A Reason to Live

The forest was silent; or nearly so. Birds chirped, leaves rustled, insects whirred- but those were background noises. Otherwise, it was silent. Then- the trees rustled with the passing of a squirrel. The said woodlander ran along the limbs at a good pace, her mottled green and brown tunic and reddish-brown fur making her nearly indistinguishable from the summer leaves. Finally the squirrel halted and dropped from the tree and into a clearing.

She looked around. The clearing hadn't changed much since last she'd been there. Oh sure- the bushes had grown and made the clearing smaller, but it was selectively the same, from the stone marking the body of her father to the bushes that hid the weasel who killed him.

The squirrel herself had changed- had changed so much since that fateful day her father, her friend had died. Once she had seen a cheery, bright-eyed youngster, rash and reckless, adoring her warrior father and trying to lift his heavy sword. Once she had been a clean-furred squirrelmaid, her rusty-golden colored tail always washed to a shine to please her father.

Now, the squirrel was old beyond her years. Her reddish-brown fur was lacerated with battle-scars, and dusty from travel. Now she carried two daggers and a short, thick stick-weapon in her belt. Now she was a warrior, agile and fierce. Now… now she was dull-eyed, empty-hearted, worn, broken, lost, and not caring to live. Few noticed the change, if any- when around other creatures, the squirrel was laughing and cheerful, friendly and outgoing. But that was a false front- a way to keep others from learning what was happening to her.

Once, she had been driven on by a purpose- to kill the one who had killed her father. The vengeance-lust had grown, taken over her life until all she lived for was to kill the wolverine who murdered her father. Then- she succeeded. Nearly losing her own life, she avenged her father.

…And then what? The squirrel's purpose for life was gone. She tried staying at the Wanderers, keeping a false front up. And yet- it was so hard seeing them all so happy while she herself was dead inside; while she was a mere shell. The warrior knew that she could only serve to harm them somehow. The squirrel had never cried since that day her father died. She knew, or at least believed, that if she could cry, the tears would heal her. But the squirrel was a lifeless shell, devoid of emotion. She dropped on her knees in front of her father's grave and pulled out her father's dagger…

"Riala Goldentail!"

The squirrel started and looked around. "F-father?"

The tall warrior appeared in front of her, his battered features stern and angered. "I never thought of you as weak or a coward," he said disapprovingly. "Appearantly I was wrong."

Riala was puzzled and hurt. Her father had rarely talked this way to her… "Why do you think that?"

He pointed a finger at his daughter's dagger. "You're too weak and cowardly to stay alive?" he said scornfully. "You're such a coward that you have to kill yourself? And you call yourself a warrior!"

Riala hung her head. "But… there's no reason to live," she said quietly.

Ranir's expression softened. "Riala, Riala," he murmured sadly. "You've been through so much, and yet you know so little. Think!" Riala shook her head after several minutes. Her father smiled. "No, I said think! Think of your Wanderer friends. Think of Mossflower. Of Redwall. Of goodbeasts in general. Think of your role in the Wanderers." Riala winced, remembering. She nodded miserably.

"Good, glad you've got some sense into your head," Ranir said. "Now, don't you dare go kill yourself. Dark Forest isn't a bad place, but life is so much better." He faded from sight, back to Dark Forest.

"No… don't leave me again…" Riala whispered, but he was gone. She put her head on her knees, staring forlornly at her father's grave. "Please…" A tear welled up in her eye and trickled down her cheek, hitting the ground. Father…

The tears came faster and faster until the squirrel's frame was wracked with sobs. In a clearing with insects the only living beings to hear her, Riala gave into her grief. As the tears hit the ground, she began to heal- bit by bit, drop by drop, tear by salty tear. And in her numbed mind, she began to realize a reason to live.