Last good days.
1062 Words
“Who is that?” Amara asked.
No answers came immediately. Truly, no one had an answer for her. All they did know was that he was a mystery in their lands. He seemed to have come from beyond the forbidden barrier.
Which in and of itself was an issue. The unknown was always dangerous. What you didn’t know could very well hurt you.
The people of Moonshine and the surrounding packs had lived in perpetual fear of that boundary. No one could cross it, yet, he did.
Or seemed to have come from beyond the boundary. As no pack claimed him in any way.
She had questions of her own. She needed answers too. Amara didn’t wait until the day’s tasks were done. As soon as her hands were free and the infirmary cleared out, she found her mother and demanded answers.
She needed to know what was going on.
The firelight where she brewed tea painted Elara’s face with a softness Amara didn’t trust. Not because she didn’t trust Elara, but because Elara wasn’t one to display weakness.
"Tell me who he is," Amara said, not wasting any time.
Elara stirred the pot without glancing back. "You’re going to need to be more specific."
“The man in the cot. I know you, and you don’t get worried unless there's a good reason to be."
Elara turned, giving Amara a look that wasn’t angry, but wasn’t warm. "He’s not from any of the neighboring packs. He was found at the border. Alone. Bleeding from old wounds that still fester.”
“Our best healer, Brenna, hasn't been able to heal any. Even the Sages haven’t been able to divine any information about him."
"So we’re in the dark? Have you informed Dad?"
"No, not yet..."
Amara crossed her arms as she asked; "And you’re just letting him stay? Lord knows what he brought with him. I just think there are better things to do than keep him in town. As a potential threat, he could harm people...."
After a pause, she completed; “You know what happened to my mom. You understand why I’m this worked up.”
Elara poured herself a cup as she said "We’re watching him. Which is where you come in.” She paused.
“We need to keep a close eye on him, at least until we’re sure of who he is. He won’t speak to me. Won’t speak to Brenna. He won’t speak to anyone. So you see why that’s a problem?"
“So how will I change that exactly?"
"You are great with people. If anyone can get him to talk, it’s you. Your dad too, but he’s always busy at the smithy…. I need you to keep an eye on him. Observe. Talk to him, if he'll allow it. And tell me what he says, if anything."
"So I’m supposed to... spy?"
Elara considered her words for a second, cradling the cup in her palms. "If you see it, Nonetheless, think of it as protection. For the pack."
Amara didn’t answer. Not right away. She didn’t like the idea of being anyone’s watcher. But a quiet part of her, the one still shaken from nightmares she couldn’t explain, whispered that this man wasn’t just anyone.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
×××
That night, the bonfire lit the edge of the forest in gold and orange, heat swirling up to meet the rising moon. Children played between logs without a care in the world, while drums beat low and stories were shared by the Elders.
A little get-together at the end of every Lunar cycle to celebrate the people’s prosperity.
Amara sat with her step sister Ashe, teaching her how to grind roots properly, it was a skill all women of the pack had to learn. One as basic as cooking.
"This stuff smells like feet." Ashe exhaled.
"But, buttt, you get to brag to your friends that you learnt from me,” Amara teased.
Ashe grinned. "Fair point. What’s this one good for again?"
"Lowering fever, easing inflammation, and making your future mate cry when you smear it on a wound."
"Handy, except for that last part. Gross."
"Effective," Amara said, tapping the stone mortar with a wink.
“Now, do what I told you.”
Nearby, a boy from the south fields caught her eye. Tavian. All lean muscle and mischief. He
Raised his mug in her direction and smirked.
Ashe groaned. "He’s staring at you again."
"He’s probably wondering why I smell like crushed weeds."
"Or maybe he’s into you."
"Ash!"
"I’m just saying." Ashe giggled.
Amara chuckled, but her smile faded as her gaze drifted past the fire, to the darker woods where the infirmary sat tucked between trees.
Despite the laughter around her, a gnawing restlessness lingered in her ribs.
Just what sort of danger did this mysterious person bring with him?
The days that followed blurred in repetition. She brought him food, changed bandages when needed, and spoke to him softly.
Sometimes, he blinked at her. Once, he turned his head as if listening. But he never answered. Not even when she asked his name.
She watched for something, anything to give her a hint of who he was. His wounds were healing slowly, at least. Well, unnaturally so, and it was clear it wasn’t due to their herbs.
Brenna noted it, but said little. Elara simply asked for updates.
"Still nothing," Amara would say. "But he’s alert. I think he’s faking his weakness."
Elara only nodded. "Then keep watching. The scouts came back today, still nothing where we found him.”
On the third evening, Amara stayed later than usual. The infirmary was quiet, lanterns dimmed.
She brought the man his meal — roast meat, and mashed potatoes. Both were left mostly untouched, like every other night.
She sighed, reaching for the tray. "You know, for someone barely hanging on, you’re picky."
Her fingers had just curled around the edge of the dish when a hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.
She froze.
His grip was firm, not painful, but undeniably strong. Warm skin, calloused. Bursting with a vitality that betrayed his true condition beyond his looks.
Amara’s breath caught. Her eyes met his. They weren’t blank anymore.
He stared at her intently, then his lips parted and he said;
- Writer
