Chapter 6: Chapter 6 – Journey Home

//Author Note: I would strongly urge you to read  alongside this story//

 

I sit up, the warm blankets sliding to the ground as I look for something out of place. A weak light peaks through the gaps around the door to my little shelter, but it’s not enough to see by.

The weather has started to settle, and once again there was no snowfall last night. Winter is dying. Today might be the day.

I throw aside my gathered furs and crawl to the door, lifting my club from the floor. Midnight follows, giving me a weak meow as she crawls out from under the furs that I threw on her last night.

I press my shoulder on the ‘door’ and heave it open, illuminating our small cave. My eyes turn from the cold world outside, looking into Midnight’s glazed eyes. No longer do they glow amethyst, I can see only my own silhouette through her gaze.

Shaking off the hesitation, I take in the world outside where white snow melts to give way to greener life. Soon the flowers will bloom, and the creek will overflow with the melting snow from the mountainside.

At last, the day has come.

I’m finding my home, and I’ll find people.

Bandits, or survivors, or maybe someone else entirely I don’t know, but I’ll meet people again. White, my wolven friend, still visits sometimes but he never stays for long and he never even tries to talk.

He could. He’s smart enough, but he just isn’t interested in trying.

Excitement and terror stir together in my guts, and I just can’t stand still for even a second more. I rush into the plains and breath the fresh air, the wet snow crunching under my feet as it melts in the spring sun.

The soft breeze rushing down from the mountain carries with it the dying frost of winter, but it isn’t enough to keep me from my dreams. Today, I’m going to go back and find my home. I delayed for years with excuses and worries.

What if it’s infested with murderous bandits?

What if it’s filled with survivors and new settlers, but they hate me for my necromancy?

What if the wolven decide that I’m unworthy of crossing through their lands?

Some thoughts are outright silly, but there’s enough reason to worry that I’ve delayed to keep on training. Now, I’m finally strong enough, that the excuses don’t make any sense.

If there are bandits, I can fight them.

If the villagers hate me, I’m fast enough to run away.

If the wolven don’t let me pass, I can try and make it around their forest instead.

I’m not going to let myself keep making excuses. I’m finding my home, whatever it takes.

I cook my breakfast so quickly that half of it is black as charcoal and half still wet and raw, I can’t waste too much energy in cooking. Today is not the day for training, I can’t afford to burn myself out, just in case it turns into a fight.

Midnight rests her head on my lap as I eat, her course fur showing many patches and scars. I can keep her together, but I can’t heal her. The holes and cuts will close with time, but the fur and flesh will never grow back.

She purrs softly, and though the sound does crackle unhealthily that’s just how she is, my necromancy isn’t enough to heal her many wounds.

Forcing down the last sloppy egg, I rush around my small shelter pulling together my few belongings and tying them neatly into my furs. There’s not that much that I need to bring with me, and I don’t have much to begin with.

I brush my fingers up against the rusted remains of my first sword but leave it where it rests.

Leaving the shelter behind without a backward glance, I find Gnome sitting atop the hill and covered in ice, guarding us against predators of the night. He is my newest pack member. My newest friend.

He’s a massive hulk of a bear, I’d been fortunate to find him before the birds could pluck out his eyes. He’s still mostly whole, but his muscles are a bit on the small side, and I think he must’ve starved to death before finding me.

“Gnome, we’re heading out,” I tell him, rubbing his crimson-streaked, brown fur. “I need you to bring the deer,” I say, getting him to dig up the dead deer that we’d hunted a little while ago.

His titanic figure clears away the snow in mere moments to reveal the carcass buried within. The body isn’t quite as frozen as I’d thought, the cold of winter has lost its bite. Still, it’s yet to rot, so it’ll be enough.

After he’s freed it from the snow, I help to push the carcass onto his back and tie it into place with thick vines that I’ve fashioned into rope. I then proceed to tie the rest of my belongings up with him too, keeping only my club with me.

“Let’s go home,” I whisper.

Whatever waits for me in my old village, I plan to take it head-on. Whatever challenges await me, I can survive.

I try not to feel hope at the thought that someone I know might still be there as I rush towards the forest. I’ve been keeping a distance from the place for some time now.

It is wolven territory, and no matter how nice they’ve been to me, I can’t quite trust them.

Everyone here; the bears, the deer, the cats, and all the others, they all respect and understand the borders of the wolven territory, and I do too.

Moving at a slow jog, so as to avoid tiring myself out, I follow the creek’s path down through the forestry. It is easy to get lost here, especially since I’ve never really explored it.

What I have learned though, is that creeks make for a wonderful landmark. I still recall one passing by my old village, and if I’m lucky it’s the same one as the one that I’m following. Even if it isn’t though, I’m ready to head downwards until I find a road or some marker that might direct me towards people.

My eyes catch a glimpse of movement not moments into the forest. Something is moving quickly between the trees up ahead. I lower myself and watch for something more while slowly approaching.

Wolven.

The undead pack members are tight on the heels of a wounded deer. The fleet-footed prey would often pass over this territory, dancing on the leaves above, but I suppose they can only manage to fight the grounds pull for so long.

This particular deer seems at its limit, every time it tries to leap upwards another wolven leaps up and bites at its legs, pulling it back to earth. Exhausted, the deer is no longer able to put up much of a fight and falls from the weight of the snapping hunters.

With one last show of strength, it kicks a wolven away with surprising force, launching it into a nearby tree. Not enough, the rest of the pack fall upon the dear and viciously rip out its throat.

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In an instant, the deer falls silent.

Watching them hunt, I realize that their tactics are much like my own. I often used Midnight to distract prey before I swoop in for the kill, though I still hate to see her get hit every now and again.

If I am to point out differences, the wolven have greater number, and they are all of the one sort. Unlike me, Midnight, and Gnome, they’re a family.

The alpha of the pack seems to be the same as last I saw him, and White is here too, but I can only see one of the two undead pups with him. Both living wolven are a fair bit older now, and so am I.

Stepping away from the kill with a bloodied face, the pack leader turns to me with a deep pride glowing in his eyes. He lets out a deep, long growl, but there’s not the same terrible threat to it as I’ve heard from them before.

We’ve been good neighbours, and he just wants to know why he’s found me walking into his home without permission. They have watched me for many years, as I’ve watched them.

I can tell from his gaze that he hasn’t forgotten me. The one he let live.

I’m surprised that I’m not frightened at all, my legs are firm and I feel no tremors running through me.

Stepping up nearer to the pack leader with as much confidence as I can muster, I watch the rest of his pack surround Midnight, Gnome, and I. The living and the dead are both bathed in blood, and their growls are wet with it.

Not willing to leave them waiting, I pull the dead deer down from Gnome’s back awkwardly carrying the carcass to the leader and lowering it before him. I stay bowed a moment before standing back up and re-joining my own small pack.

The alpha doesn’t seem to react at first, clear eyes watching me closely as he lets another of his pack approach the offering. It is sniffed at and nibbled upon for a moment before the other wolven retreats beside the alpha with a small cheerful bark.

Continuing to glare at me for a while longer, the leader, without letting the others move, strides over to his own prey, tearing at it a while and nuzzling deep into it before returning to me with a large chunk of flesh.

He returns to me, his sharp eyes peering out from the blood stains covering his face. Lowering the deer’s heart before me, he returns to the deer that I offered him. He quickly withdraws that heart also, before resting it before him and barking at me.

I pick up the heart.

Is this some sort of ritual for them?

What does it mean?

I bite into the flesh of the heart, it’s been some time since I’ve eaten my meat raw, but with all the awful things that I’ve forced down my throat, this is nothing so bad. Our audience watches respectfully, giving some distance to us as we dig into the bloody meals.

When the last of the meat is gone, and our faces are both bloodied with the other’s prey, we bow our heads to each other. The moment calls for it, but I don’t really know why.

As if it’s a signal, the other wolven dive into their own meals, tearing at the two deer and not bothering to glance back at me.

Their leader, his pale white now painted blood red, gives me a dismissive bark as he too moves on to his meal. The undead wolven still watch us, unable to join in the feasting.

We walk past them and follow the creek deeper into the forest.

I don’t know why mom told me that they’re all evil, they seem rather nice. Nicer than the bears that’ll tear off your arms if you look at them wrong. Nicer than the crows who’ll peck out your eyes the first chance they get. Nicer than the black cats who hunt you when you’re weak.

I wonder if we’ll still be neighbours after all this is over.

There’s a hollow emptiness in my chest as I leave them behind. Would they have let me join their pack if I asked? Could we have been real friends, rather than… no, Midnight is a great friend. As real a friend as any.

I heal my lip, which is bleeding from biting on it too hard.

We follow the shallow creek, hoping that it’ll take us home. The sounds of feeding wolven fade to memory and we are alone again.

“Syr wonders if anyone…” I voice my thought, but Midnight is quick to interrupt me, by rubbing herself up against me. I’ve felt my mind slipping of late, and I’ve been saying more than I intend to. Thinking things that I should not be thinking.

“Mother…Father…” I shake the thought from my head, pulling closer to Midnight and Gnome. We run through the forest, towards my old home.

As much as I try to stomp it down. I feel hope burning to life in my chest.

 

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I expected ashes but hoped for life.

I expected a graveyard but hoped for a home.

What I find is neither what I expected nor what I hoped for.

Here on this familiar soil, lies a town built from ruins, far smaller than what had been before, yet somehow still louder. The homes, built on old foundations, are leaning at odd angles as if about to fall. The streets once kept clean, are now strewn with broken bottles, vases, and things well beyond recognition.

This place is no longer a home to me, but then whose home is it now?

 

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