Title: Song of the Hork-Bajir
Author: weetzybat
Disclaimer: alright, alright, I don't own them, okay? Happy? *sneaks one under her coat as she leaves* hehehe
Description: A young Andalite aristh learns what it means to be free.
*A/N* Okay, trying my hand at writing two stories at once, here, so we'll see how that goes. Actually, this character has been around for a long time, because I made him up in middle school or something, but the stories I wrote about him REALLY sucked. So, this is a rewrite of a previous story I had written, and hopefully it will turn out better than the other. I really liked the concept of it, though, so here we go! Sooner or later, I'll put the other version up on my website, so you can compare the two.
~
~
~
*~*~* Prologue
My name is Dakor-Serinial-Coran, and for as long as I can remember, I have hated the Hork-Bajir.
My brother, on the other hand, was fascinated by them. I think part of the reason he fought at all was so he could see them, larger than life on the vid-screens, listening to their garbled half-speech as they tried to destroy him. The Yeerks he hated, but the Hork-Bajir he loved, and that was what killed him.
Sometimes I still find myself standing where he stood beneath the trees in the dome, gazing at the stream, wondering what he thought about when he was alone.
The other arisths stopped looking me directly in the face, choosing instead to focus all four eyes at my feet. I knew what they were thinking; I had heard the rumors. Something had snapped when they told me he was dead, and now they all believed I was going mad. There were times when I believed it too.
That was when they began to send me out into battle. While the other arisths had lessons on combat, I was out in the real thing. I would like to say that I was fearless, taking on any Bug fighters that came within range, but the truth is that I spent most of the time running away. I had only basic knowledge of the controls, and little idea of how to use my fighter's weapons. The others may have envied me, but every time they called me to the docking bays, all I wanted was to hide in my room.
To this day I have never been officially told why they chose me, and not one of the hundred other arisths who would have given their stalk eyes to be in my place. I could draw my own conclusions from the pitying looks the other warriors, full warriors, gave me before each battle, and the astonishment when I returned each time.
How many lives do you have, little one? Prince Aknar joked once, only to be silenced by the harsh glares from the others.
Prince Aknar was the only Andalite on the ship I could stand, the only one who would look at me without shifting his hooves. He had been my brother's shorm, and must have felt obligated to look after me now that he was gone. The only reason I was still alive was because he would always show up at the last minute to annihilate a bug fighter that was about to finish me off.
But even Prince Aknar could not fill the empty space that tormented me every day I woke up and realized that my brother was gone. He was eventually reassigned, orders from higher up, and his replacement was an older, more formidable War-Prince, who had expressionless eyes and a twitchy tail. I dreaded our first battle with him to lead us, because I knew that no one would come to my rescue.
I was alone.
~
~
~
*A/N* Okay, that was really short, I know, but I like short chapters. This may not be updated for a while, since my main focus is the PostAnimorphs Saga, but I never know when the mood will hit me, like it did today.
Just know that this will definitely be completed eventually, because I know how everything is going to turn out, so don't be put off.
Also, review! I want to know what my readers think, and the more reviews I get, the more inspired I am to write, so bear that in mind, and comment! Please?
