"Wolt. Your bow." Roy is holding out his hands, blue armor shimmering in the merciless sunlight.
The moon is softer. Despite her cruelty…
"What?!" I grip my bow, holding it away from Roy.
"It was bought-" He trembled, though the movement is miniscule. "Bought with the army's money. We'd like it back, Wolt."
"Let me get it-" Bors growls, striding towards me. He half-shoves Roy out of the way. I gasp inwardly. Bors had used to barely be so rude-it was teasing at best. Perhaps he'd possessed stores of anger boundless, and just needed a target to shoot it at. Rage-filled arrows piercing me from all sides.
He puts his hands on my wrist and grabs the bow. I stifled an urge to kick him very hard. He hesitates with his armored hand hovering above the sharp arrows in my light brown quiver.
"He made the arrows himself." Roy fibs quickly. "The quiver is also his." He points decisively back at the half-circle of soldiers surrounding me. "Back, Bors."
The knight glares at him for almost a second, then stomps back, between Shin and Oujay. His new tentmates. I remember bitterly.
Roy takes a step toward me, dropping his gaze to the ground, though his head is almost straight down with the small space between us. "This is the farewell." He murmurs.
"You could have let me stay!" The urgent whisper slides out of me.
"Wolt, you're smart. You know…this was the right thing." I didn't know Roy's voice could be so quiet. He walks away, though for a moment, his large eyes find mine and the wind takes his final words to me.
"No matter how much pain it makes me feel."
I watch him go without a blink and begin to trudge. Roy has his hand over his eyes, and I think everyone knows silent rivers flow out of them, leaving his hand like I have left. Bors' gang watches me suspiciously-I can almost hear their growls and see the sun rebound off their sharp teeth.
There is a frozen moment when one more step takes me out of their semi-circle. A fierce emotion demands my attention, yelling at me not to leave. I close my eyes and think of who will stay. Roy. Sue. Dieck. Ellen. My bow. Tears threaten to leak out. I don't let them, not now, I cannot show my weakness in front of those who want me wounded, want me dead, want me to collapse in a shower of salt rain so they can laugh.
I step, and time continues again.
Someone grabs my shoulder and I turn my head in surprise. Sue swoops in gently, kissing my cheek. She smiles sadly at my confusion-the last time I see it, though the fierce beast in me shouts no. She walks away with her shoulders up and her hands to her face. As my sight follows her it notices Ellen. A look of fear is carved deeply into her face. She thinks this will happen, history repeating itself. I shake my head slightly at her and face the tall, golden grass ahead. The world may as well be a rock for how much it moves-except my eyes. They cannot stop, eyelids fluttering rapidly.
I wonder if any of them watch as I push past yellow-brown blades and skinny stalks. I feel empty, in sharp contrast to the field. The woods I tried to reach last night are full of pine trees. The needles are squishy and rust-colored under my feet. The forest stubbornly shows no sign of autumn.
My tears fall onto already damp ground. I take two steps, then fall myself. The droplets' journey to the ground takes less and less time, until I am lying on my stomach with pine scent engulfing me. It is quiet but for my sobs.
The nature-rich smell is one of defeat, and I roll onto my back to avoid it. The sky's brightness is dimmed by the trees carving and slicing it. My eyes are dry and drained. I hear a crack and realize a bunch of my arrows have been snapped. Quickly I remove my quiver.
I have no bow. What use are they?
You could throw them. Anything sharp can be helpful.
Food. I sit up sharply. The meal from camp won't last too long. I need a plan.
I close my eyes and remember hunting back home. Where there is food, there is prey. Look for plants, y'know, stuff the little animals eat. Besides, if the worst happens, you can always eat what they do! Mom always ruffled my hair at that. She firmly believed I wouldn't ever get lost or desperate.
Dad had known more about plants-like what to eat-than Mom. Food was covered, more or less. I slip the quiver on. I stand, stretching toward where the sun lives. A large tree will do.
I haven't walked far before I find a big one. There's definitely enough space under there to sleep. I grab an arrow half and mark an X on the trunk and a few thick branches. Now I realize-water. The most important, and already a faint thirst rests in my throat. Readjusting the strap of my quiver, I walk again.
I don't even find puddles. The sky is slowly changing, getting lighter with orange. Or is it darker? A peculiar color.
Instead I decide to head back and look for food. My hopes are sinking from their high when I found the tree, like the sun now departing and leaving darkening sky.
As my eyes scan the ground frantically, I think I see something Dad would've called edible. I quickly pick it and throw it in my mouth, chewing and ignoring the taste. My hunger persists after the swallow, though I know it will subside soon. I pick most of it and eat them quickly.
The night is in power and thickly flecked with stars. I squint at a large tree, eyelids almost closing. An X in the shadows? With a shrug I crawl under it, taking off my quiver but looping the strap around my wrist. Under the dry needles of the sky and over the damp pine leaves of the earth, I curl up tight.
I awake with an irresistible urge to vomit and quickly do, some of it falling onto my shirt. I shiver, grimacing. I stand and stretch thoroughly, yawning slightly. My arms brush the branches. They whisper back in protest.
Parting the spiky twigs, I find no X on it anywhere. My heart drags down my mouth, the anchor of my pumping, moving ship. My stomach growls loudly.
Apparently not edible. I shrug, but my spirits are still low. No other arrows seemed to have snapped in the moon-time. Will my death occur here? I think miserably. I begin to walk, to ward such thoughts away with every step. I shiver a little; it's cold out. In the army we could huddle. They sometimes even had jackets, or scraps we could use for scarves.
I trip over something gnarled and my hands fall harshly onto a prickly object. The tripper was a huge beauty of a tree that jutted from the normal-its leaves were thin and flat, changing into sunset colors, hues of blood, shades of dirt. A few had twirled and drifted to the ground. The prickly thing was a nut of some kind. The tree was probably planted by people, and I notice a few similar trunks behind it, the rusty needles overlapped by a thin scattering of the large leaves. It was terribly odd to have just a few…
For now, I should focus on the nut. Food, the mere thought, makes me want to drool. I had always hated drooling, and suppressed trembles.
I take an arrow half and hold the nut carefully. Before I can hesitate I bring the point down. I had stabbed a hole, and made another before attempting to pry it open. The two halves fall on either side.
The 'meat' inside is delicious, though I think anything would be at this point. My thirst suddenly wails for attention. I find three more nuts at the base of the biggest tree, and I stop counting the others at ten. My hunger feels only vaguely satisfied after them. I need food. I need water. I need people. I need something. I need anything!
My head snaps up. The neigh of a horse? I get to my feet shakily and run towards where I thought the wind howls stronger. My stomach aches with hunger and my lungs gulp in air. My throat itches with thirst. Yet…were the trees thinner? I walk now, slowly, the light bleeding past dark trunks. Golden. A blinding color after the shaded world of stoic pillars.
It's the field, the stalks unstirred. I stand as high as I can, shading my eyes.
Nothing.
The army has moved.
I blink dazedly. I lumber through the field, which becomes a dull impression of gold as my eyes adjust. My clothes reject their touch and cling desperately to me.
There was the spot where the sentries stood. There is a smell, an aftereffect, that seems to indicate people were once. The grass lies flat and half-dead from the tramplings of weighty feet. A slightly horsey smell lingers over everything.
Blue. A deep, almost indigo blue.
I squint. That must be a hallucination-it's my thirst and hunger and shock. I step closer, dropping into a vague crouch.
There is something there-a piece of Roy's cape, watery like tears and blue like the sea. I skitter closer and poke it. Something soft. It's tied up, with the knot against the ground. I snatch it up and unwrap it.
My stomach leaps in celebration. There are sandwiches and even an apple. They must have expected me to come quickly. I devour the apple first, licking up all the juice it sprays and nibbling as close to the core as possible. The sandwiches are just as good, maybe better, and I remind myself to eat slowly or risk this morning's happenings.
I sit back, full enough to last for at least another day. Something in the cloth catches my eye. It's a bottle-for alcohol, with a cork and green glass. It's about half full of water.
I did not know I could get much happier. I drink all of it, setting it down carefully. I can use it in the future, I realize. Like all the food! You are highly lacking in experience, Wolt! Lord Eliwood says irratibly.
I smack my forehead at my stupidity. OF COURSE! My eyes follow the cape piece's edge and narrow. It isn't just a piece of the cape.
It's the whole cape.
And paper flutters white in it.
The words are careful and precise, yet with a little flourish here and there, seeming to be thrown at random letters inconsistently. Roy's.
To Wolt…
Sue, Dieck, and I composed this package for you, hoping you will find it. We all wish death will overlook you, as I know how inept you are at woodland survival. I snort loudly, but a part of me agrees. None of our little band of supporters wanted you to leave-be it by your usefulness or the sweet friendship you offer. We would rather you never go. Perhaps we shall get these to you at the end of our next stay. Wishes of life-They had all signed their names. Roy's Y had a small loop on the end, but was otherwise strangely rigid. Sue's script flowed, a Sacean wind. Dieck's was jagged, his calloused swordsman's hands unused to the delicate manipulation of the ink and its carrier.
We would rather you never go.
I folded up the paper and dropped it in my quiver, along with the bottle, wrapped up in the cape. I let the wind toss my hair half-heartedly.
We would rather you never go.
Perhaps we shall get these to you at the end of our next stay.
Follow.
I had figured it out. I wasn't going to stay in this barren forest. I would follow them!
Never would I be alone! Receiving food, hearing from friends, listening to their scattered snores-helping them fight, even. Discreetly and shadow-like. The shadow of the Lycia army! Is that what they'd call me? A legend or a night campfire tale? What am I to become?
To be something, you have to first do something. I think, old words of my childhood. Fire fills my legs, a joy in them, bouncing and spreading everywhere else. I speed off, the wolf I half am, thundering over and through what the moon and I own.
