> > > Kittens on the Battlefield
> > > A very, very, late tie-in to Untold Tales 295.
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> > > The young girl in the tattered dress wandered aimlessly across the death strewn battlefield in thought filled silence.
> > > Just weeks ago she had fled this same place, stumbling blindly through the dark until, miraculously, she had found herself at the gate of the fortress that lay on the edge of the field of slaughter. To her eyes now, the fortress looked like a wounded soldier, still standing to attention out of little more than a weary determination to go on. Much like its defenders then.
> > > She turned her back on the fortress, the sight saddened her. It had fought so hard against the invaders, lost so much. The corpses of those same invaders lay all around her now, as she continued to pick her way through the bloodstained battle ground. So did the corpses of those defenders that had given their lives to defend what they believed in.
> > > The White Gate had come by hard times of late. And so had all the people around it.
> > > And there was no reason for it.
> > > There were excuses of course. Things and people that had led to this bloodshed. A mighty conqueror called the Parody Master marched his armies across the universe and none could stand in his way. The dark creatures had been looking for trouble and gladly flocked to his side. But there was still no reason for it all.
> > > No reason, she thought bitterly, but the dark desire to conquer and to destroy that fills the hearts of men and beasts. No reason that could ever atone for all the death that lay in the mud all about her.
> > > But there had been a victory. They said.
> > > Heroes had come from the mortal land of matter and of iron. They had travelled far and long to come to this place of death and despair and bring it hope. They had pushed back the dark hordes and defeated the cruel cold monsters of shadow that led them.
> > > And there had been reinforcements. Led by the Green Saint of Perfectgaard, countless brave warriors had journeyed to the aid of the failing defenders of the gate.
> > > It had been a victory, the soldiers said, to make its way into songs and stories for generations to come. They said they had never seen such a victory. She certainly had never seen such a victory. She saw no victory at all.
> > > All she saw was death.
> > > So now she wandered lost across the battlefield alone. No possessions to her name but the tattered clothes she wore. No family or surviving friends. No hope.
> > > She wandered alone, for she had no-one left, her plain brown hair blowing and tangling in the breeze. And she searched.
> > > She searched her heart and the devastated wasteland around her. Searched without truly knowing what she was searching for. Searched for some sign, some desperate glimmer of hope. Searched for something, anything, to tell her that there was still life, and hope, and love, joy, happiness, and those other bright things that had been consumed by the darkness.
> > > Then she found something. Something wonderful.
> > > As the dark, oppressive clouds finally parted to allow the first rays of sunlight to fall across the tattered land three kittens played among the dead. One was fluffy white, another coal black, the last a warm ginger like the sun rising over the hills. And she wasn’t alone.
> > > Hope can come in countless guises.
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> > > 
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> > > By Rhiannon Watson.
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> > > A note from the author: Clever readers may notice that this tie-in is somewhat late. Almost a whole year late. But the fact remains that I was re-reading the story and suddenly decided that I wanted to write this. If nothing else it finishes off the kitten subplot that was only in UT for one chapter before it was forgotten. I hope you enjoyed it.
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> > > Concepts, characters, and situations copyright © 2006 reserved by Rhiannon Rose Watson. The right of Rhiannon Rose Watson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. |
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