Winter Wildflowers

Chapter 6

Day 22

It was now three weeks that Ofelia had stumbled alongside the monstrous Sir Knightley's men. Twenty-one days since she'd seen home, since she'd bid her father goodbye, since she'd left her mother. When Knightley had finally stopped moving, Ofelia had collapsed on the ground where she stood, waking at dawn the next day. She had grown accustomed to the raiding of villages, almost anticipating them since they saved her from having to endure the frustrations of alcohol deprived alcoholics. These men, battle hardened and rugged as they were, were in complete submission to depressant qualities of beer and liquor. They needed it's release like a tree to water. They needed it to still their nightmares, to hush their guilts and to silence their thoughts. Like most of the things she saw these days, the reality of it angered her.

The beastly Sir Knightley seemingly had no care for this, as it seemed he had no care for anything.

Day after day, Ofelia followed the men through their tracks. She longed for many things, amongst those being a bath and an embrace from her mother. Maybe a gentle palm to her cheek from her father. Often, she woke in the morning cradling her face. Still, she pushed onwards, surviving off food she could scavenge, or was spared, walking, and sleeping. With each passing day the cold season spread its wings out further and shadowed the land. It was the mark of four weeks travel when it blew its second icy cold breath across the valley.

Ofelia huddled her fur to her chest, staggering side to side as the howling wind near blew her over. Her eyelashes were weighed down with snow, a frozen crust over her nostrils. Many of the men had dismounted their steeds and battled the walk alongside her, each puffing their load of painful breaths. George walked beside her, old Brock, and his still mounted friend Ansley behind her. Knightley was also mounted, but his steed was labouring. He leant close to the beast, holding his armoured hand to its neck. The weather was unforgiving, and Ofelia worried how she'd fair in such dense of a blizzard. She was already frozen to her core, she couldn't imagine how much colder she could manage, especially when she stopped moving. How nice a warm cup of milk around the hearth sounded, her mother placing another fur over Ofelia, her father carrying dinner from outside on his shoulders.

A loud yell pulled the crowd to a halt, Knightley dismounting his horse and shouting for everyone to set up camp. Ofelia was afraid. The men, eager to stop their journey, set up posts for their horses and dug themselves holes in the snow. It occurred to Ofelia then, that even the horses had more cover than she.
Her throat shrunk, and she wondered if that night was the night that she would die.
"Lady!", George suddenly yelled, his young voice barely audible through the wind.
Ofelia covered her eyes as she looked in his direction.
"Come help me dig!", He called, running to take her arm and lead her to his camp. She was happy to keep moving, even if it meant that she would dig through snow. At their arrival, George immediately bent down and continued to dig, Ofelia following suit a moment later. He was only small, she noticed, but his wiry build was strong. Together they dug a hole big enough for a young man and nearing the end, Ofelia sat up, readying herself to find a spot to hide.
"Lady, what are you doing?!", George yelled, "Do you want to freeze?! Keep digging!"
Ofelia frowned. Keep digging? And it dawned on her that George was digging a hole big enough for both. Her mouth gaped before she rocked back to action.

Ofelia laid in the hole, staring at the leather ceiling. It was cold, freezing even, but she was out of the wind, and for that she was grateful. She glanced up at a rustle, it was George crawling through. She was tense, she didn't trust him.
He huffed and threw a fur at her, "Lady, you're lucky I'm nice.", He grumbled, crawling beside her, and nestling himself in. Ofelia stared at him. He lightly coughed and rubbed the snow off his face, "I brought you a- ", He struggled to retrieve a baked potato from a pocket, "Here.", He offered, holding it to her. Ofelia gingerly took it, and George retrieved a second for himself, digging in immediately. Ofelia took a small bite.
George dropped his head to the ground as he chewed, closing his eyes. Ofelia stared at him. He was only a young boy, yet he owned more compassion for her than the entire camp combined. Her face drew inwards, and she placed a hand on his shoulder, "... Thank you George.", She whispered.
He took another bite of his potato, sparing her a glance, "... It's alright, I guess.", He mumbled, chewing and sighing.
Ofelia quietened as she took another bite of the warm potato.
"Sorry about your dad.", George suddenly said, his voice void of emotion, but his composure tense.
Ofelia looked to him again. She couldn't fathom why a boy was travelling with these warrior men. What was he doing here? It was odd. He was odd. "... Is Sir Knightley your father?", She asked, frowning.
George coughed a squeaky laugh, looking at her before shaking his head, "My father?! If Sir Knightley were my pa, I would've run myself through a long time ago.", He cackled.
Ofelia frowned at first but despite her bitter heart, a small grin graced her lips.
"Then who is your father?", Ofelia asked, rolling to face him.
George sighed and clicked his tongue, "... His name was Dallin.", He muttered, leaving no extra information.
Ofelia nodded, "How long have you been with Knightley's men?"
"Sir Knightley.", George clarified, pointing a stern finger to her. Ofelia ground her teeth. He then looked back to the ceiling, "... A year. And stop asking me questions."
Ofelia's anger subsided, and she squinted her eyes, "That's not very long."
George frowned, turning to back to her, "Yea- So? What's it to you?!"
Ofelia's grin grew, and she took a bite of her potato, turning away. George huffed before eating the last of his potato.
"Sir Knightley took me in when my mother died.", He muttered, wiping his hands on the snow, "And now I'm to become a great warrior like him."
Ofelia bitterly laughed and side eyed him, her eyes flicking around his boyish face. The subject annoyed her. Why would he want to become like the men around him? Vicious and lacking in humanity.
"Do you have siblings?", she asked, also finishing her potato.
George didn't answer immediately, at first Ofelia thought he was considering his words, but later it seemed he'd ignored her question. She grinned, though her heart was weighed down. It had been so long since she'd conversed with anyone, and it only occurred to her now just how lonely she was. It was a foreign feeling. Then, Young George reached his hand to a trinket around his neck.
"I have a sister, actually...", He whispered, toying with the metal, "About your age."
Ofelia closed her mouth tight.
"... She's annoying like you too.", He grumbled before turning to away from Ofelia.
Ofelia smiled and silently chuckled, staring at the leather ceiling.

-

Ofelia woke to silence. It was dark in her pit and George still slept facing away from her. She looked at the back of his head, his dark blonde hair even curled like a baby's. She rose a hand to comb a lock. In caressing his hair, a sudden nostalgic feeling tugged at her heart. Suddenly, it was like she was back at home. Like her mother was brushing her hair. Like she was staring into the hearth, wondering when the wildflowers would appear again. Like she was content and warm, not dug into a pit with a boy who showed minimal, momentary amounts of kindness to her. She dropped her hand and laid on her back. At least she was warm.

The snow was thicker than it had been previously, it's height reaching Ofelia's knees as she trudged through it like mud. A seething frosty breeze howled through the group as she waded, her arms constantly hugging her cloak to her body. It was in this time that Ofelia realised what kind of men these were. These were no simple savages like she'd let herself believe, nor were they simply a band of raiders. These were exceptional men, and Ofelia guessed that they had all been hand selected by Sir Knightley. Each one, without fail and without grumbling rose every morning and wordlessly fought through every battle that their day had to offer. These men were trained exceptionally in combat and were merciless in every sense of the word. They truly cared for nothing but Knightley's command. Save alcohol.

"Lovely weather we're having,", Brock jeered, shielding his face as another fierce gust of wind slapped his cheek.
"Truly,", His friend Ansley agreed, "A little hot but ah, what can you do?"
They chuffed, before George quietly grumbled, "My bollocks are freezing off."
Brock roared with laughter, smacking his accomplice, "Did you hear- His bollocks- ", He broke his words to crow. Ansley threw his head back before wiping his face, shaking his head. Ofelia grumbled, to her their immaturity was irritating.
Another voice chimed in, one Ofelia didn't often hear, "You shouldn't talk like that in front of a lady.", He jested.
George side eyed her, "... That ain't no lady."
Ofelia frowned.
The men laughed at her, paused, and then Broke spoke up, "Girl, have you ever heard such impudence?"
Ofelia clenched her jaw shut.
"... She must be offended. George, apologise to her fast,", Ansley teased, no doubt prodding him with something, "Don't you know of the fearsome female grudge?"
"Oh shut up Ansley.", George grumbled, "I'm freezing."
There was a small pause of silence.
"... Okay snowballs."
A small grin perked on her lip.
"She laughed!", Brock jeered, causing a few to look over, "Ha!"
At a huff from Knightley, they settled fast and Ofelia relaxed in their silence. It was hard enough to trek as is! Let alone with their jeering and jesting. She rolled her eyes and sighed greatly, ignoring their growing sniggering and subtle glances.

For three days, they trekked through the storm, for three days George supplied Ofelia with shelter.
"This is the last night we share, okay?", He grumbled, sneaking into his den, "You sleep talk."
Ofelia grinned, "... Okay.", She chuckled, waiting for his reaction.
He frowned at her, rolled his eyes, and cuddled into his fur, "Gee, don't sound too upset.", he sarcastically remarked.
Ofelia giggled and pulled her hands to her chin, pressing his features into her memory. She still couldn't believe a boy as young as he trekked through the forests, the valleys, the snow with all these battle-hardened men. Sure, he was satirized, but his peers no doubt knew that he was worthy of walking alongside them.
"Stop staring at me, beast.", He rumbled, turning away.
Ofelia laughed and poked the back of his neck. Instantly, he whipped his head to her, glaring.
She grinned at him, "What do I say?", she whispered, her grin softening.
George frowned, "... What?"
Ofelia tucked into herself, like she was readying herself for a story, "You said I sleep talk, what do I say?"
George's eyes were hard, he stared at her for a moment. Ofelia smiled a little more at him, to which he sighed and slackened his taut jaw, "Well, you mentioned your father... Obviously.", he mumbled, frowning to the ground. He cleared his throat, "Your mother too...", George froze as he thought, Ofelia was convinced she could see the cogs in motion.
"And, ", he murmured, "Something about the moon, and something about a Lily in the Valley... Nonsense I think... ", He frowned.
Ofelia dropped her eyes, "... Ah.", She whispered, swallowing, "... The moon soldier and the Lily of the Valley."
She ignored George's inquisitive eye, sending him a tight smile before turning to the other side and shutting her eyes tight.