Shadows

Underneath the darkened sky, beyond the view of sight, lived a small resilient creature who overcame his plight. 
Many moons ago unbeknown to many, a horrible menace and grimace, awaited a mole called Henry.  A mole, he could not see but could feel with all his heart, lost his pride and home and that was just the start.  After countless times of searching and feeling his way around, Henry the mole shadowed in sorrow and vowed to never utter a sound. 

Before it all took place, exactly three days before, beneath the old oak that stood, under the stars allure, beneath the fallen leaves that lay, deep into the soil, Henry the Mole lived happy as can be unaware of turmoil. 
You see this was above your average home, it was a place of peace, but every creature had its role, important was every piece.  The birds that flew atop the trees glided in view of all, the moles that dug beneath the ground drove worms atop the soil.  Foxes, owls and badgers and moles roamed and watched the night, whilst starling, squirrel and ravens and more woke with the morning light.  The animals worked in solitude, there home was their own, it was peace, yet something grew in the form of a threat, something wanted it to cease.

Beyond the valley and mountains lived creatures very rarely seen, as small as they were, they were full of malice, there spirits were dark and mean.  They would steal upon the local farm and rattle the cattle and sheep, they would cause a ruckus and hassle and wake the farmer from his sleep.  They would scurry away through bushes and shrub with laughter in the air, for many a time the foxes were blamed causing for them despair.  The farmer would come out blazing, two barrels and steely eyed, he’d fire upon anything that moved, and many of the animals died.
For a while the laughter and mischief stopped, the creatures seemingly gone for good, normality resumed, the forest floor bloomed with flowers throughout the wood.  It was then that the horror was set as the wickedness returned but worse than before it swept the forest floor, all were to be burned.  The creatures were somewhat larger and smarter than they had ever been before, they attacked and killed the farmers wife and destroyed the cattle in gore.  The farmer and the woodland life were left in dire straits, their gentle little lives were at the foot of hells gates.  All seemed to be lost, the trees went up in flame, the animals fled to higher ground and under the rocks from which they came.
The animals were in hiding, their very home was destroyed, but underneath the undergrowth an unexpected figure, a digger was deployed.
The smallest of the woodland creatures, an unexpected asset, buried through the earth that night looking to bury the hatchet.  The creatures lay in wait, laughter at his pleas, they took from him his will, his promise, they took his family with ease.
All was lost, and hope was thwarted, he vowed to never speak again, his efforts seemed hopeless and exhausted, he had lost his home, his den. 
The light of dawn slowly approached, the creatures had a nasty plan to eradicate all within a mile and ultimately expand their clan.
Creeping through the star lit night, under rays of woe, snuck a fox of wile and cunning, as great concern grew.  He made his way toward the mole who vowed to be quiet for all, a master plan grew in his mind, for the greater good and small.  He whispered in his ear to which the mole looked calm and glad, and with every passing second, he refocused “I must be mad!”
He dug as deep as he possibly could, he clawed and scratched away, after days of digging the perimeter of the wood he sat back, the fox made his play.  He approached and taunted the creatures from afar, teasing with bushy tail, sending the creatures into a frenzy, seeking to follow his trail.  He led them up the garden path, they followed with growls and groaning, it was then that they incurred the wrath of a little mole in mourning.  He had clawed so deep and vast and far, when the creatures took one more step, they fell through the earth’s core once more and Henry looked on and spoke, “I hope you enjoy your trip!” 
Fire so hot launched into the sky, volcanic and consumed them all, the creatures screeched and hissed in one last beckoned call.
After that day the creatures were gone, the farmer came to grips with his loss, but he turned his head to the forest and finally realised all that was.  The forest was filled with creatures, that looked out for more than number one, they worked together in harmony since it had all begun.  Al the animals were grateful, they had fulfilled their role, but no one ever expected an unlikely hero in, Henry the Mole.