The Wolf Among Us (Completed)

Epilogue

Sunlight swept past the flaps on the canvas tent with a hint of campfire carrying on the crisp morning wind. The distant crash of glacier water rushing past river rocks pulled Samson from his light sleep as the day called for him to awaken. He rolled to his knees and crawled out, his sour breath blowing back at him as he yawned and emerged to bathe in the sunshine. Warm rays poked through the wooden columns zigzagging across the mountains like umber brush strokes, and he squinted from the brightness.

Crouched over the saucepan dangling above the firepit, stood the grey-haired man who he had come to call his friend. His dark eyes cast a sideways glance towards Samson as he walked over, yawning.

"Sleep ok?" the old man's gritty voice asked.

"No. I'm having those pains again."

"Mm," he grunted. "Maybe breakfast will turn things around."

"Maybe."

Samson inhaled deeply, his eyes searching over their camp. He had another dream—a memory that was forcing its way—that was pushing him to remember his previous life. He rubbed his eyes, hoping to see the images again, but his mind was as foggy as the mist that often coated the forest floor.

"Out with it," his old friend said. "What's on your mind?"

"I've been having dreams."

"It'll happen from time to time. I still have them, but its come to a point where I can no longer tell if they're memories or just stories that my mind made up."

"How do you do it? How do you go on without remembering a thing of the past, other than your name?"

"You just do." He shrugged and stirred the contents of the pot over the fire. "In my mind-in these dreams I have, I see a woman with wavy brown hair, brown eyes, and a laugh that brightens her entire face."

"A girlfriend or wife, perhaps?" Samson quirked his brow.

"No. I get the feeling she was kin."

"Hmm."

"Do you ever have memories like that?"

"Yeah." Samson nodded. "This morning actually. Except it was a man. Brown eyes, dark hair, sun-drenched flesh like mine, and there was something about him..."

"An old lover?"

"No. It was his face..." Samson rubbed his jawline. "It was similar to mine."

"Father?"

"No. Younger."

"Brother." His friend nodded, the sunlight catching his silver hair.

"Yeah, maybe."

With a hunting knife in hand, his companion motioned to their surroundings. "You know I found you not too far from here. Maybe we can stick around. Explore the area and see if anything jogs your memory?"

"Did you ever go back to where you were found?"

"No. I don't think I'll find answers there. My instincts say to keep wandering. Keep looking."

"But what if the answers are all right there, where you were found?"

"They're not!" His friend set down the spoon with a clang.

"I think you're scared."

The old man cast him a sharp side-stare. "I might not remember who I am, or where I come from, but I do know one thing. I'm not scared of anything."

"No, you're certainly not."

Samson's eyes drifted to the river where it shimmered like a glittery carpet under the rays of the morning sun. Marauders had become rampant over the years while traveling with the older man through the wasteland. There were several occasions when his companion showed him that age was merely a number, and how a person's will to survive was infinite. Just a few days prior they faced off with a group that was looking to strip them of their valuables. When his friend whipped out a machete and whacked at the legs on one of them, the thieves knew right then and there, that they'd picked the wrong men to mess with. Their run-ins with wasteland scum often ended that way.