A/N I just had to do this one-shot. Really. That's why the chapter
for TS was so short.
My muses were lounging in their chintz-y chair because they don't make enough money off of my ideas to buy cool chairs when the muses of one- shots sneaks up on me and gives me this huge sign that says, 'Write this one-shot'.
So I did it.
Please read and review!
(Begin Spirit of the Stones)
An old mouse stumbled his way towards the Great Hall. He slowly trudged towards the stairs. Nary a sound but his pawsteps echo in the red hall.
Of a mouse of his ancient seasons, he was determined to reach the top of the walltop. Each step an agonizing pain, like moving through molasses. But the pain wasn't physical; it was all in his thoughts.
The mouse bent his head, graying fur clouding his brown eyes. Still, he climbed to the top, and finally reached the battlements.
His memory stirred when looking at the battlements. It was nearing dawn. An image of a group of content Redwallers floated in his mind.
Another image drifted up, of a sprightly mouse playing a flute, dancing around. Laughing, he clasped hands with a mouse, a mousebabe near his footpaws. A twinkle in his eye set an air about him as a thief, but an honest friend and partner.
Another reflection came into the mouse's memory. A mole, happy and smiling. His dark eyes showed happiness, and joy. The mouse would be meeting him, too, next to carefree creeks and lakes, even though the mole didn't like water.
More images drifted up, of friends long gone that he knew got to know. A fierce black squirrel and his father, fighting together as warriors.
A goshawk, watching over them with a guardian-type protectiveness.
Another squirrel, hurling rocks at the guards around the palisade a mouse was bound too.
A hedgehog, cheerfully smiling as little shrews danced around him. Later, the same image appeared, as the hedgehog was fighting at the walls of Marshank.
Now images of evil ones came up. A wildcat, clawing at his face, screeching.
A stoat, fighting with a blade that the mouse fought to regain.
Another stoat, this one at the front of a ship, pressed to the wood by a scarlet-eyed mouse, wind and rain pounding their faces.
All these memories smashed together in a kaleidoscope of joy, sadness, friends, and evil.
He looked out at the skies, their azure hue shining back in his weary eyes. However, as he looked down, he was gazing into the flowers in the gardens of Redwall Abbey. Peering closer with his eyes, he noticed one flower that had not opened it's bud yet. The rose. A laterose, he presumed.
Rose. How the name made him feel happy and sad at the same time. She had been lost to him, but soon, he knew, he would meet her, among sunny streams and quiet forests. There, he could love again, see the beautiful mouse he once- he still did- love.
But until them, he could not look at a rose and see joyful beauty- for his rose had wilted.
As he looked up at the sapphire sky, he saw his long gone friends, all in their prime. Were they really there? He peered closer, then seemed to fade from himself. As if his spirit lifted from his body, he was so close to his friends- then stopped, and looked down.
The view from the battlements was nothing compared to this. An emerald lawn, trees heavy with fruit, a cerulean pond reflecting the clear sky, the flowerbeds an explosion of color. As he was tugged the way of his friends, he made one last request of himself:
"May my spirit stay at Redwall Abbey to guide it when needed, and my soul to the Dark Forest."
With those words, his spirit slowly seemed to sink into the stones, while his soul lifted.
Lifted into the arms of a mousemaid, beautiful as the rose.
(End Spirit of the Stones)
A/N Aww... Martin/Rose. The best couple ever.
You should've guessed it was Martin by then, if you didn't.
This was one to sooth my drama/spirituality one. I'll be doing more, though. (Evil laugh) Please review!
P.S By the way, I think a spirit and soul are different. A spirit is your attitude and such, but a soul is all your memories and experiences. Your soul is like a canvas the colors of life was splashed onto, and when you die, you get to finally see that canvas, and rest.
Okay, that was kind of an imagery sort of look at life.
Your spirit can be inherited by others, like Martin the Warrior. I'm Christian, but I believe that reincarnation, to a point, is real.
But that's me, please review!
My muses were lounging in their chintz-y chair because they don't make enough money off of my ideas to buy cool chairs when the muses of one- shots sneaks up on me and gives me this huge sign that says, 'Write this one-shot'.
So I did it.
Please read and review!
(Begin Spirit of the Stones)
An old mouse stumbled his way towards the Great Hall. He slowly trudged towards the stairs. Nary a sound but his pawsteps echo in the red hall.
Of a mouse of his ancient seasons, he was determined to reach the top of the walltop. Each step an agonizing pain, like moving through molasses. But the pain wasn't physical; it was all in his thoughts.
The mouse bent his head, graying fur clouding his brown eyes. Still, he climbed to the top, and finally reached the battlements.
His memory stirred when looking at the battlements. It was nearing dawn. An image of a group of content Redwallers floated in his mind.
Another image drifted up, of a sprightly mouse playing a flute, dancing around. Laughing, he clasped hands with a mouse, a mousebabe near his footpaws. A twinkle in his eye set an air about him as a thief, but an honest friend and partner.
Another reflection came into the mouse's memory. A mole, happy and smiling. His dark eyes showed happiness, and joy. The mouse would be meeting him, too, next to carefree creeks and lakes, even though the mole didn't like water.
More images drifted up, of friends long gone that he knew got to know. A fierce black squirrel and his father, fighting together as warriors.
A goshawk, watching over them with a guardian-type protectiveness.
Another squirrel, hurling rocks at the guards around the palisade a mouse was bound too.
A hedgehog, cheerfully smiling as little shrews danced around him. Later, the same image appeared, as the hedgehog was fighting at the walls of Marshank.
Now images of evil ones came up. A wildcat, clawing at his face, screeching.
A stoat, fighting with a blade that the mouse fought to regain.
Another stoat, this one at the front of a ship, pressed to the wood by a scarlet-eyed mouse, wind and rain pounding their faces.
All these memories smashed together in a kaleidoscope of joy, sadness, friends, and evil.
He looked out at the skies, their azure hue shining back in his weary eyes. However, as he looked down, he was gazing into the flowers in the gardens of Redwall Abbey. Peering closer with his eyes, he noticed one flower that had not opened it's bud yet. The rose. A laterose, he presumed.
Rose. How the name made him feel happy and sad at the same time. She had been lost to him, but soon, he knew, he would meet her, among sunny streams and quiet forests. There, he could love again, see the beautiful mouse he once- he still did- love.
But until them, he could not look at a rose and see joyful beauty- for his rose had wilted.
As he looked up at the sapphire sky, he saw his long gone friends, all in their prime. Were they really there? He peered closer, then seemed to fade from himself. As if his spirit lifted from his body, he was so close to his friends- then stopped, and looked down.
The view from the battlements was nothing compared to this. An emerald lawn, trees heavy with fruit, a cerulean pond reflecting the clear sky, the flowerbeds an explosion of color. As he was tugged the way of his friends, he made one last request of himself:
"May my spirit stay at Redwall Abbey to guide it when needed, and my soul to the Dark Forest."
With those words, his spirit slowly seemed to sink into the stones, while his soul lifted.
Lifted into the arms of a mousemaid, beautiful as the rose.
(End Spirit of the Stones)
A/N Aww... Martin/Rose. The best couple ever.
You should've guessed it was Martin by then, if you didn't.
This was one to sooth my drama/spirituality one. I'll be doing more, though. (Evil laugh) Please review!
P.S By the way, I think a spirit and soul are different. A spirit is your attitude and such, but a soul is all your memories and experiences. Your soul is like a canvas the colors of life was splashed onto, and when you die, you get to finally see that canvas, and rest.
Okay, that was kind of an imagery sort of look at life.
Your spirit can be inherited by others, like Martin the Warrior. I'm Christian, but I believe that reincarnation, to a point, is real.
But that's me, please review!