Winter Wildflowers

Chapter 8

Day 68

For a month, Ofelia and Sir Knightley sparred. Ofelia was nowhere near a match for Sir Knightley, nowhere near competent enough to assist in a raid, and the more she trained, the more apparent it became.
But, that being said, she hadn't given up.
"Ah but see you're already in submission to me.", Knightley sniggered, "As a woman and as my prisoner."
"I will kill you!", Ofelia yelled, running to strike him.
Knightley fought her off amused, "Ah. You of little worth. If only you could best me... You would grow much in value."
"Worth is not affiliated with submission.", Ofelia growled.
"Oh?", Knightley teased, pushing her over with a shove to her back. He then rested on his sword, "How so?"
Ofelia lifted her head from the snow, pushing herself up with a huff. She turned to him, his delighted demeanour irritating her, "A snake may kill a rabbit, but a child values a rabbit more.", she spat, gripping her sword to strike again.
Knightley huffed, readying his weapon with a graceful twirl, "Then the child is stupid."
Ofelia struck, "I don't make the rules."
Knightley blocked, chuckling.
She frowned.
During the day, Ofelia would ponder over their sparring, in the night she would dwell on his words. She hated him. The more she learned the more she grew in rage. He was evil, and he was power hungry. He constantly belittled her, if he wasn't verbally doing so, then he did so physically. Each morning she woke stiff and aching. But each morning she rose and walked. They raided village after village, and though Ofelia was not as horrified about it as she once was, the thought of aiding them still tied her gut in a bow. She still had to block her ears at the shrill cries of women and their children. Yes, she had been bitterly betrayed by her neighbouring village and would never again risk herself in such a manner... But causing it?
She gulped.

For a Winter's Day, Ofelia had to note just how pleasurable the weather was. As she trailed behind the pack, she lifted her eyes to the sky, breathing in and out slowly. Birds chirped in the distance and the trees rustled gently. Maybe for the first time in over two months, an airy feeling fluttered around her chest. She slowed before coming to a complete stop. Was this the feeling that she felt constantly whilst living at home? Rarely did she endure the pangs of distress she now constantly dwelled in. It was a fleeting feeling, rare and gone in a second, but Ofelia had felt it. She coughed and blinked to find an unexpected mist in her eyes, wiping at it quickly. She bitterly chuckled, heaving a sigh. How long ago it seemed.
"Move forward, rat-face!", A man yelled, frowning at her.
Ofelia nodded, and jogged to catch up.
The group quietened as they neared another village they were to destroy, Ofelia munched on a piece of bread she'd stolen. The men were so quiet, that when Ofelia finally looked up from the trodden path, she bumped into a horse.
A man, Ansley, growled at her before thunking at his head.
Ofelia held her hands up in an apology before looking past him. Out in the distance, maybe a hundred steps from her, sat Knightley, or as he now appeared, the moon soldier, atop his horse staring out into the forest. Ofelia inquisitively glanced to Ansley, but he paid her no attention. She frowned and slowly weaved through the men to the front of the pack. A wary feeling coursed through her as she walked, but she pressed onwards. It was rare a danger that Knightley held his men at bay.
It was silent. Deafeningly silent.
Then arrows shot from the sky.
In an instant, Knightley's horse bolted out to the forest and Ofelia impulsively shot after him. No doubt the men were following his lead behind her, where else were they to go? Through the rain of arrows, she embraced her cover in the trees, only crouching at the sudden boom of noise behind her. She turned around. The men stood huddled, their shields above their heads as they gathered into a tight pack. She straightened slightly; she had run from the only cover she had. For a peaceful moment, all was quiet again. Ofelia sat tense. At the brisk of her wonder, again the horrific whizzing sound echoed from afar. Quickly, she set her legs to moving and followed Knightley into the woods. His horse shot off like a rocket and Ofelia knew that she wasn't going to be able to tail him forever, but for as long as she could manage, she ran. Through the snow, over the logs, under the branches. She put one leg in front of the other, pressing herself for speed. Left, right, left, right. She followed Knightley like a hound to a fox, and just as he seemed to disappear, he stopped, stared at something, before hastily turning around. Ofelia sped to meet him.
"Knightley!", she hissed, making sure to keep her voice low.
His eyes shot to her, his intense stare boring into her skin. She ran to his horse, readying to meet him halfway, but as she locked her eyes on him, she froze.
Just past him ran a man, a club suspended high above his head, chasing after the steed. Ofelia frowned, gaped her mouth, before shaking her head and continuing her speedy chase after Knightley's horse.
"Knightley.", She hissed, waiting for him to slow down, "... Knightley!"
He shook his head before altering his direction slightly, running just shy to her right. The man that chased him was a little way back, but no doubt would catch up to her if she ran. Knightley stretched an arm out to her, and Ofelia ran to catch his hand, but just at the last second, he threw his sword to the snow behind her and disappeared in a blur.
Ofelia choked. She looked back to the man chasing behind him, his rabid eyes suddenly having settled on her. She stood still. He began to charge. Her heart increased in its beat, frozen stuck then clawing into her throat.
"Wait- ", She stammered, fumbling over a step backwards.
The man stretched his mouth open wide with a hearty cry, his face disappearing behind trees as he rapidly approached. One hit from that club and Ofelia was finished. She whimpered as he whipped through the air, running at her fast. Her eyes shot to the ground, and she scrambled through the snow, frantically clutching at Knightley's sword. She squeezed her eyes shut as he entered attacking view and hopelessly thrust her sword into the air.
Metal through leather.
Ofelia knew that sound.
She couldn't open her eyes. She was terrified to look. Time froze as she shut away in her mind. She couldn't open her eyes; she would see him wide eyed and staring at her. She was terrified, but beyond that? Nothing. No dread, no horror, no nervousness. She should've felt something, long had she heard about the dreaded first kill, but to her it didn't feel like anything. A man was dying by her hands, taking his last gasps of air whilst she was awaiting the famed feelings of guilt and regret. She felt herself breathing, she felt the weight of the sword pressed to her hands, a warmth in her palms. But in soul, she was void. Above her, the man began to choke. He squeaked and wheezed. Still shut eyed, Ofelia slowly slid out from under him, pushing him away as he toppled over the sword. Ofelia rose to her feet and faced the other way. Slowly, she peeked at the snow at her feet and caught sight of her bloody hands by her sides. She brought them fully into her vision and took note of how warm they were. There was no logic behind her actions, but still she slowly turned to the man behind her. He wasn't dead yet, but he was going to be soon. A dark corpse in the white winter snow. She stood still, looking at him. He didn't look back and she was glad for it. Her eyes then fell to the sword through his chest. Knightley would be angry if she didn't return it-
"Lady!", George's familiar boyish voice yelled, the sound of his fast footsteps showing his concern, "I'm coming for you - !"
He halted at the sight of the dying man, his sword half drawn, his hand hovering in the air.
Ofelia hid her hands, gulping.
"... I uh- ", she stammered, clearing her throat, "I don't know if I can- ", another grunt, , "... The uh... The sword- "
"It's okay.", George mumbled, side eyeing her. He stared too long.
"Please, will you... Can you um- ", Ofelia whispered, her eyes searing the dead man into memory. She looked back to her hands before trudging back the way she came.

-

If Ofelia was ever quiet before, it paled in comparison to her the night of her first kill.
She sat far from everyone, a way into the forest sitting on a patch of snowed grass. She couldn't stop staring at her hands. There was still blood on them, but she couldn't put them away. It was brown now, mistakable as mud, maybe food to any other person, but she knew what it was, and there was no mistaking for her. It was that night she tucked away into her thoughts that she began to understand. She understood something about Knightley, something she couldn't put her finger on. She was confused, conflicted, angry, but at the same time desolate. She couldn't latch onto any feeling, she was in a purgatory state, unable to decide how she felt. It was new, she could settle at least.
"... Are you okay?", George's ginger voice crept up on her, his footsteps having surpassed Ofelia's attention.
Ofelia didn't grace him a look, how could she ever look away from her hands? But at his expectant silence, she slightly nodded her head.
George was quiet. Perhaps he was remembering his own first kill, maybe finding the right words to sympathise with her. Ofelia didn't care.
"It's... scary, huh.", He mumbled, kicking a rock with his boot.
Ofelia huffed, scary? She figured he was talking about the supposed emotional surge that came after her decision to take a life, but Ofelia wasn't scared. In fact, she was less scared than she had been these entire two months. She had been terrified the entire time, beyond it with Knightley's furious assaults, bordering on insanity when charged by the foreign man, but now that it was over, she was finally calm. Finally calm.
Despite it all, she chuckled.
George subtly stepped back.
Ofelia didn't hear another word from him after that, only heard his sheepish disappearance as she disappeared back into her thoughts.