Half Wylde | Book 1

Two: Flee

There was still a gentle trill of smoke in the chimney when I reached my home. Herbs dried on the mantle, a new bowl sat half-formed in a pile of wood shavings on the table. Loaves of bread sat rising on the window sill. The cottage held a table, a hearth, and two simple beds. It's warmth clung to my skin as I stood in the middle of it. Little did the cabin know that it's master was never coming home.

I cried. I wrapped myself in the blanket from my bed and sat on the floor. Tears fell for the woodcutter, and for me, and for the destroyed patches of forest. None fell for the village.

The fae's face would not leave my mind, and I hated him for it. It was terrible, but crafted by the gods. My stomach twisted at the thought. He was a monster, not something to admire. The hells could have him. He looked half animal anyway. It was little wonder humans didn't trust them. Trust me. Not that I had ever been among my fae half before, but it hadn't mattered before and it hadn't mattered today. They hated me as surely as they hated anything from the Wyldes.

Even when my tears finally dried up, I stayed on the floor. I don't know how long I sat there. I traced the grain of the wooden boards. Small black patches were smooth where sparks from the fireplace licked the floor. My fingers danced around a gouge I put in the oak with a spoon when I was young. I was trying to carve a bird. Bryn had scolded me for that.

Bryn. I hadn't dared look for his body. I was a coward for not being able to face his fate. I wouldn't remember him mangled or burned or cut down, though. I would remember him as he was. Smiling, gentle, a large man with a large beard and a bigger laugh. He told the most wonderful tales, and he could carve anything with a knife and a piece of wood. He taught me the kinds of trees, and animals, and he took me to Mila for reading and learning. But he was gone, and I wasn't.

I did what Bryn would do to cheer me up, if he were here. I sang. I sang badly, with a broken voice and lyrics interrupted by sobbing, but I sang. I sang a sad ballad I had once heard at the fair. I sang through the sorrow, of the woods that Bryn had loved. Of the mountains that he roamed. I sang of hate and anger that the raiders took him from me. And finally I sang a song of love and loss for my only family. The family of my heart if not my blood.

When I was done, my head ached. I laid down by the fire and slept, not waking until the fire burned out and the cold night woke me.

Blinking, I watched the moonlight cross the floor for a while. Eventually I stood and let the blanket drop around me. My fingers itched for work, so I found things to do. I washed the mess I had become in the water basin. My dress, now ruined, lay discarded on the floor as I pulled on my doeskin pants and long green tunic. Dresses were for blending in to the people of the mountains. Tunics were for working. I stoked and fed the embers, and put my cloak around me. I laid the now risen bread by the fire and swept the wood shavings from the room.

Would the surviving homesteads around the forest accept business from me? I had helped chop wood and clear trees since I was big enough to hold an axe, but my presence was only tolerated because of the woodcutter. Bryn was a friend to all. How long could I stay? And what would I do if the plainsmen returned?

Did I even need to see another human ever again? The only reason for money was to buy what I could not get myself. Clothes, I supposed. Food would never be a problem. Soap, I would miss soap.

A rustling that had no wind behind it whispered outside. My heart beat faster. Even now a stray warrior could be lurking, waiting for a chance to strike. I grimaced and went to the wall by the door where the tools were kept. I couldn't see anything out the window, but that didn't mean nothing was there. Axe firmly in hand, I slowly opened the door, and I crept outside. I would not be cornered in a cabin in the woods.