Intermission; Going Hunting
Bearn liked to sit in front of the hearth, it was the very favourite part of his day.
The warmth, the way the fire danced in its little hole. He loved just to watch, but people always came to bother him. To get him to clean, gather, talk. This time it was his Grandpa.
"This old man's going hunting, Bearn." he said, his long grey hair hanging loosely down his shoulders. Mama told Bearn that he used to play with it all the time, but he never believed her. Grandpa's hair was always greasy, not nice to touch at all. "I'm going to be gone for quite some time."
Bearn's Grandad sounded strange just then, but he had been like that a lot recently, ever since his face went all floppy. The boy just nodded and went back to the flames. They always were so pretty, not at all like the blinding snow outside.
The scuffing of feet on dirt was his only warning before long skinny arms wrapped tight around Bearn and squished him tight. His face pressed against a boney chest and the air was squeezed out of him.
Bearn squirmed to escape the offending arms, but they didn't even ease up on him.
The hand in his hair started petting him, he squirmed harder.
"Be a good boy for your Mama." his Grandpa said, his thin shirt scratching at Bearn's face. "Promise me, would you?"
Knowing it would be the only way he could get back to watching the hearth, he forced himself to stop trying to escape and nodded. "I promise." he mumbled, just to be extra convincing.
And then he was released.
"That's a good lad." his Grandpa said, ruffling his hair and walking off.
Bearn quickly turned back to the fire, but with his Mama talking he couldn't focus on it.
"Da, please... we can eat less each so-"
"No, love. This is our way, you know this as well as I do."
A strange sound then broke out behind him, something like when his sister drank wrong.
Bearn turned from the hearth then, curious, and saw that his Grandpa was hugging his Mama too. She seemed to enjoy just as much as he had, shaking in his thin arms and making more of the choking sounds.
He shushed her, like he sometimes did with his sister.
Then, before Bearn turned away, his Mama broke free from the hug and pushed something into his Grandpa's hands.
"Take it." she said, and he did, his boney fingers wrapping around the white-handled knife he always used.
Bearn watched him climb up the stair, and push the trap door open. He almost had to squint from the bright white light that flooded the room.
His Grandpa left, without looking back, with only the slamming of the trap door to mark his passing.
Grandad, is this how you felt back then? Bearn wondered, holding his youngest grandson tight. He'd already said his goodbyes to the others, so little Rik wouldn't have to see the scene he did back then.
Eventually, the boy, no more than a babe really, promised to be good and Bearn let him go. Rik's promise wasn't all that needed, he was a good boy, better than he'd been at that age. He'd keep his daughter from thinking too much about her Da.
"That's a good lad." he said, ruffling the boy's hair.
Then, without another word and with nothing but the near rags holding with dignity in place, he climbed up the stair to the shelter door. With a deep breath he brought his thin arms up to it and forced the trap door open.
Bearn stepped up and out of the family shelter, and the cold hit him like a punch to the face. It nearly sent him tumbling back down, but he kept his feet and pushed through.
Once he was out of the opening, his hands steaming in the snow, Bearn let the trap door fall shut behind him. His fingers and toes quickly lost any feeling. And his body got to shaking.
Standing there, just outside of warmth and life, Bearn wondered where he'd go. South to the woods, or north maybe?
But then he quickly realised that direction was pointless, and he just started walking to nowhere as the cold crept it's way deeper.
Soon, it was only the way that the snow crunched that let him know his feet were still there. Uncaring, he walked.
He grew colder and colder, walked farther and farther.
Bearn had known the cold all his life, living this far north, and had heard tales of what it could wreak on men at its worst.
So, when his trembling stopped and joints grew even stiffer, he wasn't surprised. He kept wandering, keeping a lazy eye on the snowy dunes around him.
All was white, even the sky above. There was nothing but bright white.
Then there was something.
Deep in the white, trudging along not too far to his right, Bearn saw something that forced a harsh laugh from his chapped lips.
It was a wolf, a hoary old bitch, all alone in the snow. Just as he was.
Her ears were ragged and torn, filled with holes, and her panting showed that her teeth were worn down to near to nubs. Every so often she stumbled, and showed him the white hilt of a knife stuck in her shoulder.
It was strange, even as his laugh died, she still didn't turn to face him.
Are you deaf, old girl?
There'd been a deaf man in the village. Bearn had shouted himself hoarse once, trying to get him out of the way of his tithe delivery.
He looked back to the wolf, she was rather large.
Bearn thought it as good a way as any and looked about for something to throw at her.
He found nothing. So, he got down to his knees and made a snowball with purple fingers.
Once it was nice and tightly packed, Bearn stood and looked for the wolf once again. He found her quickly, her black fur, chased with grey, was easy to spot in the white.
With gritted teeth he could only barely feel clench, he pulled back, tightly coiling his arm.
He aimed as well as he could and threw.
It had been decades since he'd last played a snow war, but his aim was true, and the snowball struck the wolf in the side of her downturned head.
She snapped to look at him so quick he thought her younger, then he saw her eyes.
They were hard, like chips of amber, and bored into his. He knew the look she had, it was the same one he gave her.
Standing there a moment, they watched each other.
Bearn roared, throwing his arms wide, and the wolf charged with a growl.
Then they danced.