The Secret of Her Forest

by Meemie

It's been five years since Brendan returned to Kells. The abbey is booming in population and everyone is looking ahead to the future. However, as time marches on, Aisling refuses to walk with it. She grows more protective of her forest everyday as the villagers expand their territory into her territory. As the war between the abbey and Aisling rages on, her past reveals itself.

15. Chapter 15: The Killer of Kells

Chapter 15

The Killer of Kells

My paws tread gently on the ground with a gossamer touch. Each hound that follows me has their heads hung low. Some have the bodies of the men on their backs. The massive dogs easily carry the weight. The walls of the abbey come into view, their crumbling structure displaying only the charred remains of the skeleton. Wood is splintered in areas and ivy crawls up the pillars. The only area kept in fair maintenance is the large wooden doors. However, they are kept ajar. I saw the watchmen from miles away and I heard them receive the signal to open the doors. However, only one would be crazy enough to open to doors to a pack of wolves carrying the bloody, dead bodies of their brethren.

Every other villager is tucked away in his or her hut. Brendan stands at the Abby entrance, staring in disbelief and disappointment at me. His red cloaks drop down to the ground and are a little torn at the hem. The cloth is old, but overall kept in good condition. This is the first time I have ever seen the Abbott robes up close.

The wolves step forward and lay down the bodies on the grass, mere feet away from Brendan. He does not even blink as the limbs slump to the ground. He stares in horror at the bodies. My pack retreats into the forest, leaving only me and Brendan in the cool dawn. His lips form gentle whispers that I hear as clear as a bell. "Leave. Now."

I back up on my hind legs before turning to leave, tears welling up in the corners of my eyes. His two words keep resounding in my head, pounding into my skull with every step I take until my mind is like a beating drum, chanting those two words in a horrible rhythm. After what seems like ages, when the abbey is far behind me, two different words are replaced with the old pair.

I'm sorry.