Timber

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Shifting Stalks

Hazel couldn't recall a time when her heart had pounded as fiercely as it did in that moment. It thrummed against her ribs like a bird trying to escape a cage. Panic, previously simmering just beneath the surface, now surged forth, dousing her like a bucket of ice-cold water. Her breathing accelerated, becoming fast and shallow. Silus would never abandon his axe. Not willingly. Her hands shot up to her hair, fingers harshly combing through, nails scraping her scalp in distress.

"What have you done?" she voiced aloud, uncertain of whom she was questioning. Her surroundings seemed to tilt and swirl, threatening to envelop her in darkness.

She knelt in front of the axe, her fingers trembling, still entwined in her hair as she fixated on the weapon. The ruby bladed weapon was covered in dirt and smatters of blood. She was breathing fast but still felt as though she was suffocating. A sensation of burning filled her chest, and the edges of her vision began to flicker, like a lightbulb just about to burn out.

A warm hand landed on her shoulder, and she jerked away sharply, nearly toppling over.

"You need to breathe," Ethan's steady voice came as he crouched beside her, his grey eyes scanning her face with concern.

"It's all my fault, he's gone," Hazel's voice was charged with hysteria, her eyes darting frantically, unable to anchor on any one thing as dread seized her.

Ethan firmly placed his hand back on her shoulder, "Hazel, focus on my voice," he urged.

But she still could barely hear him over the racing thoughts in her head. Visions of what could have happened to Silus swirled in her mind, all of the worst possible outcomes. Was the world watching her little brother be murdered at this very moment. She gagged at the thought of her family, gathered around their television watching Silus be killed.

Feeling Ethan's hands gently but firmly guide hers away from her tangled hair to clasp them in his brought a momentary focus. "Look at me, Hazel," he coaxed.

With great effort, Hazel forced her eyelids open, intertwining her eyes with his. "Now, take deep breaths with me," he emphasized each word with calm, the warmth of his skin providing a tangible point of focus to anchor her spiraling thoughts.

Ethan was right, she needed to calm down. This wasn't helping her or anyone. Hazel fought her own nervous system for control of her body. She drew in a deep breath, filling her lungs before releasing the air slowly through her pursed lips, the action somewhat steadying her frayed nerves.

"Good," Ethan's voice was a soothing presence, encouraging her to stand, supporting her weight. "Now, keep breathing, but make it even slower."

Following his guidance, Hazel reduced the rhythm of her breath, each inhale and exhale helping to anchor her back to the present. Gradually, her heartbeat decelerated, easing the spinning world around her, though a sheen of cold sweat clung to her neck.

Ethan maintained his gentle hold on her hands, "I know you are thinking the worse, but you don't know he is dead."

Hazel shook her head and closed her eyes again. He had to be dead, and she was responsible. She should have listened to so many people, including Festus, Snow and even Silus himself.

Ethan's voice, steady and grounding, snapped her back to the present. "Stay with me," he urged, giving her hands a reassuring squeeze. "I understand what you're feeling."

Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his. Skepticism colored her gaze. "How could you possibly?" she challenged.

A shadow of sorrow crossed Ethan's face, mirroring the empathy she'd noticed before, now mingled with a raw pain. "Because I've seen that panic, felt that guilt," he admitted, "Losing a sibling isn't something you ever recover from."