Sorry this chapter is so short! I promise the next one will be longer! Thanks again for all your wonderful reviews! Please R&R!

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Disclaimer: I don't own Redwall, or the lyrics to the song The Clincher by Chevelle.

January 12, 2005

Chapter 7

A million stars glimmered and sparkled in the night sky, like torches in a dark cave, flickering in and out. Azalea was lying on the floor of Polleekin's house, staring out the window at the sky. There was something about windows that interested her. She kept her thoughts about them safely locked in her own mind, she had not told a single soul about what she thought, not even Donovan. Anyone would say she was crazy and laugh. The funny thing was, Azalea knew she was crazy, but she didn't give a damn.

Azalea thought of windows as a bridge to the unknown. How one to know what is outside his or her home without looking out their windows? They wouldn't know it was raining or snowing or sleeting before they walked outside if it wasn't for windows. In a dark and empty room, wasn't the window the source of light and entertainment?

As the chipmunk stared out the window that night, she couldn't help but think about the unknown. Was there something else out there? Was there something after all this, like an afterlife of some sort? Was there such a thing as ghosts and angels? Undoubtably. How else would Polleekin know all she does? Something, or someone, was feeding her this information through visions and messages. Was Polleekin chosen by someone to help others? Was there an all-knowing power out there that controlled fate, destiny, and made the world go round? Was there such a thing as predestination? Azalea had never been one for religion, but she couldn't help but dwell constantly on these things, night after night, as she stared out her window. The thoughts lingered longer in her mind on this particular night however, for there was the somber, heavy mood of death about her. Donovan's child had died suddenly when he was only three seasons old. What kind of sick, power hungry freak would take away a child from his beloved family like that? And that's what confused Azalea greatly. No decent, unselfish creature would be in his right mind to do such a thing. The chipmunk wanted to meet this creature when she died, and give him a peace of her mind. But she was in no hurry. There were big things she had to work out before she moved on to the Gates of Dark Forest, one of which included Martin.

Azalea clutched the piece of parchment in her paws, reading the words over and over again in her head until she memorized them. She couldn't understand a bit of it, but then again, Polleekin clearly stated it was intended for Martin and nobody else. She sighed, looking to the stars once more, as if praying for an answer. She thought of Martin, lying in the bed, screaming for help. He had gone through too much at such a young age. And she would die herself before she let anything or anyone break his heart again.

Azalea wasn't the only one lying in their beds in deep thought. Donovan was wide awake, watching Azalea. Something is on her mind besides that riddle, he thought to himself. She hadn't noticed he was awake, for he was staying perfectly still. A true warrior knows how to fake sleep in the most dangerous of situations, and that skill can be applied to everyday life too. With one eye open, Donovan watched his friend stare out the window, the twinkling of the stars catching her eye.

Those stars reminded Donovan of the many nights he would stay up late with Blauveer, watching the comets and making out shapes with the stars. Those were some special times, and the dark squirrel remembered every one of them. He would play them back in his mind like a movie, and found himself doing it more often as the days went by. Little Veer would be giggling and pointing at the stars, having the time of his life. Donovan would swell with pride at the sight of his son, laughing along with him. Those were the best times of his life too, the times with his son or with his wife and child together.

But he could no longer have that. Fate took Blauveer away from him in a cruel and sudden way. Donovan wanted to crush whoever controlled the lives of all creatures to a pulp. But he knew he had no control over what happened to his son, or even himself. He sometimes wondered if there was anything to life worth living anymore after his son passed. Sometimes he would slip into such a depression, he would sit on a log in the middle of a forest and weep. Sometimes, after the tears had dried, he would pull out his dagger, and point it at his chest. And then he would remember where he got that dagger. It was a gift from his wife when on his birthday after his son was born. The stones on it represented the color of each of their furs: one gold, for Luella, one black for Donovan, and the soft mahogany in the middle for Veer. This would cause Donovan to put down the blade, become ashamed of himself, call himself a horrible husband and father, and cry himself to sleep. The same pattern repeated almost daily.

Donovan closed his eyes and this time actually tried to go back to sleep. He wanted to go back to his dreams, because sometimes Blauveer would pop in.

The entire tree house was awake that night, and every creature was engrossed so much in their own thoughts they did not realize it. The hostess, Polleekin, lay in her four poster bed, staring at the ceiling. She sighed, troubled by the thoughts that coursed through her mind. She had been expecting Azalea and her friend to come to her home and she knew exactly what for. And it was this that made her close her eyes tightly and rub her forehead in confusion. Why was she the chosen one? Why did she have everyone's lives running through her mind like a film? Why was she the one to know everything before it happened?

Polleekin thought way back to when she first realized her gift. She remembered sitting in her wicker rocking chair one sunny, spring afternoon. She was knitting a cloak for one of her dearest friends and humming to herself. Before she knew it, she saw a squirrel walking towards her, strong and war-like, carrying a quiver of arrows over his back. The squirrel disappeared as quickly as he appeared. Polleekin thought she must have just dozed off, until the next day, the same squirrel came walking up the path near her home. It had been happening the same way ever since.

What troubled her most was Martin. She carried his life around with her everyday. She knew the pain he was feeling, how it felt so physical. She not only knew the pain from her visions, but also from experience. Her one true love died tragically and suddenly, also. Polleekin could remember everything about him, and it felt like someone pierced her in the heart with a knife when he died. Why did this have to happen to me? She remembered asking herself over and over again, cursing the heavens for taking away her beloved mole friend. After he died, Polleekin started having her visions. She thought of them as a gift from her friend, but sometimes it seemed more like a curse.

Polleekin hated sending Martin on his quest, but she knew that it would heal his heart after awhile. She had his life planned out along with hers, right inside her brain. She knew what day she would die, along with the days of death for Martin, Azalea, and Donovan as well. Polleekin wasn't scared of death. She was scared of leaving all her friends behind, leaving them with nobody to come to in times of need, confusion, or guidance. Like so many nights before, the elderly mole sat in her bed, crying herself to sleep.

A somber mood fell upon the little house in the giant oak tree. Three cheerless souls sat inside that diminutive dwelling, unknown they were all awake, acting just like the other, engrossed in their thoughts and thinking of the deceased. Had they known they were also being watched by a fourth cheerless soul, they would not have believed the informer. But it was completely true. A fourth soul, strictly just a soul, sat on the thick and heavy branch of a tree a tad northwest of Polleekin's home. His eyes never strayed from the window, as if he could see through it into all the rooms of the house, and not just the one. The leaves fluttered about from the soft autumn breeze, yet they went right through this witness. If any bystander had taken a closer look, they would have noticed that this creature was not actually sitting on the branch, but hovering in a sitting position directly above it. His nearly transparent body stayed rigid and still as he gazed at the peculiar house in the tree tops. If any bystander had taken yet another step closer, they would have noticed that this creature looked like a male mole. This mole sighed and shook his head sadly, then vanished.

This body has left the soul.