:The Leap::

Disclaimer: Blahdiblah.

A/N: Ahhh! I am sooo sorry for not updating, but life has been very busy as to date...

*

The winter morn was a mild, but chilly, one, with the sun shining slightly muted through the thin canopy around the brink of Mossflower. Daleria was there, sunken deep in thought and staring at something, though her eyes were glazed over as she wandered the paths of her mind. The hare captain had seated herself under a young, but tall, willow, clad only in a light tunic and jacket. However, the cold could not penetrate her deep line of thought.

She knew that she could not run from it forever, that she had to face the truth and bring it to an end, no matter the bitterness of the path. The material reality in front of her only made it so much more difficult than it already was as it coupled with the blatant bluntness of the situation. Strong though she was, however, Daleria could not bring herself to find the raw courage to face this one final barrier in her life.

*

The hares at Redwall were vexed. No matter how much they searched and scoured the Abbey, their captain was simply not to be found anywhere within the premises. Even the Abbess was dumbfounded as to where she might be found or to where she might have disappeared off to within the great sandstone walls. Rapieratce sent a paw combing through his ears as he shook his head.

'She must be in Mossflower, then.'

Longrunn looked up from his position at a table from where he had been brooding silently, eyebrows raised questioningly at the colonel, who was standing and looking at the Tapestry as if inspiration would come from there to help him, his eyes roving over the bold features of Martin the Warrior.

'Why would she have run?'

'That, 'Runn, is the problem.'

Glamoren sat, placid as he always was, drinking a cup of water. He, too, did not know what to do about their current state of affairs. They were, in his opinion, groping around quite blindly in the dark in a minor Sisyphean predicament.

'There has to be purpose for her to dash off for no apparent reason without giving us prior warning of some sort. I mean, she was completely happy...'

Remora was unusually quiet, and had not participated in their conversation. It seemed as if she were deep in thought, submerged in some idea or another. Jemerian saw her, and provoked her to say what was on her mind. Remora spoke slowly, unsure.

'I think I know where Dale might have run off to, but I'm still quite unsure...'

Longrunn egged her on, urging her to continue. An lead, unsure though it may be, was still a lead. Remora spoke on.

'Well, now that the war and Seppak and all this wotnot is over and done with, I suppose Dale has more or less reached the point which I am quite sure nobeast wants to face. We're at Redwall, aren't we? And if I'm not wrong, Redwall has had quite a history with Dale, especially her last visit... So...'

Remora left the explanation hanging in the air. It took them a few long seconds in a frosty silence for the meaning to set in completely, and when it did... Longrunn paled, Glamoren shook his head and muttered something inaudible, a sharp intake of breath could be heard from Jemerian and Rapieratce slapped his forehead in exasperation. Quite an interesting bunch of reactions, but that is not the quite point. The colonel groaned as the realization hit him full on.

'Oh by Mossflower. It's Clandestine, isn't it?'

*

By early afternoon, the four hares had set out for Clandestine's resting place, guided by Longrunn. Jemerian had bid them to get Daleria back by nightfall, lest Redwall send a search party after them. They had given her their word to do so as quickly as they could, and had thus set off with all speed. Within the hour, they had reached the small glade. Clandestine lay there, sleeping unknowingly to the world around her that grew and died. Upon the small unmarked grave grew small white and blue flowers, weeping for the sorrows of the world. A small, short and simple poem had been engraved upon a stone:

Here lies one who was yet to find
but feeling in the state of mind,
she, someone true, who was lost this day,
so may she find some other way.

Many tears had been shed when it was laid down. Time had caused it to have a weathered look, but the memories that rest along with it were still raw and fresh, having never been acknowledged in the first. Such a case of grief had rare been seen in the lands of Redwall Abbey, and the tale that accompanied it was of no less sorrow. And yet there was one who had lived through it all.

Daleria was there, seated right in front of the grave, still deep in thought with unshed tears that in her eyes lay glistening. [A/N: This is sort of an inside joke, but if you have read the Fellowship of the Ring, doesn't the sentence remind you of the poem Beren and Luthien?] Rapieratce walked over to her, signalling to the rest to stay back for the moment. Daleria did not acknowledge his presence. He placed a comforting paw on her shoulder and asked in a quiet voice,

'Dale?'

Eyes still fixed upon the more or less unmarked grave, Daleria replied in a sort of hollow tone.

'I'm not sure if I can handle this, 'Atce, if I were to speak to you in truth. I am really unsure. Maybe I should have embraced it from the start. It may have made this burden I have to carry that much lighter than it is now. It's beginning to numb my mind in ways I am not prepared for. I'm not sure if it's shock or something like that, but something definitely isn't right. I'm scared of it, 'Atce. Really frightened of it, more than I've ever been of it in my whole life.'

'Frightened of what, Dale?'

'Two things, 'Atce, two things that I can't tear myself away from. Two things that I hate and love in a controversial way. And I know that I will never be released from their chains until my death lest I face this fear of which I am loath to do so. I find not the courage nor the strength.'

'What two things?'

'Life and the truth.'

Daleria did not move from her spot. She could not even bring herself to cry, not when tears felt like shards of glass rain to her. The captain truly wished that she could be as strong as she dreamt, if only just to overcome this final border that barred her, but seasons of damage are not easily withdrawn and dealt with in a day. It would take her long than this, until Time helped her to dress her wounds and stand again. Daleria simply closed her eyes and leant her head back against the smooth bark of the tree, huddled together like a small child.