Post by Django on Jun 29, 2011 22:55:39 GMT -6
"I HATE YOU!!" Clarence had heard no other words out of his sister's mouth before the day she had disappeared. The words had not been directed at him, but they were like a shot to the heart. Diana hated not just their father, but the entire family for arranging her marriage. She said she'd felt forced into it, completely against her will.
Clarence had tried to reason with her, saying that having her brother's best friend as a husband wouldn't be so bad, but things had only gotten worse. The pretty spotted rat had run away, leaving not even a note. Clarence fruitlessly searched for her, armed only with a bow and a quickly-depleting quiver of arrows.
He searched for months, with no success. He grew in forest knowledge and archery skill. But every time he would return home for supplies and rest, he would have no good news to bring. Damian, the promised groom, grew more and more withdrawn as the days wore endlessly on. As Damian's friend, Clarence would try to cheer him up by saying he would find Diana soon, but it did no good.
On his last trip, Clarence once again returned home with no news of his sister, and the news that greeted him was worse than the news he brought.
"She's in Mossflower," his father announced, stone-faced. "On the very outskirts of the woods, and she's married . . . a mouse." Clarence was speechless with shock. His body trembled as rage began to well up inside him. A mouse?! How could she marry a mouse?!
"She didn't!" it was too outrageous, and yet Clarence's father had never been one to joke.
"And that isn't even the worst part," his father went on. "Damian hasn't come out of his home in a week. We tried to check on him, but he turned us away. Since you're his friend, I suggest you try to get him out of that blasted house of his." Clarence agreed and set off that hour to his friend's abode.
The rat village he called home was small, and his friend's home was close by. Clarence knocked thrice on the door before it swung inward of it's own accord. No one had answered it. It had simply opened. Instantly alert, Clarence stepped inside, calling his friend's name softly.
It wasn't until he got to the bedroom that he saw what had happened. Damian's dead body was sprawled across the bloody sheets. A dagger, gripped in the rat's own paw, had been plunged into his heart. Clarence was immediately sick at the sight. Once his nausea had passed, the spotted rat shakily made his way to his friend's carcass. He found the suicide note clenched tightly in Damian's free paw.
'Diana chose a mouse. I have no more reason to live. Signed, Damian.'
Now, almost two years later, Clarence gripped that very same note as he perched in the high branches of a tree, glaring down at a quaint little hut in the woods. A happy couple lived there, expecting their first child any day now. Clarence, now going by the name Clar, scowled as he saw the husband reenter the little home from chopping some firewood. Winter had set in a week ago, and snow now blanketed the ground.
Clar would let Diana and her husband Martin live long enough to see the face of their son, his nephew, but then they would both have to die, along with the infant. It was Diana'a and Martin's fault that Damian was dead. Clar would have revenge.
He didn't have to wait long. That day, Diana gave birth to a healthy baby boy. She was still smiling with joy when she laid her head back, closed her eyes, and quietly died. Clar was speechless. He had drawn his bow back, ready to bury the shaft deep into Martin's heart first, Diana's second, and the baby's third, but Diana had died in childbirth, saving him an arrow. Somehow, though, he didn't shoot. He could see the tiny infant from where he perched. The boy was beautiful, all tan with brown ears, toes, and markings. And Martin looked so grief-stricken at the sudden loss of his wife.
Clar did not shoot his bow that day. But he vowed to. He would forever keep an arrow away from his new nephew, but Martin would die as soon as the babe could take care of himself. Martin was the reason Damian was dead. Martin had to die. But the boy had nothing to do with it. What honor he had left forced Clar to respect the life of his nephew.
Years passed before Clar got his revenge. He stood over Martin's dead body for a long time, pulling out the red arrow shaft he'd buried in the mouse's head. Rain poured down around them, drenching Clar's fur. He'd lost a few good arrows this evening. One in an burly otter, one in his nephew's footpaw, and a couple to misfortune. Hs aim was always off in the rain, but at least he'd killed Martin.
Maybe one day Clar could apologize to his nephew for killing Martin. After all, the boy was innocent. He didn't know about his mother's past. Perhaps it would be best if he never knew.
Clarence had tried to reason with her, saying that having her brother's best friend as a husband wouldn't be so bad, but things had only gotten worse. The pretty spotted rat had run away, leaving not even a note. Clarence fruitlessly searched for her, armed only with a bow and a quickly-depleting quiver of arrows.
He searched for months, with no success. He grew in forest knowledge and archery skill. But every time he would return home for supplies and rest, he would have no good news to bring. Damian, the promised groom, grew more and more withdrawn as the days wore endlessly on. As Damian's friend, Clarence would try to cheer him up by saying he would find Diana soon, but it did no good.
On his last trip, Clarence once again returned home with no news of his sister, and the news that greeted him was worse than the news he brought.
"She's in Mossflower," his father announced, stone-faced. "On the very outskirts of the woods, and she's married . . . a mouse." Clarence was speechless with shock. His body trembled as rage began to well up inside him. A mouse?! How could she marry a mouse?!
"She didn't!" it was too outrageous, and yet Clarence's father had never been one to joke.
"And that isn't even the worst part," his father went on. "Damian hasn't come out of his home in a week. We tried to check on him, but he turned us away. Since you're his friend, I suggest you try to get him out of that blasted house of his." Clarence agreed and set off that hour to his friend's abode.
The rat village he called home was small, and his friend's home was close by. Clarence knocked thrice on the door before it swung inward of it's own accord. No one had answered it. It had simply opened. Instantly alert, Clarence stepped inside, calling his friend's name softly.
It wasn't until he got to the bedroom that he saw what had happened. Damian's dead body was sprawled across the bloody sheets. A dagger, gripped in the rat's own paw, had been plunged into his heart. Clarence was immediately sick at the sight. Once his nausea had passed, the spotted rat shakily made his way to his friend's carcass. He found the suicide note clenched tightly in Damian's free paw.
'Diana chose a mouse. I have no more reason to live. Signed, Damian.'
Now, almost two years later, Clarence gripped that very same note as he perched in the high branches of a tree, glaring down at a quaint little hut in the woods. A happy couple lived there, expecting their first child any day now. Clarence, now going by the name Clar, scowled as he saw the husband reenter the little home from chopping some firewood. Winter had set in a week ago, and snow now blanketed the ground.
Clar would let Diana and her husband Martin live long enough to see the face of their son, his nephew, but then they would both have to die, along with the infant. It was Diana'a and Martin's fault that Damian was dead. Clar would have revenge.
He didn't have to wait long. That day, Diana gave birth to a healthy baby boy. She was still smiling with joy when she laid her head back, closed her eyes, and quietly died. Clar was speechless. He had drawn his bow back, ready to bury the shaft deep into Martin's heart first, Diana's second, and the baby's third, but Diana had died in childbirth, saving him an arrow. Somehow, though, he didn't shoot. He could see the tiny infant from where he perched. The boy was beautiful, all tan with brown ears, toes, and markings. And Martin looked so grief-stricken at the sudden loss of his wife.
Clar did not shoot his bow that day. But he vowed to. He would forever keep an arrow away from his new nephew, but Martin would die as soon as the babe could take care of himself. Martin was the reason Damian was dead. Martin had to die. But the boy had nothing to do with it. What honor he had left forced Clar to respect the life of his nephew.
Years passed before Clar got his revenge. He stood over Martin's dead body for a long time, pulling out the red arrow shaft he'd buried in the mouse's head. Rain poured down around them, drenching Clar's fur. He'd lost a few good arrows this evening. One in an burly otter, one in his nephew's footpaw, and a couple to misfortune. Hs aim was always off in the rain, but at least he'd killed Martin.
Maybe one day Clar could apologize to his nephew for killing Martin. After all, the boy was innocent. He didn't know about his mother's past. Perhaps it would be best if he never knew.