Chapter 5
1892 Words
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'The girl skipped along the golden fields of rye, her lungs breathing in the crisp evening air with a joyful freedom.
The slowly setting sun painted the sky in violent streaks of crimson and bruised purple, while the autumn wind howled lowly through the surrounding valley.
She brushed aside the stray wisps of her dark hair that danced to the wild tune of the gale, her laughter ringing out like small silver bells.
Pausing near the edge of a forgotten creek, she bent down and carefully picked a wild, radiant flower, inhaling its sweet, unblemished scent deeply.
"This one will be for mother," she whispered to herself, a bright, innocent smile gracing her lips as she tucked the stem gently under her arm.
She walked a few paces further, her leather shoes crunching against the dry earth, before she bent once more before a cluster of pale daffodils, examining their fragile petals with gentle fingers.
"And these will be for the center of the supper table," she murmured, plucking them one by one.
She glanced toward the darkening sky, noting the speed at which the shadows were lengthening across the hills.
"I had better hurry back. Mother and Father will surely worry if I tarry in the fields any longer."
Skipping along the winding dirt road that led toward her village, she exchanged bright waves and warm smiles with the few craftsmen and farmers who passed by her, old and young alike.
The world felt whole. The world felt safe.
Her small timber longhouse appeared in the distance, its silhouette framed against the bleeding sunset.
She quickened her steps, her heart racing in a flurry of childish excitement and anticipation for a hot dinner, fueled by the simple eagerness to show off the single flower to her mother so it could be woven into her hair before bed.
But as her small hand pushed open the heavy wooden door, she was met with an oppressive, unnatural silence.
The hearth was cold. The air tasted of ash.
"Mother?" she called out, her voice echoing strangely against the timber beams. "Father?"
More silence.
A heavy, suffocating quietness that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
She hurried through the threshold, her footsteps quickening as she made her way toward the kitchen at the rear of the house.
When she finally reached the arched doorway, the blood in her veins froze solid. Her heart became entirely still, and a cold, primeval terror took complete hold of her body.
In front of her, suspended in the dim, dusty light of the room, were the blurry, casting images of two people.
They were hanging from the heavy rafters, their bodies as perfectly still and quiet as the midnight sky.
The girl’s eyes traveled slowly upward, tracing the coarse, rough fibers of the hemp ropes coiled tightly around their broken necks.
Stumbling backward into the shadows, her breath trapped in her throat, her lips began to tremble violently. They parted open, her jaw dropping to release a shattered, agonizing scream...'
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My eyes flew open and I sat up swiftly in the dark, my lungs expanding as I panted like a wounded deer running from the jaws of an apex predator.
My palms were slick with cold sweat, and my skin felt raw, tingling with the residual phantom terror of the memory.
'It was just a dream,' I thought frantically, placing a trembling hand flat against my racing chest, trying to force the rhythm of my heart back to a normal pace.
Slowly, the suffocating atmosphere faded, replaced by the damp smell of stone and pine embers.
My breathing became calm, settling into a steady rhythm as I cast my eyes toward the wide mouth of the cave.
It was no longer raining. The furious storm from the night before had passed, leaving behind the steady, rhythmic croaking of mountain frogs and the distant, waking chirps of the morning crickets. The dull, pale gold rays of the rising sun were just beginning to pierce through the morning mist, painting the stone entrance in soft hues of amber.
As the fog of sleep cleared from my mind, I realized I no longer felt the immense, radiating warmth that had enveloped my body throughout the night. The heavy, protective arm that had been secured around my waist was gone.
Quickly, a spike of panic shooting through my chest, I glanced to my right.
The stranger lay beside me on the pile of pelts. He was wide awake, his large arm tucked comfortably beneath his head like a makeshift pillow.
His piercing grey eyes were focused entirely on the jagged stone ceiling above, his expression so distant and severe he looked as though he were utterly lost in the labyrinth of his own thoughts.
Suddenly reminded of my own nakedness by the stark presence of his bare, powerful form beside me, I gasped silently and scrambled to draw the thick fur covers tightly up to my collarbones, burying myself beneath the pelts.
"Was that a dream?" he asked suddenly, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated through the stone bedding. His gaze remained focused upwards, never wavering from the ceiling.
My mouth parted open automatically to offer a reply, my mind forgetting once again about the heavy curse of my silence. No sound passed my lips. Catching myself, I swallowed the lump in my throat and offered a slow, solemn nod instead.
He turned his head then, glancing at me through the dim morning light.
His heavy forehead folded into deep lines, his grey eyes dimming with an intense, probing curiosity that seemed to strip away my defenses.
It was a stark contrast to the stoic, dangerous demeanor he had maintained since he pulled me from the woods.
"Was it about your pack?" he asked again, his tone dropping to a quieter, more deliberate register.
I shook my head instantly, my grip tightening convulsively at the edges of the fur cover until my knuckles turned white. My lips formed a hard, defensive line, anchoring my secrets behind my teeth.
His gaze remained locked on me for a long, agonizing interval, his eyes scanning the contours of my face as if searching for a hidden truth or a familiar sorrow.
Finally, finding nothing I was willing to yield, he returned to his earlier position, staring back up at the shadows of the ceiling.
"Perhaps not," he spoke softly, a bitter edge to his words. "Dreams can be simple things, and yet terribly complex. Sometimes they are mere reminders of the blessings that wait for you in the unwritten future."
His face suddenly twisted into a deep, agonizing frown, his jaw muscles clenching tightly. "And other times, they are simply the demons of the past that you cannot escape, no matter how far you run."
Before I could even begin to decipher the meaning behind such a strange utterance, a loud growl echoed sharply through the quiet cave.
A sudden rush of intense heat warmed my face due to the undeniable place from where the treacherous sound had come from.
My empty stomach.
The man’s gaze snapped back to me, an unreadable, wry message reflecting in those stormy grey eyes.
"You are famished," he stated plainly, the ghost of a shadow passing over his lips. "When did you last partake of bread or meat?"
My lips tightened in embarrassment, and I glanced upward toward the cave roof, thoughtfully stroking my chin as I calculated the hours.
My last proper meal had been served to me hours before the sacred ceremony. The very ceremony that was supposed to have crowned me the Luna of the Ravenstone pack.
Guila had served me a lavish roasted pheasant that afternoon, a meal befitting a queen entering a grand lineage. It had seemed remarkably generous, almost loving, at that time.
But I had known better even then.
It was not an act of maternal kindness. It was meant to be her final, perfunctory good deed for me. A celebration of the fact that she was finally rid of the burden of my silence, due to Bjorn taking me to his home.
In the end, it was all for nothing.
As if shaking off the remnants of a fever dream, I forced the memory of the pack I had denounced from my mind.
I glanced back at the giant stranger, shaking my head with an embarrassed smile.
"That would mean it has been a very long while since you have sustained yourself," a deep, weary sigh departed his lips.
I nodded in silent agreement.
With a fluid, athletic grace, he rose to his feet, throwing off the heavy pelts and once again giving me an completely unobstructed view of his bare, massive form.
I quickly tried to look away, but my eyes caught on something I had failed to notice during the frantic heat of the previous night.
Scars.
One long, puckered mark ran jaggedly across the high curve of his hip, and another deep, brutal line sliced diagonally across the expanse of his muscular chest.
By the pink, angry look of the flesh, they seemed to have stemmed from a severe injury inflicted within a few days.
But rather than revolting me, the sight sent a thrill of curiosity through my chest. Aside from the raw violence of the marks, the very fact that they were even present on his skin was a paradox; due to his ancient heritage as a werewolf, his body should have healed any mortal wound within a matter of hours.
I fought a powerful, sudden temptation to reach my hand out from beneath the covers, to trace the edges of each silver mark with my fingertips to decipher the violent history written into his skin.
'What could have possibly been powerful enough to harm someone as strong, as ancient as him?' I wondered, my mind racing. 'What weapon leaves a scar on a werewolf?'
"I will have to go out into the woods and find you something to eat," he said, his voice snapping my wandering attention squarely back to his face. "You cannot continue through the wild lands in this weakened state."
I nodded quickly, a soft smile of profound gratitude touching my lips.
"But do not forget." A severe frown deepened his rugged features, the warmth vanishing from his demeanor as he stepped toward his gear. "Once you have had your fill of breakfast and your strength is returned, we are to proceed on our separate ways. My path remains my own."
The grateful smile vanished from my face in an instant, and my shoulders slumped beneath the heavy furs. The cold reality of my isolation returned.
However, knowing I had no right to demand anything from my savior, I nodded slowly, accepting my fate.
"Good." He made a low, guttural grunt of satisfaction and reached for his folded clothing, swiftly pulling the leather braies and fur tunic over his body.
Casting one final, unreadable glance at my buried form, he reached down and picked up his longbow and the heavy quiver of arrows, slinging the leather strap of the latter securely across his broad back.
Without another
word, his heavy boots clicking against the stone, he turned and departed into the bright morning mist of the cavern entrance.
Once again, I was alone.
- Writer
