swept across the beach, stirring the clouds and fog and waves, and the shape faded into mist and shadow. It was only a mirage, a trick of water vapor and the setting sun.
Luke found his teeth grinding together in rage and frustration—and grief, too, as much as he preferred the other two options.
The red ship would not be coming back. Neither would Sayna.
He could only fix one of those two things. No one could bring back his wife. No one could undo what the red ship had done that day, no matter how strong or brave or wise they were. A warrior’s sword and long-honed battle instincts were helpless against such a loss.
But he could avenge it. The red ship might never return to the northern shores, but so long as Vilu Daskar lived and it sailed the open seas, it could be found, and it could be destroyed.
The steady thunder of the waves crashing against the rocks soothed the tension that had risen along with the shape in the fog. Luke relaxed his grip on the sword, though he did not take his eyes off the horizon.
That was what he would do. It was the only thing he could do.
Whatever it took, however long it took, he would find the red ship. He would hunt it down across the horizon and beyond, and he would avenge Sayna and every other member of his tribe who had died that day. He could not undo what had been done, but he would ensure that the captain of the red ship and his crew would pay with their lives for the horrors they had inflicted on his tribe.
Luke fixed his eyes on the foggy horizon and began to plan.
Title: The Calm After The Storm
Fandom: Redwall (pre-Martin the Warrior, Legend of Luke-era)
Rating/Warnings: PG / focuses on grief
Bonus: No
Word Count: 652
Summary: In the aftermath of his wife's death, Luke the Warrior turns his gaze to the horizon beyond the sea.
Cold wind swept across the beach, stirring the sand into small whirls and whipping dark gray-green waves into small white peaks that crashed against the rocks in a steady rhythm. Ominous clouds swirled overhead, the only remnants of the storm that had torn across the shoreline throughout the night, and fog obscured the distant line where the clouds seemed to meet the swells on the horizon. It was beautiful, in the way the far northern coast often was; cold, harsh, and stark, but with elegance sweeping through each curling, breaking wave and a song all its own singing through the rocks in each gust of wind.
Luke the Warrior was blind to all of it, gaze fixed on the faint hint of darkness in the distant fog that marked the horizon. The red ship was long gone, far beyond his reach from the moment it set sail, but in his mind’s eye he could still see it vanishing into the distance. He could not have said how long he had been watching the horizon. Hours? Days? Months?
Sayna would have chided him for his single-minded focus. She had never had much patience for silent brooding, and would have drawn him out of it with a few words about the beauty only she seemed to be able to see in the wind and rocks and waves, or a reminder that she and Martin and Windred were waiting on him for dinner, or—
He could almost hear her voice, the laughter underpinning the words. The sea isn’t going anywhere, Warrior, she would have said. But your dinner might, if you don’t come inside. Our son is going to grow up to have quite the appetite.
The sea was still there, and she was gone.
It wasn’t a fair trade.
Something moved in the fog. Luke’s entire body tensed and his eyes narrowed as he focused on the shadow, trying to make out its shape and any color it might have had. His paw closed around the hilt of his ancient sword, half dreading and half hoping that it would resolve into the red ship.
Another gust of wind swept across the beach, stirring the clouds and fog and waves, and the shape faded into mist and shadow. It was only a mirage, a trick of water vapor and the setting sun.
Luke found his teeth grinding together in rage and frustration—and grief, too, as much as he preferred the other two options.
The red ship would not be coming back. Neither would Sayna.
He could only fix one of those two things. No one could bring back his wife. No one could undo what the red ship had done that day, no matter how strong or brave or wise they were. A warrior’s sword and long-honed battle instincts were helpless against such a loss.
But he could avenge it. The red ship might never return to the northern shores, but so long as Vilu Daskar lived and it sailed the open seas, it could be found, and it could be destroyed.
The steady thunder of the waves crashing against the rocks soothed the tension that had risen along with the shape in the fog. Luke relaxed his grip on the sword, though he did not take his eyes off the horizon.
That was what he would do. It was the only thing he could do.
Whatever it took, however long it took, he would find the red ship. He would hunt it down across the horizon and beyond, and he would avenge Sayna and every other member of his tribe who had died that day. He could not undo what had been done, but he would ensure that the captain of the red ship and his crew would pay with their lives for the horrors they had inflicted on his tribe.
Luke fixed his eyes on the foggy horizon and began to plan.