The Beast

Chapter Twenty-Two

It wasn't long before Ylvir went into the building and entered his room, collapsing onto the floor. Dandy seemed to have sensed his distraught feelings, completely alert despite the late hour and the season.

Ylvir ran a paw over the back of his neck, letting his head lean back against the wall. He sat like that for some time, sorting through his thoughts with such focus that he barely noticed when Dandy placed her head against his arm.

His gaze swiveled to her and she cocked her head at him curiously. He sighed.

"We're leaving, Dandy," he said tiredly.

He had given it a lot of thought. He hadn't been sure if it was wise to still visit his parents. After all, he had just lost control again...

No, he didn't lose it--he let it go. He couldn't decide if that was more reassuring or not. It raised so many questions and subsequent fears as there was no good way to come about their answers.

But he had made a promise to himself to visit them. And besides that, he just had this urgent feeling he didn't know the origins of, but it told him that he absolutely had to see his parents now. Nonetheless, he was still relectant to, but he would swallow his pride this once to see them, even if it was to give a final goodbye. No more next time's. He realized this much. He may not have been wise enough to separate himself from others before, but he was now. He had his fun for a good while, but it was over now.

He wished that he could have been more than a beast like the girl said.

He wished he could be a musician, or even a farmer like his father-- anything but the thing he really was. Perhaps he could be. He could find some land somewhere away from everyone else and survive off of it alone. Or not alone. He could have his own animals to befriend and work with as he had before. Dandy could come with him. She could have friends of her own kind and maybe even start a family.

That thought broke him, and it wasn't until then that he realized he had been weeping for some time, perhaps even in front of the girl as he saved her. It was such a silly thing to hope for, and he knew it, but he couldn't help himself. He couldn't help but hope. His mother had taught him that much over the years.

Sniffling, he swallowed his tears and stood, gathering his things together. Dandy squawked and flapped her wings at him as he bustled about the small room.

"No, we're not coming back," Ylvir said, scooping her up a little roughly for her liking, and walking to the kitchen.

When he got there, he raided the pantry, taking a few of the salted meats and a half loaf of stale bread and stowing them in his pack. And then he left.

He wondered briefly if anyone would miss him, but answered himself with the surety that they would not. It was probably for the best that they didn't. It made his departure easier, in a way.

At the foot of the mountain, he looked back on the city, specks of lamp lights scattered throughout the port--almost like stars throughout the night sky. The largest and brightest gathering of the lights indicated to him where he knew the festival to be taking place--a festival that had gone just as bad as the last one, if not worse.

He gazed at the city for some time, reminiscing in the times he had there. It really was fun while it had lasted. He didn't really regret it as much as he probably should have, but he also knew he shouldn't let his mistake sully the other memories he had of the place. It didn't really seem fair to do that, for some reason.

It surprised him when he felt something cold bite at his wet nose. His eyes zeroed in on the fleck of white that lay atop it, then went to the darkened sky to see many more just like it, dancing violently. It was only then that he fully realized the cold, drawing his tattered cloak around himself and Dandy. It still smelled of blood and was ripped from his onslaught, but it was his only source of warmth now, aside from his breeches. With or without it, his journey back home would only be all the more difficult with the snowfall. He had never cared for winter. It always took that which was dear to him away. Well, not all of it.