Chapter 12: 11. Safe Returns

I swallow hard, backing up by instinct, but there’s nowhere for me to go. I take a step to the left, but the wolf monster strafes that way and cuts me off. I step to the right quickly, but it leaps over nimbly! In this way, I’m cornered. It moves fast, with precise, agile movements despite its size. Probably only the dense treeline hampering its ability to really flex saved Jarrod from its jaws for so long.

My mind goes blank. What should I do? What can I do? I can’t fight this thing. I don’t even know how to run from it. I shouldn’t have come. I want to go home. I want to be in bed. I want to eat warm, fresh baked bread my mother made. I want to hit my father in the face with my wooden sword.

The wolf-thing approaches me, backing me against the cliff. My legs tremble, collapsing beneath me. I can feel the fiery heat of its breath as its red-rimmed eyes bore into me. It opens its jaws, with hot puffs of air that smell like rotten meat rolling over me in waves.

I’m dog food!

Just as the jaws are about to snap around my face and crush my skull into brain chunks, it suddenly stops. Then it starts snuffling. It seems… confused?

“You… you’re no paleblood.”

A deep, hoarse voice penetrates my ears. 

“Ye-es? I mean, no? Who—?” When I look around, the only possible source of the voice is… “Excuse me, did you just speak?”

The wolf-thing stares at me. “You speak the old tongue? Even stranger.” It licks its chops, backing up a little bit continuing to bare its fangs at me.

Yes, it’s definitely speaking to me. Don’t tell me… Wodetongue?

I decide to push my luck by asking it, “By paleblood, you mean…?

“Man. Elf, dwarf, grimalkin. Those birthed from earth, who return to earth. You speak the old tongue and have the scent of the burnblood on you, yet you do not even know this?” Its tone turns suspicious, and I sweat.

“Well, I’m only a baby. Right, just a little baby. A little guy. Newly born!”

“Hrmm.”

I pat my chest as the wolf-thing seems to accept this. Although it looks scary and ready to snap at any time, for now I have successfully avoided my own death. Ganbatte! I need to focus on talking my way out of this.

“Then, palebloods are humans and other humanoid races,” civilised races, I add mentally, “and burnbloods are?”

“Do you not know?” The wolf tilts its head. “Do you not feel it? The scorching fire, turning your blood to hot ash? The pain and the hunger—that which drives the thrill of the hunt? I smell it on you, the burnblood. That which makes you what palebloods call ‘monster’. But you do not think like a burnblood. You think like a paleblood. You look as one too. What are you? Are you paleblood, or burnblood?”

The wolf-thing gets up, suddenly approaching me to sniff at me again. Whoa! I definitely don’t need to deal with this! I summon a spark of flame to deter it, and it manages to make the creature leap back, snarling fiercely. It doesn’t attack, however.

“I don’t know what I am, but I know I’m not your dinner!”

“Ha, we’ll see!” The wolf snarls, lunging at me again.

I don’t even get a chance to scream before suddenly—the wolf retreats with a sharp jerk. Huh? Again? I look up, slack-jawed, but that’s not it at all! It’s my father, Lio! He’s grabbed the wolf by the tail and has started swinging it like a bat, smashing it into trees and rocks with anger.

“Who! The hell! Gave! You! The balls! To eat! My! Child!”

The wolf howls in pain and fear, scrabbling to get away, but my father’s grip isn’t something that can be shaken off so easily. There’s nothing but terror in its voice as it wails, “Lord of skies! I didn’t know, I didn’t know it was your kin—”

“Ha? Haah? You wanna make a snack out of my little snotty? Well I’m gonna turn you into a damn blanket, you fleabitten cur, and you can do some good for once in your life!” My father stops at least, panting heavily, but before the fallen hound has a chance to get away, he grabs it by the scruff of its neck and somehow manages to lift it bodily off the ground, despite being twice his size. I can see his fingers digging into its throat, and it whines pitifully as it is slowly strangled.

A sword skewers its throat, just below the jawline, and is dragged down its belly in one fell swoop, spilling all the contents onto the forest floor, and the wolf goes ragged and limp.

I burst into tears, leaping toward my father, crying out, “It’s too torn to become a blanket, you idiot!”

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Jarrod is carried safely back to the village, gripping my hand in his in an iron grip. He is pale and shaking, constantly patting my arm and saying, “You see, I said it would be okay! I wouldn’t leave you alone!”

I let him have his moment.

My father is naturally the hero of the hour,  hauling such a massive wolf behind him! It seems that not only did he save the village from serious destruction by slaying the monster, but the parts can also be harvested to make quite the profit. The village is both saved from the clutches of a beast, and will get to celebrate a financial boost for a while.

As for me, it’s better not to think about what fate awaits me.

I get a small taste of what I’m in store for when I see Jarrod’s parents greet him. His mother bursts into tears, but then immediately twists his ear until he squeals like a pig.

“Idiot, why’d you go off on your own! What if Sir Lioetes hadn’t been here?! What did you think you could do on your own anyway, huh?!”

I nod along. Exactly! What kind of idiot decides to go off alone to try to find a missing child!

…Anyway.

Gordon the blacksmith also knocks a massive fist into the top of his head, probably causing a bump. “You had your mother and I worried sick!”

Y-yeah. It’s bad to worry your parents.

…Anyway.

“You know, snotty,” My father rubs my puffy, tear-stained face as he carries me up the hill to our cottage, “I highly suspect that your mother isn’t going to take you into town after all.”

Huh? Nooo!

I am dragged kicking and struggling through the door, dreading my fate. I fear my mother’s anger, but even more so—I fear her tears. If she cries, that will be even worse! If it comes down to it, it’s better if she just gives me a whack.

Actually no, I’m afraid of pain. It’s okay to cry instead, ma!

I’m dragged through the threshold despite my best efforts, and there my mother is standing haggard in the living room, glaring at us through puffy red eyes. Oh no. For a moment it feels like it could go either way, but then she marches over with anger in her step. I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing myself for pain—that never comes.

Instead I hear my father give out a loud, “Gyah! What’d I do?”

“It’s your fault! Who teaches a toddler fencing?! It puts ideas in their head about going off alone trying to be a hero, and look what happens!” My mother rails, and I hear the sound of more impacts. I open my eyes and give my best innocent gaze. Who me? I’m just a little baby. Just a little guy! I didn’t do nothin’!

“Come here, little one. You’re sleeping with me tonight.” She sighs, picking me up and hugging me tightly.

“Eh, what about me?” My father asks, pointing to his bruised face in confusion.

“Figure it out yourself!”

Thank you for your sacrifice, father.

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