My childhood was full of tales and legends, of knights, nobles and the slaying of dragons. Virtues, saints and the brave of heart. Yet for all their courage, purity and honour it never dawned on me why they did what they did in the first place.
It was, for a ten year old boy, boring with all the endless repetitions of heraldry, lectures of principles from people long dead, buried and rotting. Not to forget the constant tenets of honour, history lessons of heroes which had sacrificed their lives, saved the world with their brow held high towards the benevolent Gods; For nothing more than a short passage in a dusty old tome. A mere side note in the history of the world.
It all seemed like an utter waste to me.
If only I had listened with my heart instead of my arse...
Suffice to say, Old Silvereye's tales of morale rectified and gradually changed my perspective of the world surrounding me. As I grew stronger physically, I began to comprehend the meaning of why we have to defend the weak and ill fated from tyranny, corruption and injustice. And I guess the last iconic drop of change within me began with this old story of his.
The story of The Ear-Tied Hare.
Twas after the fire killed Farmer and Wife,
The animals met in their stalls.
They thought to take stock of their own loss of life
And plan who would rule their halls.
So Quince the Draft Horse said, "I'm the strongest by far."
But Rooter the Dog said, "I'm smartest for war."
Then Stalker the Cat, in the rafters and dust,
Said, "I am the hunter, so I should rule us."
And Mucker the Pig and then Winker the Cow, And Egger the Chick and the Lamb, Fleecy, now Cried, "We are the ones who fed Farmer and Wife."
The Crow and the Rat next defended their life.
But poor Lop-Eared Hare had had nothing to say.
Then Quince shouted, "Quiet! We must decide this
By judging our worth on the farm.
And in this fair fashion we'll fill out the lists
So none of us comes to great harm."
So Stalker, from rafters above all the rest,
Said, "I have the vantage to judge for the best.
Lord Quince, you are tops, for you do the work
That all of the rest of us willingly shirk.
Then Rooter and I, companions to men,
Should rule over the Pig and the Cow, Lamb and Hen.
But next come these four, who'd each give its life
To set a fine table for Farmer and Wife.
And Raptor the Crow and Fang the Brown Rat
Are last; the crumb-pickers, drinkers of fat."
And yet the poor Lop-Eared Hare had had nothing to say.
"Your plan sounds quite fine," said Quince the Draft Horse,
His hooves stomping loudly indeed.
The others, who noted his threat, said, "Of course."
Each one of them quickly agreed.
But, least of all these, the poor Lop-Eared Hare
Did not speak a word, did not voice a prayer,
And in his sad silence, became nought to them
But straw on the stall floor, but mud in the pen.
The others stomped past him like he wasn't there.
He skittered away; they stepped on his ears.
But never a cry came from the Lop-Ear the Least,
For he was the silent one, dumb amongst beasts.
And thus the poor Lop-Eared Hare had had nothing to say.
Beneath the sharp hooves, his ears stretched out long,
And from his deep scratched claw-marks they tore.
These kicks and abuses and other grave wrongs,
The Lop-Eared Hare patiently bore.
Till one horrid day, most horrid that year,
When Quince in a prancing pace stepped on his ear,
And poor Lop-Eared Bunny released his first squeal,
Which made the proud Quince rear and whicker and wheel;
His hooves struck the rafters and Stalker did fall;
Then Quince swung his hindquarters, smashing the stall;
And Rooter received a mild cut on one ear;
And Pig, Cow, and Lamp shrieked and bolted in fear:
The poor Lop-Eared Hare now had something to say.
So Quince called a caucus where they all agreed
That Lop-Ear should not speak again.
They filled his small mouth with a white cotton-weed
And knotted his ears with a rein.
The poor Ear-Tied Hare then had nothing to say
And down in the straw and the mud he did lay,
Where, silent and deaf, he awaited their paws,
Their hooves and their merciless, razor-sharp claws.
And though his companions meant no harm to him,
They paced and they pranced there in vanity's whim
Atop the poor Lop-Ear, whose fleece-muffled cries
Were to weak to mark the sad moments he died.
The poor Ear-Tied Hare had had nothing to say...
Loken, Late Watches, Beregost.
