The West Woods

Leave Hope Behind

Bitter winds bit at their cheeks and made their noses sting. The tips of their ears turned quickly red at the chill in the air. The cold air made their lungs burn with every breath and threatened to freeze the moisture of their eyeballs, which prompted them to blink more often. And each night they built a fire and sat close together to keep their warmth as well they could.

Woodie watched as a slow evolution took place in Wes. His once plump and glistening lips were now dry and cracking, red blood surfaced in several creases of them before it dried and turned black. His long eyelashes were frosty with ice crystals that no amount of rubbing seemed to rid them of. Day in and day out Woodie could see the changes in Wes, even beyond the makeup he could make out a bluish hue taking the mime's skin.

Woodie was becoming sick to his stomach. Even Lucy seemed to keep silenced, having nothing to say to make Woodie feel better. The woodsman felt as though the ol' girl could sense the inevitable upon them.

The deeper into the woods they traveled the more scarce food became. The hunger pains started in Wes long before Woodie. The grumbling of his stomach could be heard even over the gusts of wind at times and his walking slowed. He had packed birdseed for Winona and now and again if Woodie were sly enough to turn an eye at the right time he could catch Wes eating some of it himself. It was a desperate and futile attempt to give himself enough strength to maybe, just maybe, make it.

Woodie's heart was growing heavy with worry. It hurt worse even than the pangs of hunger that curled his stomach and made his once determined foot steps turn to tired shuffling. Wes was likely going to die out here if Woodie didn't find food soon. Wes was going to die cold, and frozen, and hungry. A painful death not suitable for someone as kind as him. It would be all Woodie's fault. He'd be to blame. If he had of chosen another direction there might have been food.

But he hadn't and it was too late now to turn back.

In the end the birdseed had finally been expended and four days after this Winona was becoming irate. She chirped and screamed and pecked at Wes' shoulder with angry demand to be fed. Wes only stared blankly ahead of himself, knowing he could not offer her anything more. There was nothing more to give.

They settled down and lit another fire in the night, and Winona continued her crying. And Wes, desperate for food, reached his hand about her and held her tight. Woodie looked at him with concerned knowing and his brow crinkled. Wes' pale gray eyes now lacked the shimmering signs of life they had when Woodie had first met their gaze, and were now dull. And the look filling those pale silver orbs was one of resolution which prompted Woodie to turn his head away respectfully.

There were the sound of tiny bones being broken and the bird's cries were silenced. Only then did Woodie let himself look at Wes again and see the tears streaming down the mimes face and freezing to his cheeks. Wes removed his backpack and produced from it his straight razor which he used to cut the animal open and begin preparing it to be eaten.

Once it was done and cleaned as well as he could make it he cooked every part of it that could be cooked and ate. While the meal was very small and less filling than what Woodie would have hoped for the other, Wes seemed calmed for the time. Closing his eyes he lay on Woodie's shoulder and cried silently till he was asleep.

Woodie looked down to his companion, pained by what the other had just had to do, but nonetheless moved by the desire in the smaller to survive.

In the following week Wes lay by the fire, his body wrapped in the scraps of rabbit fur and grass, and his heart heavy with the sin he'd committed. He did not move to eat, as there was nothing left to eat, but should Woodie melt snow over the fire there was then a warm drink to keep his hands from being numb and at least delay the pangs of hunger for an hour or so.

Woodie, desperate for the other to survive, had tried feeding Wes tree bark, pushing it against his lips and prompting him to eat. He never did. Wes would only open his eyes and look up long enough to see Woodie before closing them again and sighing through his nose.

Neither was sure what would take them first, the cold or the hunger. Woodie placed his guess that Wes would die of starvation shortly - sometime within the following days, and hopefully in the man's sleep where it wouldn't hurt so badly - and he counted on the cold to end him then after.

Hope was lost.

And then, by some miracle as it were, the sun came out.