The Red Hunter

C h a p t e r 2 5

When Jack and I were thirteen, we used to sneak out into the forest during training. Our Clan Mentor would take our whole class out for a final run at the end of instructions, always right before sunset. It was five miles of dirt and weeds that would eventually lead back to the gates of the Clan House. Everyone would complain, except for Jack and I.

We relished in it.

Unlike the others, we enjoyed the pain of training all day. From the calluses forming on our knuckles to the sweat pouring down our backs. We wouldn't run with the others back to the Clan House like good, young hunters in training, but through the woods towards a lake hidden behind a thick veil of tall pine trees. Letting out everything during training was something we relished in, but escaping to that lake at the end of every day was something we endured for.

By the time we made it to the shore, dusk's colors would already be crawling across the still water like black ink dispersing in a glass of clear water. The lake, bearing the war paint of the dying sun, was virgin of any ripples, tides, or disturbances. It was a pool of clear glass, and at every sunset Jack and I would shatter its surface.

We were children then, innocent children without any cares for the world. Our laughs weren't forced. Our smiles weren't stretched. We swam and played in the water until the moon would start to rise and our muscles would finally quivered and collapsed from fatigue. It was those evenings, swimming side by side with my best friend, that my spirit was finally free. Swimming washed away my fears for the future and cleansed my knowledge of the past. Freedom. Pure and utterly free.

When we would finally climb out of the water with renewed eyes, we would race back to the Clan House gates. Because without that small competition feuing our excitement, knowing instincts would have propelled us to run in the opposite direction.

We made a big show of it, pretending to be a pair of legendary Moon Slayers as we attempted to climb the gates like ninjas and then somersault across the dark halls like special agents. What we didn't know back then was that everyone had heard the racket we would make as we tried to sneak back in -- they knew we were out every night, and so did Peter.

Every night he would wait. He would calmly sit on the floor in front of our door as wait for the two of us to scurry back to his waiting arms. To home. We would stop in front of his quiet form, unable to say anything, and he wouldn't say anything in return except ask us if we wanted to watch for shooting stars with him before midnight struck.

And so every night for the last decade, I would swim with my best friend and then watch for shooting stars with my family. There wasn't more I could ask for. It didn't matter how beaten I was -- how sunken I was from the lives I couldn't save or from the ones I had to take, I was there. Next to them. With them. And every night we used the vast fires crackling in the dark sky to blanket us from the night as we silently casted wishes only the heavens dare heard.

But there would be no more shooting stars to grant silly wishes.

There would be no more sneaking around unless it was to protect my life.

There would be no more lakes to glide through without the fear of drowning.

And there would be no more running without something chasing after me.

I had closed that door on Jack. I had. And I had never hated myself so much in my life.

I was rummaging through yet another unfamiliar room in this foreign house. My fingers trembled as I brushed through the items hanging in the closet. Finally finding what I wanted hidden in the back, I ripped it off its hanger and threw it over my shoulders.