So there's some poetry in this chapter. Poetry, which is clearly not mine.

Credit where credit is due, the poem used in this chapter (hence the chapter name) is by Alfred Lord Tennyson.

While writing this, a line of poetry started bouncing around in my head. I do not quote the whole thing, just the pieces I found most fitting. The other small bit of poetry is mine (you'll know because I'm not much of a poet). Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Ch. 6-Charge of the Light Brigade

He had to squint under the harsh gray light. Why was it so bright?

Whoa! He threw his arms up to protect his face when a powerful gust of air flung him back. It did little to aid him. The eerie wind lifted him clean off the ground. He summersaulted over and over—arms flailing—grabbing at nothing.

For a few seconds he hung midair before abruptly realizing that the whipping winds were dying out.

"Ooh-ah-mpf!" he exclaimed, landing on his shell. Sitting up and rubbing his head, he looked around.

It was all so unbearably bright. Where the shell was he? What about the Mutanimals? Had they gotten away? Had he been captured by Shredder?

What about Raph? Slash had said…but what had he meant? Was there really a chance? Could Raph be alive?

Leo stood, brushed himself off, and set out to find some answers. He turned around and stopped dead in his tracks. He gasped. He was atop a giant dune—a dune of fine, soft sand that reflected the harsh light like a foggy mirror. There were three such dunes, sloping down like mountains to a great valley. Spiraling down into the basin like a giant sift. Down in the gulf stood a precarious little village of black tile and bright red rock.

He didn't like the look of that place. It looked like one of those ancient digs he'd seen on television in those archeological programs Don liked to watch. The village was unnatural, like it oughtn't to be there—like the desert could swallow it back up again at any moment. He shouldn't go down there, but—

There was something. Leo couldn't quite put his finger on it, but his instincts were acting up again. There was something down there that he needed to see. At the same time, he was arrested by a jolt of foreboding.

Into the valley of death…

No. He shook his head. This was no time for poetry, he told himself. He reached back for his katanas and spun around a few times when he realized they were gone. What the—

Great, he thought, rolling his eyes.

On high alert, he edged down the slippery slope, feeling the tickle of the sand between his toes, a sensation that was strange and hard to get used to, Leo pressed forward. Closer and closer to the dark center…

"Half a league, half a league,

Half a league onward

All in the valley of death," he muttered under his breath.

Master Splinter was never remiss when it came to their general education, but each of his turtle sons had a keen appreciation of art and literature, since they were two of the rat's favorite subjects.

Michelangelo was the arty one of the family. Donnie's genius manifested itself in all areas. Leo had fallen in love with classic literature, Japanese and otherwise. Oddly enough, Raphael's interest had fallen into more contemporary works.

"Boldly they rode and well,

Into the Jaws of Death,

Into the mouth of Hell," Leo whispered, distractedly. He knew that he'd jumped quite a bit, but he couldn't remember much of the verses. It had been years since he'd read any Tennyson. Not one of his favorite poets. Classic—yes—but not his style. This particular piece, he knew, was one of Raph's favorites.

Raph always seemed to enjoy pieces with dark subject matter.

A small grin flickered at the corner of Leo's mouth, "Seriously twisted," he reminisced affectionately. How oddly happy that comment had made his brother.

Raph…

The, by now, familiar ache settled in. Miss you so much, Leo thought; hoping Raph would hear it somehow.

Almost in answer, the wind howled back to life. Leo sprinted down the sandy slope as fast as he could. Sand battered him from all sides. He couldn't see a thing. Slowly he perceived a building in front of him. He felt for a door and flung himself inside, slamming it closed behind him.

"Forward the Light Brigade!

Charge for guns,' he said:

Into the valley of Death"

Leo whirled around and shrank back. It was a hideously twisted creature. It stooped like a hunchback. Its arms were different lengths, warped and twisted like soft green taffy. It was made of bubbling, green goo. It went on, its voice airy and high pitched, just the way Leo thought a wraith or spectre ought to sound. Like nails on a chalkboard, awful, inhuman screeching.

"Rode the six hundred."

Leo's hands shook. "W-What are you?" The thing stepped forward. Leo dropped into a ready stance, "Don't come any closer."

"My purpose is not to harm," It wailed. There was brief pause. It tilted its gloppy, misshapen head to one side. Its bright yellow eyes seemed to glow even brighter. "Unless you desire to harm the Master." It seemed panicked, about to attack.

Leo tossed up his hands. "I will not harm your Master. I promise."

The creature relaxed. Sensing no ill intentions, Leo slid a little closer. "What are you? Do you have a name?"

"I am a Goolem."

Leo raised an eyeridge. "Huh. Like a golem, but of goo." He got the impression that Goolem was pleased.

"Yes. The Master cast me in his own image."

Suddenly the room around them creaked ominously. The ground shook. Goolem grabbed Leonardo and led him to the back wall, opening a door to a low tunnel.

"Come, quickly."

Apprehensively, Leo crouched down and followed, not long after, the tunnel widened out and he could straighten up.

"What is this place?" Leo asked, awed, as he looked around. The walls were covered in patterns. Some were carved with turtle-shell-esque tessellations. Some were stamped with three-fingered handprints. At one point there was even a painting of a twisted figure that looked a lot like Goolem.

The answer Leo received was not, he thought, a direct reply:

"Theirs not to make reply,

Theirs not to reason why,

Theirs but to do and die—"

"Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred," Leo finished. An odd moment of peace settled between them. They wandered further down the tunnel.

Finally, Leo broke the silence, "I want to meet your Master."

"The Master's true form sees no one."

"I want to get out of here."

"The Master will not want to see you."

Leo closed his mouth with an audible click. He wasn't gaining any ground. He'd have to try another way. He glanced up at the walls. They were cracked and faded in several places. Some sand fell down on his head and a bit of stone ceiling chipped off. He gasped.

"What's happened to this place?"

"The Master's strength is gone. The great structure was meant to free him, but life-force wanes, and now it crumbles."

"The Master is fond of poetry?" Leo asked, perplexed, trying to make sense of a world that made none.

"Master's interests are many."

"Maybe if you take me to him, I can recite him something."

Goolem shook his head. "Master does not enjoy your type of poetry. About peace and finding centers, and flowering things."

Leo's eye-ridges lowered. "How do you know about me?"

Leo stared into Goolem's fiery yellow eyes. He gasped. They burned yellow like the eyes of the jack-o-lantern lamp in Raph's room. The short, dark green frame, that twisted, misshapen form, so strange yet so…the face. The face!

"Raph?"

Goolem looked surprised. "That name…" The twisted face bent even more out of shape. "Then you are here to harm the Master!" He exclaimed sounding both hurt and angry.

"No!" Leo shouted, throwing up his hands. "Please! I am a friend of your Master's! Take me to him!"

"No, you are the one he warned would come! He does not wish you to! He does not want you here! Go! Now! Leave!"

Leo was drowning in confusion. "What? I don't understand."

Turning his back on the turtle, Goolem murmured, "I will take you to the exit."

"No!" Leo said, pouncing on the odd creature. "You will take me to my brother!" He demanded fiercely.

Wailing so loudly that it hurt Leo's ears, Goolem threw the turtle off. "It is too late to stop the happenings."

Leo's shoulders fell. "Just take me to him."

Goolem's head lifted, tilted on one side like a dog listening to noises too high pitched for human ears. The glowing yellow eyes burned brighter. They slid slowly onto Leo.

"The Master calls," Goolem screeched. The green figure dashed down the halls with more elegance and speed than Leo thought possible. Rushing after him, Leo shoved through a heavy door into an octagonal chamber. The thick, limestone walls and the smell of dust gave Leo an eerie feeling. He felt as though he'd been trapped in an ancient tomb.

"Go down, go down,

Into the night,

Into the dark

Rub away the lasting mark

Pain that lingers,

Clawing fingers

Rake away the winter bark," recited a familiar voice.

The words sent a shiver across Leo's shoulders. He almost didn't want to turn around. Leo was afraid that if he turned around, his brother would be gone.

Quietly, he said, "I am not familiar with that piece."

"Leo?" a frightened voice choked.

Leo finally turned around. His heart leapt into his mouth.

Slash burst into the turtles' lair, cradling Leonardo's unresponsive frame in his giant arms. All he could think about, all he could see in his mind's eye, was that horrible night not long ago, when he done just the same with a different turtle in his arms.

"Leonardo…" keened a worried father, his shaking paws hands examining his son's grievous injuries.

Thin cracks rippled outward from where Tigerclaw's powerful strike had hit on the left side of Leo's plastron.

Slash grimaced. He set Leo down softly. Splinter rushed to his side and began to do what he could.

"Leo?" A small, scared voice asked.

Turning, Slash's fists tightened. Donatello looked younger now than he had when the turtles had turned thirteen. Young and scared…so very scared. Slash whirled back around and punched a column with a snarl. "It's my fault."

The Mutanimals wore grave faces. Rockwell, tried to put a hand on his shoulder, but Slash jerked away.

Leatherhead bowed his shoulders. He, too, blamed himself.

Splinter's ears dropped. He shook his head, only taking his eyes off his injured son for a few seconds. "No."

Slash started to object, but Splinter cut him off.

"Now is not the time."

"Can I—" Don started to ask.

The old rat shook his head, "There is little that can be done. We must disinfect the cracks and wrap them tightly. I only hope it will be enough to prevent infection."

An exaggerated yawn made them all jump and turn. Donnie rushed his younger sibling, trying to block Mikey's view.

"What going—" The young turtle caught a glimpse over Don's shoulder. "Leo!" He rushed over to their big brother with tears in his eyes. "Leo! Leo, wake up!" he prodded Leo's shoulder gently.

Splinter reached out and put a hand on Mikey's shoulder. "Michelangelo…"

"Leo…please…you've got to be alright. You just have to be, okay? We can't—we can't—" Tears tumbled down his cheeks. "We need you! LEO!" Mikey screamed at his unconscious big brother.

Big, scaly hands tugged the turtle gently away. Leatherhead rumbled soothingly, doing the best he could to console his young friend. Mikey accepted the hug with a loud sniffle.

Splinter lifted Leonardo and carefully carried him into Donatello's lab. Donnie trailed after him. Slash went also, and the rest of the Mighty Mutanimals followed, Leatherhead still soothing Michelangelo as best he could.

Rage surged through Slash's veins. He was furious with himself. Getting more and more angry by the second. First Raphael, now Leonardo…

"Slash," Rockwell called softly.

Slash glared.

The look shook Dr. Rockwell's nerve, but instead of showing it, he stiffened. "I need to start sifting through the data we retrieved."

Slash lowered his eyes and nodded assent. Rockwell nodded in return and lingered awkwardly. Was he supposed to do it here or…?

Half afraid of the answer, Donatello stammered, "W-What data?"

Slash turned his carapace on them. "Pete listened in on a short exchange between Shredder and Bexton Stickerman."

Splinter looked up from where he was tending Leonardo. The Hamato family waited with baited breath for details, but Slash was tongue-tied. He almost didn't want to say anything. He didn't want to raise false hope.

Sensing Slash could not go further, Rockwell coughed and took command of the conversation.

"A conversation where Stockman made several mentions of 'suspended animation'. There seemed some little doubt concerning whether or not Raphael was truly dead."

Donatello's eyes snapped up to Rockwell's face. Fear, youth, and anguish vanished from his deep brown irises. His forehead creased. His scientific mind had been snapped on.

"You have data supporting this?" Don asked. Could it be? Could there be a chance?

"We have data." Rockwell answered, holding up a portable drive. "I won't know for certain until I get a better look at it."

Don motioned to his computer. "Plug it in."

Rockwell briefly frowned at the smart turtle's expression. "Are you sure—"

"—If there's even the tiniest hint of chance…"

"Very well." Rockwell acknowledged.

Mikey and Splinter looked at each other. Their faces were almost apprehensive.

"Donnie, you'll let us know, right?" Mikey asked, nervously.

"Of course we will, Mikey. I—I think it's highly unlikely that—" Don let the sentence fade indicatively. "But I won't give up until I know for sure."

Splinter hummed and nodded agreement, his weary eyes clouding slightly. "Indeed. We must know for certain."

What do you think?

Was it too weird? I know I really took creative freedom on that first part.