That night I slept. The next night, I dreamt.
The one after that, I drowned.
A wide ocean, the waters shimmering blue. Waves blow in; large ten-foot rollers that splash underneath the shimmering sun are in sight along the horizon.
It would be calming, serene view. Here I use would- it is neither calming or serene as I suddenly plunge into the sea.
Suddenly, violently, I crash into the water. My first reaction is none at all- the shock renders me helpless.
Then I start kicking and flailing, fur rapidly getting wetter as I windmill my arms trying to keep my panicked head above the waves. I am gagging and spitting, saltwater threatening to flow into every opening. Some of the liquid I accidentally inhale- and my brain is burning. I yelp, splashing around in the middle of the sea I have no reason being in.
I paddle, paddle, paddle, coughing up swallowed water as I bob up and down. Eyes wide, absolutely horrified. I don't know how to swim, I think, as I slowly begin to sink.
I writhe and flail and it seems to do nothing as I submerge. Neck first, then base of the head.
You never learned to swim...
I sputter and gasp, trying to raise a paw for help in this lonely sea, and I swallow more saltwater and cough. Oh, no.
I make one more gasp for air as I go under, holding my breath.
Into the ocean, falling. Falling into the ocean and you never learned to swim.
I can't see the bottom, I can't see the bottom...
Why can't you see the bottom?
Why can't you see the bottom?
Why can't you see?
I wake up screaming.
The next day, on our daily half-walk, half-patrol, Rask asks me if I'm doing alright. I tell him I'm fine.
"Do you know that there's an abbey to the south?"
Dantalion's delivery is casual and relaxed, which belies the pacing cat's look. Today, the aura around Dantalion is focused and buzzing with energy, another one of the identities he seems to take on daily. It's off-putting and inviting at the same time. Right now, he's in the centre of camp, having finally stopped pacing. He leans amicably against a stake in the ground- the same stake that days ago killed a bird. The wildcat chews on a strand of grass, eyes darting from member to member, burning with a curious intensity.
"This abbey goes by the name of Redwall," he states flatly.
The crowd murmurs a bit.
"It was built many seasons ago by a mouse by the name of Martin, and it's population is fairly large."
"So?" Someone barks.
There is an inward hiss in the crowd and I feel a pang in my chest. You don't interrupt a captain, especially one like Dantalion. Furthermore you don't undermine and disrespect a beast like a wildcat. Dantalion flares up, jerking up from the stake, face stern.
"My brothers and sisters," he says, with, somehow, no irritation in his voice, "This abbey is home to many like the beasts who placed you and I into this situation. Ones that view lives only in two categories- desirable ones, and you and me, the common vermin, the alleged scum of the earth."
There is booing and hissing, and Dantalion simply shrugs. "I know," he mutters.
The crowd noise dies down a bit, then goes completely silent as the cat in front of them stretches out his arms, held out as if nailed to an invisible cross.
"It is our task, you see," voice rising with a noted inflection in his tone, "to overturn regimes like these, to restore order and equality."
To the awestruck crew: "My brothers and sisters, pledge today that we will not stop until everybeast is truly equal."
The dedications flow forth.
So that night I decided not to sleep. Not so much fear of my dream ocean as much as the spark of flame the Redwall plan lit into my mind has hung on and doesn't let go. I try to fall asleep, but it doesn't accommodate me tonight.
Instead, I lie eyes-wide-shut in the clearing in the centre of camp, arms crossed, duvet over my chest as a breeze sweeps through Mossflower. Anybeast would call it chilly in normal circumstances but some of the crew mill around in the dark clearing, still buzzing. It's time for a change and we're the catalysts. Redwall falls at dawn. We'll finally be equal.
All these sentiments are simmering in the hearts of everyone here, including mine's. I think of my mother, and my home, and how I'm slowly but surely getting control of my life and a better world.
These sentiments don't lull me to sleep, though. For that, I'm frustrated.
Krrsh
Krrrrsch
Krrrrrrrsssszzzch
What a terrible noise, damn.
I couldn't sleep if I wanted to.
I sit up, listening closely to something, an audio foreign to me. Like twigs snapping and being mended together at the same time, like branches falling and flowers budding. This sound seems to drill right into my skull.
"Any of you hear that?" I call aloud. To no one in particular, but it comforts me to hear something secure. I get no replies other than several grunts and confused shrugs, though, so I'm apparently alone on this matter.
Maybe it doesn't to Dantalion, Rask, or any of the crew, but this noise is slowly killing me.
I think to myself, this wind is probably it.
The wind calms, but the sound doesn't. It continues to rustle and shake and crackle nonstop.
This is when I get up, spinning wildly.
Where is that damned sound coming from?
Krrsh
Kkkrrrrrrssssh
It is almost as if it is mocking me.
Kkrrrsch
Come find me
There.
"Where are you headed?" Someone calls, it's that female I saw days ago, Anizev; But I don't answer, I just briskly jog in the direction of the noise, the dreadful krrrsh krrrsh.
After several minutes in the surrounding underbrush, I wonder if I'm going mad. I should probably just plug my ears, or sleep in the tent, or something just as inane. Give up, find another way. The noise is what it is, that's life.
Death to cowards, traitors, and empty words
No, I refuse.
Then I'm tearing through grass and leaves and bush, head cocked at an angle as to always hear the direction of the noise. It's getting louder, and I'm getting worse. I must be close!
And I stumble into the brief ditch in front of me, crashing shoulder first and skidding across the ground, smearing mud against my fur. Wincing, I note that the noise has finally stopped. A sigh of relief tries to escapes my muzzle but gets canceled by something on my neck.
I look up and stare at the javelin pointed accusingly just above my jugular.
eastside hockey manager 07 is a terrible timesink