Watership down 2 - a new threat

Chapter 32

Chapter 32: Confrontation and Confusion

Fiver found himself in a dimly lit chamber, the air thick with tension and the faint smell of damp earth. He had been dragged away from his friends, his heart racing as he faced the imposing figure of General Woundwort. The general's presence loomed large, a constant reminder of the power he wielded over the Efran forces.

"Where are you taking me?" Fiver asked, struggling to mask the tremor in his voice.

Woundwort's gaze was cold and unyielding. "We're not going anywhere," he said with a sneer. "You'll be watching."

Just then, Fiver caught a glimpse through an open doorway. His heart dropped as he saw Spartina and Bigwig, wrapped in each other's embrace, their noses nearly touching. They were sharing a moment that seemed entirely out of place in the chaos that surrounded them. "What the heck am I looking at?" Fiver blurted out, confusion mingling with disbelief.

Woundwort's lips curled into a disdainful smirk. "You're looking at something you shouldn't be seeing at your age," he replied, a hint of mockery in his tone.

Fiver shook his head, trying to make sense of it all. "We are not that kind of people, are we?" he asked, searching Woundwort's face for any sign of humanity.

Woundwort shrugged, a dismissive gesture. "Uh, yeah. Let's go," he said, turning away from the scene.

"Wait," Fiver pressed, urgency rising in his chest. "How many people do that kind of stuff?"

"Lots," Woundwort replied curtly, his patience wearing thin.

Fiver's mind raced as he thought of the violence that had permeated their lives. "What is with the whole violence thing?" he asked, frustration creeping into his voice. "It's not a big deal, and why? Why did you just execute men and women with innocent hearts?"

Woundwort's expression hardened at Fiver's words. "I have the kill instead of the brain," he retorted, irritation flaring.

Fiver could feel the heat of anger rising in him, a fire ignited by the general's brutal disregard for life. "What?" Woundwort exclaimed, incredulous.

"I mean, why?" Fiver continued, voice rising. "Would a Sandleford like me do that? No! Would you do those kills everyone hates? No!" His heart raced as he confronted the general, feeling a rush of courage despite the fear creeping in.

Woundwort's reaction was instantaneous. In one swift movement, he slapped Fiver hard across the cheek, the force of it sending pain radiating through his body. "Don't you ever say that to me!" the general growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Stunned, Fiver touched his cheek, the sting sharp and biting. Woundwort leaned in closer, his eyes narrowing. "And don't ever think about it. We're men! We don't burst into tears over nothing..."

With that, Woundwort turned on his heel and stormed out of the chamber, leaving Fiver alone with the whirlwind of emotions that churned inside him.

Fiver's heart pounded in his chest, the confrontation leaving him shaken. He struggled to reconcile the different facets of the world around him—the violence, the love, the pain, and the confusion. How could Woundwort lead with such brutality while dismissing the tenderness shared between his friends?

As he leaned against the cold stone wall, Fiver felt the weight of it all bearing down on him. He had to find a way to break free from Woundwort's grasp, to gather his friends and make them understand that they could stand against this oppressive regime. They would not let love be stifled, nor would they allow violence to define their lives.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself. He needed to find Hazel and the others. They would have to confront Woundwort's cruelty and reclaim the life they deserved—one filled with compassion, hope, and strength against the darkness that threatened to engulf them all.