| Subject: Darfur: a bio |
Author:
Darfur
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Date Posted: 15:10:16 06/23/07 Sat
The water. Cool, no.... it was cold....so cold....drowning him....going down....crushing.... a scream from above…..a splash of a body…. With a jolt, Darfur sat up, looking around, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool night air. Rain was pounding the windows. He often had this dream, but was unsure of what it meant. Tonight, though, he was determined to find out. Creeping out of bed, he snuck out of the room and down the stairs. It was not hard to hide, for he was a deep black all over, and wore a short black tunic, tied with a black cord. He often carried his little dagger, finely crafted, thrust through his belt, along with his bow and arrows. Padding along silently, he came to the bottom of the stairs. Going in a side door and up a small set of stairs, he came to Ma Mellus's room. Slipping inside, he went over to the bed and gently patted her arm. "Ma, wake up, please. I have to ask you something." With a start, she awoke, and looked around. "I'm right here, Ma!" Glancing down at him, she immediately noticed the young ferret was upset, and bent down to talk to him. Looking into his eyes, she saw deep, endless ocean and horrible dark mist. Shuddering slightly, she took the young ferret in her arms and set him on the bed to ask what was wrong. “Ma, where are my parents? Where did I come from? I keep having this …. dream. I want to know my past. He looks at her imploringly, waiting for her to answer. “I knew this day would come, but remember this. You are you, and nothing I say should change that.”
“Your mother’s name was Drippclaw, and your father’s name was Ironfist. They were part of a group, compromised of mercenaries, assassins, and sea pirates. Your father was the leader. They traveled inland after their ship was lost, wreaking havoc and destruction as they went. Finally, they made their way to Salamanderstron, where Skipper was visiting. They attacked Salamanderstron, but to no avail. They all died, except your father, who turned tail at the last moment, and, taking Skipper’s ship, went off to sea. But there were other ships in the harbor, other ships that were faster than Ironfist’s. Skipper chased Ironfist for a season, always North, over endless sea. In the very far north, Ironfist hit rocks. With a graceful dive, Skipper followed through the water. There was a battle, long and hard, but Skipper won. As he leapt into the water to make his way back to his ship, he saw you drifting down. He saved your life, Skipper did, and brought you to Redwall with him.”
The young ferret was ridged, head bowed, non moving. “Darfur….” She reached out a paw to comfort him, but, before she could say anything more, he was gone like a wisp of smoke. “Oh Darfur…….” With a long sigh, she got into bed and closed her eyes, although she would be awake much longer, thinking of the little ferret babe, dark as night.
Outside the Abby, in the rain, a ferret was huddled, in the middle of the grounds, invisible to all, including himself. He wept for all of the people his parents hurt, wept that he should see his father’s true colors. He wept for all of the thing he hadn’t known, the warm hug of a mother, or the bracing words of a father. Darfur could no longer stay at this Abby. The peace was too much for him, he needed to leave it behind. The ferret dark as night needed to leave, he felt it in him.
He didn’t really have any friends, you see, for he was very reclusive, and an agile climber. He would make his way through the Abby, into its depths, down to where the little folk go. He would sit down there for hours at a time, thinking of nothing, meditating. Sometimes he would climb all the way to the very top of the abbey where the weather vane was. He would sit and stare at the sky, watching the clouds. He never needed a bath, for he was so dark he never seemed dirty. Even if they tried to give him a bath, they never could find him, and soon most forgot he even existed. He liked it better that way, to just be left alone. He couldn’t help but notice, he was different that most. He let the rain wash him, ate alone, and didn’t participate during events. The young ferret grew, and flourished. He would sneak into the gatehouse or the library and read then leave to one of his secret spots to think. He grew smart, cunning, a master at the art of not being seen.
During his reading, he came across the Mask. The famous Otter that could be anything. And Darfur wanted to be like him. He watched, observed, and cataloged it all in his brain. The way hedgehogs walk. The way a mouse talked. He learned it all, practiced, and became them. During meals, he would sit in one of his secret observation spots, and wait until someone left. He would imitate them, dress and all, until he was undistinguishable. He would walk in and see if anyone knew it was him, which they never did. No one ever knew it was him. He knew all of the hiding spots in the abbey, knew it all better than anyone else.
He was ready to leave, for he kept nothing but the clothes and weapons on his back. He needed no food, for he could forage as he went. He often went for long walks in the woods, days at a time, but no one missed him. No one really knew he was alive. He would leave and go to Salamanderstron, where he would become their spy, able to sneak into enemy camps like smoke and hear what they say. Darfur had a calling. And he was going to it.
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