A Night Stroll

chapter fifteen

Mary

By night, the story had finally reached its ambiguous end and, honestly, I didn't know what to make of it.

First of all, what happened before he met Kane? My mind twirled around the possibilities, all more hairbrained than the last. Was he a slave, being dishonest in fear of return? That didn't add up though; his intelligence was clearly above my own at his age. Was he, like Jax, a runaway scion? Well, that would make more sense. But from his tale, he didn't seem to know much about aura, much less magic: a noble staple.

His past aside, the kid seemed honest. The only time I felt deceit was when he tried to feign amnesia, and right then it was made apparent the boy couldn't lie to save his life. Eyes darting around, he rubbed his clammy hands and stuttered through the falsehood quite poorly.

Hmph. You can't fool me. I may not be very ladylike, but I've still got a woman's intuition.

In fact, I'd say he was downright innocent if it wasn't for his rancid mouth. My gods, the kid knew more ways to be profane than I'd ever known possible. It was such an odd contrast with his naivety that it made his speech comical.

Funny puns and nifty curses aside, the rest of his story was startling at most times, repulsive in others, and downright vile on more than a few occasions. He was a strong kid to go through what he did, but I didn't need to be a mender to know that what he went through would carry consequences.

For example, listening to his tale, I thought it best to multi-task by mending his other hand while he spoke. That's when I noticed the first sign of someone suffering from extreme paranoia. When I reached for his hand, he stopped his story mid-sentence and nearly popped his shoulder out of place again, trying to avoid contact.

"The fuck you doin'?!" He cried out, cowering onto the far edge of the bed.

Clarifying my intentions did little to ease his agitation but, cringing in pain, he tentatively extended his hand out, still keeping a taut position on the opposite edge, fully prepared to leap away.

I rolled my eyes at the kid's exaggeration but immediately felt guilty about it. In what world could I judge any reactions he's been forced to adapt by the people around him.

Criticising my lack of empathy, I gently hovered over his hand and mended it. I smiled. The awe he displayed when he saw the mana was beyond any excitement Barnes had ever expressed, and that boy was a young man possessed with magic theory.

Now with most of his injuries healed and his story finished, it was time for another patient to take his spot. The Hunt had just ended yesterday, and there was one other man in need of treatment. He stood outside, injured but too proud to take my attention from Jax or Wit.

I asked Wit if he could let the man take his spot and he begrudgingly agreed. Pacing around, not quite sure what to do with himself, I gave him my chair and asked him to sit down while I treated the hunter.

Pulling the chair across the room and against the opposite wall, he sat down with his knees up to his chin in a protective squat.

Well...that's gonna take time.

Calling the wounded man in, I sat him down and got to work. There wasn't much to be done, he'd been nailed in the head by some woodsy animal - I don't know; I don't hunt - and he just needed the gash closed. The cut was fixed in minutes, but his eyes were unfocused, so I had him sleep here for the night.

At this point, it had gotten very late and it was about time to go. Gathering myself, I made my way through the curtain to leave but, as I was twisting the nob of the front door, I heard a light cough. Glancing back, I found Wit peeking through the curtain with a light blush.

"Sorry, but...what the hell am I supposed to do?"

...Oh, yeah.

***

"Thank you so much, Holden!" Taking the woven basket of herbs and assorted flowers, I thanked the Hunt lead.

Earlier in the week, I'd given him a list of plants to look out for, while he was meandering around the forest, and it seems like he'd been successful in finding a lot of what I wanted.

Let's see. There's some pomp hazel, lion's bud, and even some grey heather. Oh, my gods! Barnes is going to be so excited when I show him!

Speaking of grey heather.

"Who're you, pouty face?"

Glancing to my right, Holden's daughter, Heather, was talking to Wit or trying to at least; the boy was making a paltry effort to hold the conversation.

"Wit." He drawled.

"Where're you from? Why haven't I seen you before? Huh?"

"I don't know."

A string of fluffed questions and short responses followed while I spoke with Holden about Jax and the boy. Confirming Wit's tale, they'd followed the sleigh trail to an abandoned house in ruins. They'd also found a half-eaten corpse, dragged out of a grave in the backyard. Some beast's work, no doubt.

Promising to recant what the boy told me later, he nodded his head and we both turned our focus to the two, now bickering, children.

"Why do ya look so skinny? You must be really weak, huh?" The girl prodded. She seemed to have figured out how to get a response because Wit defensively covered his ribs.

"Would you shut up, it's called malnutrition." He defended, insulted at the jab to his pride.

Holden and I shared a laugh and continued to observe the two. I'd told him the boy would need help opening up and he agreed to let the two chat. He thought maybe a handsome kid would help Heather tone down her tomboy tendencies.

Wishful thinking. Heather was way worse than me.

Even now, she was wearing her dirty whites: a white robe that tied around at the mid-waist with an equally white rope. As a local tradition, once a child turned ten, they would begin training and receive a uniform called their whites. Usually, how dirty your whites were was a token of respect: the dirtier they are, the harder you've worked. Once a year, everyone gathers their whites and they all get washed. It's kinda gross, but the kids liked to show off how hard they've been working, so I put up with the smell.

Heather was one said kid. She was thirteen years old this year, so her whites were in tatters but, unconcerned with her public appearance, she prided herself in exactly how tough she was. She was a sweet girl, but her fiery attitude and boyish behavior made her unapproachable by girls, and her strength scared off most boys. She had a bad habit of fighting.

"What's that in your hands?" Wit asked, showing curiosity for the first time.

Heather extended her arm out and opened her hand for Wit to see, only to give him an eerie smile as she showcased three bloody teeth; none of them hers.

"Trophies." She grinned from ear to ear.

Pfft. Wit's expression went from mild curiosity to total fear as he wordlessly turned around and walked back to me.

"Where ya goin' ya little fletcher! Let's fight if ya think you're tough!"

Followed by more prods, he approached my side and, for once, wasn't afraid to get close to me. "Please...can we go." He begged.

Muffling a snort into my hand, I nodded and said my goodbyes to the Highland family. They were good people.

The night was silent as we waded through swaths of torchlight, and the boy was surprisingly the only noise from Market to the house. He marveled at everything: the food and clothes on display in the stalls, the smell of smoked meat hung in chimneys throughout the residential area, and the beauty of the buildings.

After his encounter with Heather, he was opening up, if only slightly. He'd ask me questions while we walked, and I'd answer them to the best of my ability.

"What is this place?" He asked.

"Oakridge," I answered. "It's a small village many many miles away from the nearest city." A smile crept onto my face. "The people are funny and kind. They're crafters, gatherers, weavers, and hunters. Recently made and entirely self-sufficient, nobody really knows this place even exists. It's peaceful."

"Can everyone do magic like you?" This question carried with it an excitement that finally felt right for his age.

Unfortunately, "No, no one here can use magic. Aura is about the most they can manage, but even then it's not to a very high level. When we got here a couple years ago, only a few people could use aura at all. The man you just met, Holden Highland, was one of those few."

From the corner of my eye, I saw his shoulder sag a little. Damn, what did Jax always say? 'Leave hope for the kids.'

"But, Jax has come a long way in teaching them. Now, most of the adults and a lot the kids can at least manipulate a little bit, and the few who knew before are now even catching up to him," I said. "I just started teaching a young man about magic myself, and I was thinking about starting a class." His ears perked at the end, and I knew I got his attention with that.

With the session of questions and answers coming to an end, we finally reached the house.

As we approached the door, his steps slowed and eventually stopped, several feet back. Turning back to see why he'd stopped, I noticed his legs had begun to undulate and his breathing became heavy and loud. He stepped backward.

What's going on? "Come in. This is my home." I motioned to the door, but he backed up another step. "C-Can you raise you-you're hands?" He stuttered.

Voluntarily following his request, I put my arms over my head.

"No-Now can you t-t-take a step back?"

Acquiescing, I stood to the side of the door. I wasn't sure why he was so scared until I remembered what he told me about how the man had captured him.

Oh shit, I forgot.

I twisted the knob and left the door open. Apologizing for his behavior, he took wide steps around me as he approached the door, eyes on mine the entire time.

When he entered, he took a look around before eventually saying he was okay.

I walked inside and found him fidgeting around in the kitchen, staying as far away from the doors as possible.

I'm too tired for this right now.

"I'm going to bed, Wit." Pointing to three doors respectively, I continued, "I'll be staying in here so tell me if you need anything. This room is the bathroom. And this one is the guest room, but it's yours for as long as you're here."

He took a nervous peek into the room, but I was really too exhausted to talk anymore. When he get's tired, he'll go to sleep.

Leaving him to piece apart his choices, I lumbered into my own room with slow stomps and spilled into my bed like a pile of salt. Mmmmm.There's something about a bed that just melts the stress away.

"Gods, I'm pooped."

The sound of a closing door from outside the room caught my tired attention.

What's he doing? The kid's probably still scared. Is he gonna run away?

...Probably not, right? I was being nice, why would he leave?

I dunno. He is a kid. Kid's are weird. C'mon girl, just go check on him. Make sure he's alright.

"Why are you always right?" I grumbled aloud, rising from my sheets.

Cuz, I'm you, girl

"Hell yeah, you are."

Opening the door to the living room, I didn't see Wit anywhere.

Did he really run away?

I heard a deep rumble along the wooden floor and glanced to the guest room's shaking door.

Is he alright?

Turning the knob, I felt another deep vibration as I opened the door.

Wit was on the bed, lying on his back with his mouth hung all the way open. The noises that came out of his mouth while he snored were the most obnoxious noises I'd ever heard in my life.

"Who snores like that?" I wondered. How does a small body like that make so much noise?

Quaking atop the rattling floor, I made my way back to bed and, like Wit, collapsed into the comfort of soft down feathers.