Bloody
Bloody.
That was about all you could say about it. Just bloody. No other words fit it. It just happened that way and there was nothing to do about it. The bloodiness covered the grass, the tree trunks, the flowers, everything, and slowly soaked into the black soil.
It flowed off my paws and fur as I rose from the stream of sparkling, cool water, the red whisking away into the flow, dispersing to clearness.
Bloody.
The taste of it still caressed my mouth, the smell of it in my nostrils, the sounds rung in my ears. Of the three, the latter of them was the one that bothered me. The screams. The screams were the things that made things real, that made things be remembered, that caused a glance at the face, at the horror, at the pure fear. Bloody.
I somehow missed the approach of the otter, as engrossed as I was at getting rid of the bloodiness. It wasn't until he popped up in the water besides me that I knew he was there.
At first instinct, I flinched, my paw moving to make blow at the creature. I caught myself before I did it. There was no contempt or fear or fight in the otter's eyes and there was no need to change that. The rush of my blood slowed. Bloody. I evaluated the state of my fur and paws, the red was gone, washed away, at least physically. The rest of the blood was nearby, under leaves and dirt, the traces primitively hidden away. Anybeast could find it if only they trod over it.
If the otter knew of that bloody place, he did not reveal it. Smiles and joy radiated from the otter and he spoke to me in a curious matter. Not suspicious, not in prejudice, just in a welcoming polite way. I had not known of such nature in so long a time. I didn't even hear the words yet and I knew this was a beast of no ill heart.
I feared myself, what I would have done if I had not yet relinquished myself, what if I was on the hunt, in the shadow of the beast within me.
This was not the time to fear that.
He was introducing himself, telling of himself, taking a dive into the water, splashing around, saying how he loved this stream, causal talk, inviting me somewhere, he took me by the paw. If he was confused alien form he did not show.
Slipback he was called, apparently from his slippery movements through the water.
I enjoyed his company and he made me forget myself.
Bloody.
Dried blood fading in the sun, it was the color the building was as it appeared above the trees. Redwall the otter said of its name, Redwall Abbey. In wonder I stared at it, the magnanimity of it, the fortress that stood up from the trees.
Fortress. I knew only bad about fortresses. Dark, despair, and evil went into the placement of their stones and filled its insides: from the highest tower to the dankest dungeon. I knew those dungeons, and how I made them bloody.
The construction of this Abbey appeared different, I noticed it the moment I entered its gates, that warmth of hearts, care and joy. The little ones brought it in bountiful amounts, they gathered around close, pulled at my tail and paws and fur, asked questions aplenty and I complied with what I could. My words short and to the point, avoiding details that would break this spell, their innocence.
Of course, this place wasn't perfect no matter my first observations, I don't think I could have even hoped for as much as I got.
Whispers are never good things, if they were good things they would be said aloud. Whispers are what my sensitive ears picked up. From down the table, during the lunch period, I heard them: a mouse whispering to a hare, a squirrel conversing to two moles, a group of otters surrounding the otter who had found me, and more, were the sources. Their voices held the suspicion, the contempt, the worry.
I didn't blame them.
I could see through their eyes.
A creature of strange appearance, formidable size, fangs, claws, a redness in his eyes, wariness in his movements, the slight wafts of death on his strange colored fur, and overall, of a species none of them could decipher. No anger grew in my mind, only disappointment. I feared anger.
They worried about me being a type of vermin.
They couldn't be further wrong.
Whispers subsided into shrugs as lunchtime turned into the bright afternoon, as they saw my interactions with the little ones. My heart held a soft spot for little ones, those who had not been touched by pain or conflict. They climbed over me. I tossed them in the air and caught them. I spun with them hanging to my paws. I gave them rides on my back as I swam in the pond. The time spend in their presence slid by in bliss.
Dinner came, served out in the orchard in the light of the setting sun. I ate, nibbled at the food that was not the food my stomach accepted, all the beasts of the Abbey at the tables, now fully accepting my presence. I drank, I smiled, I talked and my heart told me, this was happiest time of my life.
The post-dinner activities began. I kept away, not willing to draw attention. But I was asked to sing, actually, begged to sing by the Dibbuns (the word they used for their little ones). A request like that I had never received before. I complied. A song from the mists of memory came together, from long ago, of a past of myself, locked away.
The flowing red on the path of life,
The call of the crow in evening light
A piece of the mind,
The heart, the soul.
Hopes and dreams grow in the garden,
Despair and worry lie in the soil.
A piece of the mind,
The heart, the soul.
Experience peppers the food,
Love is the sweetness of every seed,
A piece of the mind,
The heart, the soul.
I am near the end of its journey,
I am the harvester of blood,
A piece of the mind,
The heart, the soul.
I come from the shadows of death,
I lose what I want to keep,
A piece of the mind,
The heart, the soul.
I take my fill of the garden,
I gain the power I lacked,
A piece of the mind,
The heart, the soul.
The flowing red on the path of life,
The last breaths sigh in the night,
A piece of the mind,
The heart, the soul.
My bass voice sank into the silence that held the audience. They did not expect this; they did not understand the song. I expected that. I hoped they didn't see the tears. I knew the meaning now, I remembered. I would never be able to stay here. I would never be able to stay any place for long. Death would never leave me.
I didn't expect the applause. It didn't last. The cheers were cut short. A yell called out, no, a scream. Panic hit, a Dibbun was missing, taken from the sight of the supervising hare. The area the Dibbun, a mousebabe, was last seen, was searched. In the darkness, around the orchard, barely anything could be seen but I knew what had happened. It was a familiar scent that I caught, familiar to the weasel I encountered in the morning, the weasel that attacked me from behind, the weasel that made the mistake of leaping on me when I wasn't there, the weasel that suffered under my Blindness...
Bloody.
The images of it came back. The scent on that weasel earlier, he was not alone, he had had a companion, a female. I didn't think of it at the time. It was a note that shuffled away into my mind. I should have grabbed it. But that was when I was Blind.
It was my fault. My trail was followed, to this place of peace and I brought disaster. The weasel sought revenge, she thought a Goodbeast did it, she knew how they valued little ones, she did the unthinkable, she didn't plan to bring the little one back, she thought they had killed her mate, she planned to let his blood flow.
Bloody.
The happiness in my heart had shattered to pieces and it would never be rebuilt. I needed to make things right.
I became Blind.
I didn't hear the Abbeybeast's debate on what you do, I didn't hear their questions of suspicion directed at me, I didn't hear them objecting me leaving, I didn't hear a thing.
I was Blind.
I exited the Abbey at a sprint, tore into and through the forest. The Blindness led me. I couldn't see the trail but I sensed it. I followed the weasel.
How long I ran I don't know, I caught up, the weasel's throat was in my paws, my jaws dripped in hunger, I didn't even see the horror on the weasel's face, I was Blind.
I heard the squeak. I stopped. I saw the mousebabe, looking up at me, alive, he smiled in the dim light of filtered moonbeams. Innocence. The rustling of branches followed. The Abbeybeasts had followed me, torches in tow. They saw both sides of me, my paws tight on the weasel and the mousebabe hugging my leg.
• • •
Bloody, that's what I always would be, and no amount of cleaning would ever wash it away.
I never went back to that Abbey, though that day I locked away in memories. I knew that it would never last, the Blindness would always return, my hunger. I never wanted those creatures to know of it, the full truth of it. They didn't know what they saw; they wanted to hail me as a hero for saving the mousebabe. They didn't know my intentions. I couldn't. I thanked them right there, said something and I left, disappearing from their eyes forever. I heard the mousebabe call after me. I didn't look back.
The weasel was still in my grasp. She dared to harm that babe, when I had caught her, she was about to bring down the knife when I had caught up. I didn't know it then, I was Blind. I wasn't Blind anymore. I saw the horror in the weasel's face. My grim face stared back.
I told the Abbeybeasts the secret before I left. It meant nothing to them, not because they didn't care, but because they didn't know what to make of it. They didn't know what to say when I said I was a killer, a beast, a monster that used to be held in a dungeon, a mindless bloodthirsty creature that no one cared about, a refugee that escaped there, and still wandered for…sustenance. I left before they could respond.
I opened my jaws and shut them on the flesh of the weasel. The thick liquid entered my mouth, I heard the scream, it rang in my ears. Screams are what make things real; they're what make things be remembered.
Bloody.