Killian—Last Ditch Efforts

	The fighting started again at dawn.  Under Saoirse's direction, the rabbits had worked all night to fix their broken wall.  Killian had helped them, laying bricks as fast as his partner had been able to slap mortar on the bricks below.  Nobody has said a word to him.  Like Ciara, he was accepted in Oseille as long as he made himself useful.  But, afterward he had opened the Red Wolf up to the entire town, pouring half his stock of wine down the throats of his new friends.
	He was well on his way to being drunk on what was left of his stock when the wall came down for the second time.  As the fighting spilled over into the town he took his grandfather's old sword out from its place under the bar.  Something heavy hit the tavern, shattering windows and cracking the wall.  Plaster dust spilled down on him, and he swung the sword once or twice, getting the feel of it.
	Most of the rabbits had gone back into hiding again and he didn't blame them.  Tough as they were, most rabbits weren't fighters.  But he knew there were some, mostly young bucks, and a few does, who would follow him.  He’d never used a sword before but he didn’t imagine that it was too difficult.  All he had to do was point it, and the rabbits, in the right direction and together they might be able to save their home.
	He’d only been a pup when his grandfather had died, but he remembered all the old stories.  Except for his father, all of his family had been fighters and had protected the weak.  It was time, now, for him to do the same.
	He was surprised to find Saoirse waiting for him outside the door.  The old rabbit never came to town except on business.  She should be at home with the furniture pushed in front of the door.
	“You're not going to stop them with that,” said Saoirse.
	“Have you got a better idea?” he said.
	“Not this time.  But maybe I don't need to.  Come with me,” she said.
	Across the street, a catapult stone crashed into the doctor's house.  Bricks and shards of glass rose up into the air and fell down on the knot of soldiers fighting three doors down.
	“Go home.  They're going to need you after this is over,” he said.
	“And you,” she said.
	“No.  You've never needed me before.  Even Ciara does more for this place than I do.  Well, now's the time for me to fix that,” he said.
	She grabbed at him to pull him back, but he was already turning and he slipped out of her grasp.
	Sword held high, he rushed the soldiers, who were still picking themselves up.  He cut a lynx down with his first swing, chopping her throat open.  She fell to her knees, fighting for one more breath and he stepped over her.  Another lunged to attack and Killian's elbow caught him in the stomach and knocked the breath out of him.
	By now the survivors were beginning to regroup and he knew he couldn't fight them all.  They formed into two groups, foxes and cats careful not to get too near each other.  But they all had their attention on him, and their swords pointed at his throat.  The closest cat, a Sergeant with a long scar across her face, softened enough to give him a sympathetic look.
	“If you do this now, you're just going to get them killed,” she said.
	“You don't know anything, and you're outnumbered,” he said.
	The cat turned to look down the street behind her.  It was empty now, except for them.  But in several of the houses around them the curtains had been pulled back, and Killian knew that the rabbits were watching.