The Beast

Chapter Twenty-Three

Guys...

Forgive me. This chapter was really hard for me to write. I'm still practicing my skills not only as an author, but also as a human. I haven't quite experienced true tragedy, so writing about it makes me feel like a huge poser. I'm sorry if this chapter is garbage, and I didn't portray things so well. But at least I can say that I tried.

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The journey back home for Ylvir was far more long and treacherous than the journey from. He may have had the same map and compass as before, but he did not have the temperate weather, nor the same adventurous spirit. This time there was ice and snow to trudge through, and his own shame to bear.

When Ylvir managed to get through the icy swamp, Dandy fell ill. She would not take his food and he could not start a fire to warm her. He tried to hold her close, hoping and praying she would get better, whispering to her repeatedly that everything would be alright while she continued to shake and tremble.

She cooed once to him, and in that coo she told him to be at peace. Her trembling stopped after that. Ylvir would have to continue his journey without her.

His steps were feeble and small as he waded through the snow of the now barren plains, holding Dandy's body aloft, tears freezing in his already frosted fur. It was such a contrast from the last time he came through, that his tears fell even more fervently, large and warm for only a second before the winter air froze them.

When he came to the edge of the forest, its floor more open and soft, he buried her. He knelt at the small mound that made her grave for a great length, maybe days. He could not stop thinking of how it was his fault that she was dead now.

He remembered watching her hatching. It had been such a novelty to see new life born, though she wasn't quite as adorable that day as the next. She had been so small, so innocent. And quite soft, much like himself. He remembered helping to raise her and the other chicks with their mother, feeding them, playing with them, having their own little adventures.

But she had taken to him more than the others. He sobbed a small chuckle when he recalled how she had followed him more than she followed her mother. He could hardly remember a time at the farm when she wasn't shadowing him. Sometimes he would even try to shoo her off, but she never listened, always following and doing as she wished. Somewhere along the road, he wasn't sure where, she had turned from being his charge to being his keeper.

She had traveled with him when no one else would. She had comforted him when he needed comfort, encouraged him when he was so full of doubt, and pecked sense into him when no one else would. She was the most loyal friend he had ever known, even when he tried to discourage her. And now she was gone forever, simply because he could not return the favor to her when she needed it the most.

His tears dropped to the soil she lay beneath until they would drop no more.

With a shaky breath, he pulled his whistle from his pocket and began to play a tribute to the loyal hen. He played it sweetly, apologetically, and then peacefully.

Ylvir finally stood, the snow that had piled on him slipping off, and he moved on.

He had thought he felt lonely the last time when he traversed through the woods. It was nothing compared to now. Now he was truly all alone. It was so terribly painful and cold in a way that had nothing to do with winter. He might as well get used to it now, though. After seeing his parents, this is how it would always be.

It went on like that for so long, the wind and snow and his own mind battling him at every turn, but he pressed on. He pressed on until he came through the forest's edge to a familiar clearing--one he had called home his whole life.