Mr. Fox and Rabbit - The War

"There was a time when I would have given my life to feel the pain of fire," said Mr. Fox, staring straight ahead. "It wasn't that long ago."
Rabbit nodded. "I remember. Damn funny you looked, all singed."
"Now... now it's different."
"I have this piece of wood," said Dr. Bear in a rumbling, confused voice. "I cut it from a long piece and now it's short. It's shorter..." he trailed off.
"Where... where exactly are we?" said Mr. Fox, looking around with barely disguised curiosity.
"We are floating," said Rabbit, his ears perfectly horizontal and trembling.
"I don't like to float," said Dr. Bear. "I don't understand it."
Rabbit slapped Dr. Bear on the back. He grinned outward, at you.
"You don't understand it either." It wasn't a question.
"Deep in the well, where the space is endless," began Mr. Fox.
"That has a familiar ring to it," whispered Rabbit.
"Roaring arcs of blue flame erupt from my shoulders, endless bursts, explosions," said Mr. Fox. As he said each word it became thus.
"flickers of supernovas, blazing ruptures through the whirlwind of silver feathers
glowing incandescent white,"
Rabbit shielded his eyes with a furry paw. He squinted at the blazing canine (he determined to look up foxes on the internet - are foxes canines?).
"Blinding azure arcs erupt with each heartbeat, shoulderblade swords,
flicker blasts through the cloud of silver feathers.
They turn white hot and sink into those arcs,
Painful splinter gifts from God."
"You just had to bring God up, didn't you," said Rabbit, definitely resentful. "Why?"
Slowly, the silver feathers faded and they slowed their blazing dance. One by one, they fell away into oblivion. As they dropped away the light died with them.
"It's not that the feathers are falling," said Mr. Fox. "It's that they are falling faster than we are."
"We are falling?"
"Or floating. It's all relative."