Wild Watchtower: Shield & Claw Book One

Chapter Thirty-Three: Cursed

At first light, we descended from our hilltop, and the emptiness we left in our wake had sorrow twisting in my chest. The stone circle should have been alive; a place of celebration, worship, family, and promise. Instead, it sat on its tree-masked summit, unvisited and unremembered, and that made me think of the forgotten king and queen. No one remembered them either, and I had no doubt that they deserved much more than the high elves had given them. I pitied them for all they'd endured and all they'd lost... Yet I envied them too.

I envied them for the love they'd shared.

I envied Cróga and Aoibhinn for their bond.

I envied my parents, who'd had so many decades of love and peace, and Uncle Aonair and Aunt Eadránaí for the same reason.

My personal situation shouldn't have mattered, not against the backdrop of invasion, murder, and the danger I found before me. But hadn't I said that it was the small things that gave us a reason to fight? Love, and family, and our freedom to enjoy our own lives. We could make grand statements about defending our nation, but at its core, we defended our people because we wanted them to have what we wanted for ourselves; the peace to live happy lives surrounded by loved ones and trusted friends rather than under the heal of some cruel master or fleeing from some invader's sword or musket.

It hurt that I'd go to the dragon riders to give everyone else a chance at the very thing I'd never have. And I wouldn't ever have it, because I belonged to a male and I didn't want, had bonded with a male who wouldn't have me, and headed towards a pack I barely knew, leaving everything else I loved behind, including my beloved sea.

I tried not to dwell on such truths. For a day and a half, I trudged onwards, trying to focus on the highway, still visible through the trees to my right, where dwarven patrols regularly forced us to slow our pace and slink silently through the shadows. Or I looked towards the Sléibhte Dragan foothills on my left, their gentle, purple, heather-covered inclines growing into the tall, craggy peaks and sheer cliff faces at the heart of their range. The earliest, subtle undulations of the landscape had only hinted at the awesome nature of the mountains which now towered over us; mountains which extended across the top of Tírlaochra.

The beauty should have enchanted me. The scale should have daunted me. The threat of mercenaries should have held my rapt attention. It wasn't easy to ignore my inner turmoil, though. In my chest, a broiling tangle of frustration, envy, grief, and fear waged a war for dominance; frustration at Styrkr, envy over the many things I'd never know, grief for my father and now for a long dead king and his queen as well, and fear for myself, my family, and my people. If I'd been in my skin, I suspected the aching ball of emotion in my throat would have kept me from speaking in more than a croak, and I felt grateful that I didn't need to try. Travelling in my fur offered that small mercy; the gift of silence without any need for explanation.

Unfortunately, when Styrkr's shoulder bumped mine as we squeezed between a prickly gorse bush and large, moss and lichen covered stone, the choking knot of emotion in my trachea didn't silence my warning snarl. Irritation blossomed out of my frustration, so consuming that I only vaguely noticed how the lump of rock we passed formed a partial archway. The structure was elegant in its lines and decoration, and must have been part of a building, once upon a time. A grand building. But now only that single pillar remained; some crumbled monument to a settlement which the woodland had long since swallowed up.

It was one more forgotten thing.

Would Styrkr forget me?

My lips peeled back from my fangs as another growl left my throat, directed at myself as much as the princeling, yet it was him I snapped my teeth at; saying without words that he should stay away. My bad mood only made his brow furrow. He watched me in concern for a moment then bumped against me again, in a more intentional manner, urging me further from the highway. Why couldn't he follow direction and leave me be?