A Dusty Chest

Sometimes a writer's work is a like a dusty chest hidden away in an attic. You come back to it again and again, filling it with things that are important, but you never sift back through what's there already.
As I've been working on Feather and Fang, I've been rereading what I've already written, checking for consistency, making sure my character's arcs are doing what they are supposed to, and fixing any small problems I find. And problems I found, trust me. If the story is a chest, then there cobwebs in certain corners that need cleaning out; nasty pieces of prose and dialogue that need reworking. But what I didn't expect to find were the gems hidden under the cobwebs.
When you've been working on a book for as long as I have (since early 2010), you tend to forget a good deal of what you've put in there. Today, as I was lengthening my timing from two days to a week (Another problem of being sporadic in writing; you forget you're still in the same day as the one you started in), I reached the fight with the bladesfell.
These bird-like creatures are feathered with metal instead of, well, feathers, and their scream carries terror with it. They hunt by freezing their prey with fear, and then swooping down to finish the job with razor beaks and talons. But when Redpaw and Crestlen become the prey, they keep enough presence of mind to run like scared rabbits for shelter. Maybe 'presence of mind' is the wrong way to say it. 'Self-preservation'? Anyways, they flee. But when the bladesfell come again, there is a very different outcome.

Then together the two monsters opened their fierce maws and roared, a roar filled with terrifying thoughts, fear and coming death. The night air whipped into a frenzy, driving towards Redpaw and Crestlen. All around them rotten roots snapped and exploded, leaves tore themselves from their branches, and the forest floor shot up in a torrent of dead leaves and branches as the twin roars blasted into the surrounding jungle.

But in the center of the whirlwind Redpaw stood slowly, the wind of the roars whipping past him like a wave receding from a rock. The fear that he had felt before was suddenly gone as a sense of peace broke through the noise and chaos. A quiet voice within was telling him to be strong, to face the evil that now crouched in the clearing. No more would he cower in the dark. No more would he let fear rule his actions. Before he had fled, but no more. Now was the time to fight, to stand strong. The terror of before reached out for him again, but the freezing claws skittered away on the iron armor of determination and will Redpaw had been given.

Words came unbidden to his lips, tumbling forth like rain. First a mutter, then a battle cry; a song of defiance and courage in the darkest of hours.

Chaos all around,

But a Voice breaks through

Death will surround,

But these words are true

Let the evil flee!

Though terrors do roar,

We will have the victory!

Dark will come no more!

When life and it's chaos surrounds you, may the Voice of the great Peacemaker come whispering in your ear, telling you to be strong, to face the danger, to run with endurance the race set before us.

Sincerely,
Farjag