Returner Issues

A Locke Cole centric fic about how he grew up and entered the life of a Returner.

Late in the fall season in the village of Kohlingen when the farmers were harvesting the last of their crops, and salting down their meats for the winter ahead, a local girl of about seventeen was crying out in utter agony. A young lad was hurrying around outside, boiling water, and hauling buckets of the bubbling liquid inside as quickly as he could. The villagers knew this was coming; the young couple was in love, so naturally, they spent nights together, and the girl skipped a month. With this knowledge, they accepted and tried to tune out the screams, and some children tried peeking their heads in the door to have a good look, only to be pushed out of the way by a very nerve wracked old woman.

"Get outta here you little pups! Need to get mah herbs I do." She would say as she pushed past with a basket empty, and return with it full of colorful stalks of green. Whenever the kids did get a look inside, they looked on in amazement at how that girl did not die from all the pain she was in. she was pale, and after a few hours of screaming and crying and passing out from exhaustion, she stopped altogether. The baby was out, and he was sleeping in a little quilt next to her. On the other side, the young man kneeled over her, grasping her hand tight and choked on sobs. The old woman sat in her chair, sipping a cup of tea, and sighed.

"Pull yourself together Willow, you're a father now. Think of a good name for your son." The woman said between sips.

Willow lifted his head up some from the bed sheets, shot a glare at his mother for her insensitivity, and buried it again.

"Let…me at least…mourn for a little while ya old hag!" He shouted muffled through the blankets. She ignored the old hag comment, and stood up with the intent of going to the kitchen for a washcloth. The baby slept peacefully through all this, his hand was holding onto his mother's pinky finger.

The old woman came back into the room with a clean washrag, and started cleaning the girl's body of blood and sweat. Her son did not even notice what she was doing until she started pulling up the towels and sheets for washing. He wiped his nose on the back of his hand and said, "Let me do that." Grabbing the cloth up from his mother's wrinkled hand, and wiping some dirt from his love's cheeks.

"I think you should name him after a tree or herb like you, sonny."

"Nah, he'd be made fun of growing up like me. I want him to have a nice name, something simple too."

He chewed his lip after finding that his girl was clean of her birthing, knowing that the next step was…burial.

"I'm tellin' you, natural names bring good luck!" His mother insisted.

"Ma! Shush! Jeez, I can already tell that this little guy will be lucky. He's sleeping through listening to you talk. Wish I was as lucky."

The old lady whapped him of the head with her hand, making him temporarily see little spots in his vision.

"Mind your tongue boy, you may have your own young now, but that doesn't mean I can't still smack some sense into ya."

She went back into the kitchen to mind her herbs growing in the window boxes, muttering how when she was young, sons still minded their mothers, and were respectful etc.

Willow turned his gaze back on his son, who had woken up and was now playing with his mother's hand. He cooed and made baby noises at the lifeless hand.

"I think I have the name for you kid. How's about Locke?" The child let out a squeal, as if in approval of the name, and waved his small hands in the air.

"Hell of a lot better than Fir or Maple huh? No kid'll make fun of you now. That's a man's name!" Willow laughed, putting a blanket over his dead love's head, as was the thing to do with a corpse. Before laying it down over her hair, he gave a last long look at her warm brown hair, and pointed nose, and high cheekbones, and full used to be red lips. Even in death, she was the most beautiful creature alive to him. A cryptic thought passed through his mind, only to shake it away. He had the means to do that action, but…what would his mother say? Or Locke for that matter? No, he had to bury Amaryllis. She did not deserve a fate lying on a bed preserved perfectly; she needed to be peacefully in the ground. Where the dead belong.

I know this first chapter's short, but I had to get the intro out of the way! review?