I am the crisis
I am the bitter end
I'm gonna gun this down
I am divided
I am the razor edge
There is no easy now

Will was lost.

The lost was a kind that few could be found. The few that where found and saved could remember that day of loss and the hopelessness that only the near dead can feel.

He dimly felt his blood seep from his wound and down his sides and into the soil that he was lying upon. The soil that he had sworn to protect was now stealing away his life. He was to give back the substance that he had borrowed at the moment of life, like all men and women do at the time of death.

And death is not to be cheated. It always, always wins.

As he watched the wavering leaves above him, he barely felt the dusk breeze chill his blood soaked hand. He didn't feel the pain anymore. It was lost in the melting of his feeling and nerves, that washed away his memories and vision that was speckled with colorful lights that danced in front of him.

Will tried to focus on the flashing and dancing dots, but before he was able to they danced away and swam in the areas he could only see in his peripheral vision. A small, weak smile touched his cracked lips as he related the dancing dots to his little horse, Tug, when he had first met him. He had danced out of his reach in the pen at Old Bob's.

But soon that memory melted away with the others of his life, of his soul, into the place where reality and dreams met; where life and death collided; where fantasy becomes law; where logic becomes as pliable as putty.

Son of sorrow
staring down forever
with an aching view
disenchanted
lets go down together
with the fatal wound

He soon became tired of following the lights and closed his eyes, content to think and wonder. The pain was gone. It had faded and been numbed a while ago, long after he had heard Tug's hooves vanish among the sounds of the forest.

Soon he felt the urge to roll his head to the side, to hear a dim sound to his far right—but it was beyond his power, his strength. Lifting his eyelids was impossible. Moving his head? Out of the question.

Will felt the rage within him, within all humans, fade away to inner peace as his mind passed the unseen line of hope to be found and the clarity of mind that it brought. The peace brought a sense of calmness into his turmoil filled mind. The turmoil was caused by the single question: was Halt mad?

But the question faded. It faded like the blood into the soil. Like rain onto parched sand. The name faded, the memory faded, his very essence faded. The essence that had made him do all things that had brought him to this point. Attempting to steal the paper in Baron Arald's study; training so hard and faithfully; using a flaming arrow to kill the Kalkara. All this determination, the cleverness, imagination and intuition was melting away.

But then, out of the instinct that was seared into his mind from hours and hours of training, Will felt the urge to die without the dagger within his flesh. The dagger that had killed him was not to be in his being when he passed. Call it a dying wish. Call it a final hope and need.

But the energy needed to grasp the hilt and pull it out was beyond him. All the want in the world couldn't give him the strength.

This is the real thing
no rubber bullets now
this is the final bow
my breath avoids me
my chest is in my head
my stomach's upside down
down

Or could it?

Will was still lost beyond the point of found, but he wanted this. He wanted to do it for Halt. Tug. Alyss. Gilan. Baron Arald. Crowley.

His memory was seeping back, slowly trickling back with the growing determination. The thought and intention of doing one more thing was slowly bringing other memories back with it.

The memories of all his friends and peers brought the strength he needed, wanted. Feeling his limp muscles tense, he struggled to lift up his hand that had slid down to the ground up to his stomach.

Will kept on thinking of Halt and all his friends to get the strength to pull out the cursed piece of steel inside him. The thing that brought his end.

Will felt his hand meet the cold metal of the dagger right before the crosspiece. He slid his hand up to the handle and slowly gripped it with his clammy, bloodless hand.

With a sudden flare of anger that replaced his inner peace, he yanked the dagger out. Pain exploded where the numbness had set it.

Son of sorrow
staring down forever
with an aching view
disenchanted
lets go down together
with the fatal wound
with the fatal wound
with the fatal wound

Tears ran down Will's face as he twisted to one side and threw the dagger, not aiming for anything but to get it as far away from him as possible. The metallic clang of the dagger hitting the bit on Tug's reins rang in Will's head and made him open his eyes.

He saw the dagger sitting up in the soil, its tip imbedded no longer in his flesh but in the soil. Fresh tears ran down Will's lifeless cheeks as he started to sob.

Quietly. Painfully. Lifelessly.

He could not sob longer. It took too much energy. Soon silent tears ran down his face as his eyes closed and he laid quietly, his final wish achieved.

Sometimes, the lost did not want to be found.

Sorry for the long wait! It took FOREVER to find a good song. Eventually I just had to pick a random artist and or band (Switchfoot in this case, thanks hazelbunny!) and look through all the titles and eventually this one, title and all, seemed to fit best.

This was just showing how Will was losing his mind but eventually wanted to die with some, I don't know, honor. Without the steel inside of him, I guess. Who knows? Rangers are a strange breed, anyways. =D

Stay Happy,

Spirit

(If you can't see the bright side of life, polish the dull side.)