“Once upon a time there were twelve of them..”
“Just tell us how they died.” the comment was sharp. Such a serious tone coming from a younger adult.
A deep sigh came from Java as she paused the barest beginning of the story she was retelling. The tale of the Grey Wolves.
Jorg’s impatient attitude hadn’t faltered since they’d arrived to Runehiem, or even now as they stayed in Hrafnakastali.
“Twelve? But I only count five.” Java stopped watching Jorg trample around the graveyard and looked down at the little girl in her lap. Ura’s eyes had briefly met Java’s but she returned to facing forward, allowing Java to resume braiding her hair.
“Yes,” Java continued, “Here there is only five, but they started as twelve-” she continued her story, dropping the original flourish she had started off with.
…
How did they die.
…
Their mangled corpses laid across the ground. Twisted pained looks of the dead stared up at her from the ground, no glory or honor here.
The howling of a completed hunt echoing through the now silent town sent a shiver down her spine. The scent of wyrd disease finally fading as it’s final effects had drifted off.
She rubbed at her eyes with the palm of her dirtied hands. “‘We’ is a cowards’ lie. It was always my fault” this future memory now haunts her mind, its as if the existence of these words was always meant to be a part of her story.
Growing chaotic music began to play as a large fire crackled. The new servants of the clan had been herded and now sat at the center of camp along with the rest of the prisoners.There she wondered which of the new thralls would survive the next week. Definitely not the shivering child that now sat beside her.
Throughout the night the celebration had worsened in spirit, it had only taken an hour before Java had begun to shield the child’s view. If you can imagine how hard as an adult it is to see your loved ones face being worn by the Hallowsong, you could only imagine how permanently scarring it would be for a child.
…
“Ura, do you remember the fae realm?”
Jorg was gone now, but Ura had stayed to place weedlike flowers onto the fresh graves with Java.
“I dunno… a little?”
“Good, now if anything happens to me, you must go there for safety, okay? Just remember the name Evander. Tora or Dr. Hiemir can help you find them.”
Java looked down at Gisla’s letter in her hand, her heart heavy in her chest. How is this conversation any better?