A/N: Bet you've never seen a story from Tualha's POV before! Or if you did, let me know, because I like my stories to be unique. Thank you and may I mention that you look very nice today! (hey I love to compliment people. Heehee.)

Because this is just the same story with different characters, I had to keep some of the direct quotations. Sadly, the plot is not mine and the characters are not mine, but the few remaining elements are mine. Read and Review or I shall pelt you with acorns.

War is no place for a kitten.

Even a cat bard, such as me, finds it difficult to enjoy sad, ruthless, killing, and that absurd quantity of blood. Even a cat bard, such as me, finds it so much easier to hide with my paws over my ears, in Nita's backpack, mewing softly to myself.

In the ancient texts, it goes on and on about the great glory of war, of heroics, of great deeds. Most deeds here were neither great nor heroic. They were bloody, murderous, and evil.

Why, I wondered, did I choose to come here? I had thought that perhaps I might do something great, to smite down the enemy with the power of words. I had thought extremely wrong.

I don't remember most of that terrible day, until Nita asked me to search for her aunt. I quietly slunk away, darting between legs, feet, etc, until I came to the area that was emanating such a bright blue-green glow.

There stood Nita's aunt, holding the golden chalice, the cauldron of rebirth. I watched in awe as she lowered a woman with a great gash in her side into the shimmering water, and brought her out completely healed. As I looked on, my caretaker placed person after person into the healing water, always to be brought out cured.

Finally, when there was a break in the line of people, Annie looked out, and her eyes landed on me. "Tualha, go away," she said. "You shouldn't be here."

"I am a bard," I replied weakly, "And a bard's place is in battle."

She narrowed her eyes. "Tualha…" she said, but stopped to look at the horizon. Seeing how her eyes widened in shock, I looked too.

A fleet of ships was approaching on the horizon, behind a hill that I hadn't noticed before… but looking closely, it was not a hill. No hill throughout Ireland looks like that: like a squashed face. Balor.

Somehow, I wasn't expecting such a sleepy, lethargic thing to resist a blow from the Spear Luin. But the spear bounced off, and returned to its wielder's, (Ronan's), hand. The other three treasures were tried, yet none prevailed.

But suddenly, I knew my purpose. Suddenly, I knew why I was sent here. I knew that I had to make Balor open his eye, so that Ronan could get a clear shot at the evil inside him. I heard Kit remark, "It's enjoying this. We've lost, and it knows it, and it's prolonging it for fun."

"That's all the fun it's going to have then," I cried. I leaped gracefully (well, maybe not,) onto a nearby stone, caught my balance, and my voice rang out louder than it ever was before:

"See the great power of Balor, lord of the Fomor!

See the ranks of his unconquerable army!

See how they parade in their pride before him!

See how they trample the earth of Eriu!"

By the Powers, I hoped I sounded brave in my sarcasm and taunting. I prayed that Balor should be prey to the embarrassment that most humans would feel in his position. Then again, Balor wasn't human. But I could try, as I continued:

"Is it not the way of his coming in power?

His splendor is very great; he bows down on all resistance!

Never was a better way for a conqueror to come here;

May all who follow him fare just the same way!

See how the children and beasts flee before him,

And their elders, just hoary old men and women,

With their few bits of rusty ironmongery,

And a crock and a stone, that's all they have with them!"

Now was the truly important part, where I began to raise doubt of his existence. If there is anything the lone one truly cannot stand, it is the idea that he is insignificant:

"Can it really be so, what we see before us—

Or is it a trick of the Plains of Tethra,

Where everything seems otherwise than it is,

And night might be day, if one's will was in it?

Is it truly what we see, the mighty conqueror,

With his armies ranged and his ships all ready?

Or something much less, just a misconception,

A fakery made lying and shadows?"

Here I point that his army has been mostly beaten, and that he has created only an illusion of power. For truly, does he still have his power of ages ago?

"No army here, just some shattered stonework,

Some poor bruised goblins, all running away?

No ships at all, but just the old darkness,

The kind that used to scare children at bedtime?

And no mighty lord, no mastering horror,

Just a bad dream left over from crazier times,

A poor ghost, wailing for what's lost forever?

Some run-down spook complaining about hard times?"

Now I began to taunt him, my words piercing like swords into the stony silence:

"And what he can't keep? Can it be that mortals

Are too strong for him even here, on his own ground?

--That accountants and farmers, housewives and shopkeepers,

And children and cats are even too mighty?

Then all hail the ragged lord of the Fomor,

A power downthrown, a poor weak specter

That ought to take himself off to West Country

And haunt some castle for American tourists!

Be off somewhere and beg your bread honestly,

And don't come around our doors with your threats,

You shabby has-been! Just slouch yourself off,

Crooked old sloth-pile: Show some initiative!

Get up and—"

Then, the terrible voice spoke, reminding me of all bad times in my life: when I was a kitten thrown on a street, when I was chased by a hungry dog, when I was kicked by a horse, and the bloody battle I witnessed earlier: it was as if all of my terror ever felt was stored in that voice. When it spoke, I went cold: for it wanted not the powerful human wizards, but me.

"Let me see this chatterer who makes such a clever noise."

I retorted, using all of my courage and more, "Get up and do something useful, if you dare-"

It got up, and it opened its eye, and it was so terrible that I crouched down and prepared to die…

But then Ronan unleashed the spear, and sent it flying into the huge eye of Balor, just as the pain was becoming unbearable, it ended, and instead, it was beautiful, everything was beautiful, and though before the Plains of Tethra had seemed awash in evil, they now seemed awash in pure, 100 percent good.

And I knew then that I had done my part. I stretched and purred, and I knew that my duty was done. My shining moment as cat bard was over, but there were many more—many more—to come.

A/N: Did you like it? I hope you did.

Wow, look at that pretty blue button! Don't you just want to press it? Come on, you know you want to!

Anyway, tata for now.

--Rachael the Squirrel Queen