Afraid To Fail by The-Little-Ragdoll on DeviantArt (original) (raw)

"Sit up straighter, Ash," Woundwort ordered gently, "a chief rabbit must always command respect."
The buck's largest son sighed as he obeyed, though his eyes still betrayed his distracted thoughts.
"What is bothering you, my son," the large buck asked, his single crimson eye gazing at his eldest kit with worry, "your mind has been elsewhere all day."
"Father...are you ever afraid?"
The question caught the chief completely off guard. Had it been a member of his Owsla or one of the slaves, he'd have roared in their faces and claimed to fear nothing before putting them in their place. But this was his son, his heir, and he certainly seemed troubled by this notion.
Thinking of no alternatives, Woundwort nodded slowly, "Sometimes. I feared the day your mother attacked that fox. I feared the day I discovered her brother, your uncle, had infiltrated my Owsla and tried to take her away from me. I feared the day she told me I would have you and your brothers."
"So...you're afraid of mom?"
He gave a short laugh, "No. I was afraid of losing her."
"Did you ever get over your fear?"
"No," he admitted, "never. I still fear the thought of her or you boys vanishing from my life. It's that fear that pushes me to keep you all safe."
"I see."
Woundwort eyed his son, speaking softly, "What is it you fear, my son?"
Ash did not speak for many, many moments. His crimson eyes, perfect replicas of his father's, avoided the larger rabbit's questioning gaze. Instead, he gazed at his paws, shuffling them slightly as he thought of how to word it. His father was a tough rabbit, this he knew. Many of the rabbits around Efrafa called him cruel, unjust, and sadistic. Ash had gotten into plenty of fights with the other kits in the warren when they began to speak badly about his father during their afternoon playtime above ground. The rabbits of Efrafa never got to see the gentle side of Woundwort; the side he reserved for the privacy of the family den or the occasional family outing. And yet, with all the kindness and love he gave his sons, he still expected much of them. Ash especially. Day in and day out, he was being groomed for his inevitable rise to the title of chief. Lately, however, Ash had begun to feel something in his heart. Something heavy that weighed him down with each passing day.
"Ash?"
"So much is riding on me, father," he finally spoke, still not looking his father in the eye, "you want me to be a great and powerful chief, but I don't feel like I'm ever good enough. I don't want to let you down, father. You, or mother, or Thicket and Raige, or Efrafa. But what if I go through all this training and I still fail?"
It was Woundwort's turn to fall silent, his gaze traveling out over his throne room and towards the cave entrance. Outside, he could hear the kits playing while the Marks took part in their afternoon silflay.
"Ash, you could never let me down."
"But-"
"Listen," his father insisted, leaning down so that he was eye level with his son, "it takes a very brave rabbit to admit his fears and doubts. Trust me, my son, when I say that you will become a leader the likes of which this world has never seen. You could never let me down."

Watership Down (c) Richard Adams Ash & Render (c) Background (c) Screenshot