A shirt was ripped, my shirt, a splint was made, the arm was placed into the sling. The tearing of cloth sets my teeth on edge, it brings me back to the situation. I can't be angry for choosing my shirt, it was the cleanest one. Looking at father, I see the bottom of his shirt is shredded and matted with blood, his blood. The wolf must have clawed him when father was prone. Tom was covered in blood as well, though I think it's a wolf's.

  Nothing is said, father hooks his hatchet back on his belt, then leans down and lifts the larger wolf onto his left shoulder. Tom lifts the one he killed into his hands, apparently he is rather possessive of his first kill. I'm not strong enough to lift one. I look at the two remaining corpses. One of them is significantly smaller than the other. A runt, a chi . . . Nope definitely a runt, and nothing but a runt. I tug on the corpse and it moves. I start to drag it along. I don't know which way to go but father just heads in a direction and we both follow.

  They aren't moving fast but I'm still slower. I almost lose sight of them before we pass the trees. Back under the blue skies I turn to look back. Just a bunch of leafy oak trees again. My delay has put more distance between me and father. They stop at the stairs and I feel there is a football field between us at this point. By the point I make my touchdown, they finish chewing what I assume is more jerky. Their clothing looks damp, it reminds me that I should clean up and get a drink as well. Refreshed, I turn expecting my share of food and see father and Tom picking up their burdens and proceeding to the stairs.

  “Wait, what about my jerky?”

  I shouldn't be that easy to forget. Father is stopped at the stairs. Tom is looking at him. I can't read the expression on Tom's face. Slowly, father puts his wolf down. He walks to me, bends his knees and looks at me at eye level. It's a long stare, I shuffle my feet, unable to maintain the look.

  “Sorry”

  He fumbles with his satchel with his left hand. I ache at the sight. He succeeds at opening the satchel and pulls out two pieces of jerky. I don't feel like such a feast is required for my forgiveness, but I take both pieces anyway. Satchel closed, he turns and picks up his wolf, then proceeds up the stairs. Tom follows after. I devour my boon of meat. I'm sure they will come back down to grab this one after they reach the top.

  I felt guilty about getting extra jerky and so I'm trying to meet them halfway by dragging the wolf up the stairs. To be honest I doubt I'll be up ten steps before they're back. I get up fifteen steps before I stop. I take a moment to catch my breath, hoping relief will show up soon. There is none, I pulled the wolf up another ten steps. There, half way point and my arms are burning. I take a longer break this time. No one comes down. I grumble, must be another of father's life lessons. Two more breaks and I manage to get the dumb ass wolf to the top.

  No one there, I have to assume they proceeded to the broken cart. The breeze catches me and I'm reminded that I don't have my vest and my shirt is no longer covering my belly. It's evening now, and that alone cuts my break short. I start dragging the wolf down the path while I can still see it.

  It's hours before I reach the cart, there is no one there. I panic at the thought of Tom and father being attacked in the night. I call out, it's in vain. It's just me next to a broken cart and a dead wolf corpse. Another breeze reminds me it's still winter and I reach into the cart for my vest. Except I don't find it. I reach around frantically but nothing. For whatever reason, Tom and father have taken my vest. It doesn't make sense. I'm alone out here. I'm cold and alone. I'm alone, and cold, next to a broken cart with a wolf corpse for company.

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  I curl up next to the corpse in a bid to stay warm, wishing for the overcrowded bed in my two room house. I try my best to ignore what is obvious, sleep does not come quickly. On this cold night, my mind keeps returning to the same thought: They've abandoned me, I'm not worth the effort to keep alive, the shivering is not just from the cold.

  -----

  Morning greets me with the sounds of buzzing. Specifically the buzzing of flies as they start their breakfast on my impromptu body pillow. I shudder, roll away and retch. It doesn't improve the smell. Care for a side of vomit soup to go with your fermented wolf, sir flies. The giggling that titters out of me feels manic. That thought alone wakes me fully, I need to keep moving.

  I walk over to the cart hoping that my vest is there. It's still not, and I just sit there awhile. The cold reminds me again that it's still winter. I look over at the fly feast and then at my knife. It's a terrible idea, but I get up, knife in hand.

  I don't know how to skin animals. I inspect my soon to be coat. The belly of the wolf is just gore. Must have been from all the dragging. I grimace, the smell is horrible, the sight is even worse. I get closer and on my knees, ready to begin.

  I'm able to get my fingers between the meat and skin and I start pulling. It's slow at first but gets faster after I get enough separation for a better grip. It gets stuck at the legs and I just cut around them. The tail stuck to the bottom and I stopped caring. I pull my gore ripped hide over my shoulders and start down the path to the road. Any thought of food is dissuaded by the smell.

  I reach the crossroad. I see the foot prints that go right. The ruts in the path also lead credence that taking a right will lead back home. But it's not my home anymore. They left me. Would they even let me back into the house? Would I even be allowed to enter the village? To the right is death, even if I'm allowed back, all I would be looking forward to is starvation. I turn left.

  -----

  To be honest the decision not to return was when I skinned that wolf. Now I can't smell anything, my feet hurt and I have a constant buzzing sound around me. How the saying goes, three weeks with no food, three days for no water, three minutes for no air, and three seconds in a vacuum. I'm not sure about that last part. I take breaks as I go, it's still cold but the gooey parts of the hide have just become sticky and dried. I sleep in a tree.

  The next day I found a brook. After another attempt at catching dysentery, I continue on the road. Belly full of water, I'm trudging forward trying not to think of food. The trying is failing and my mind is full of hamburgers and hotdogs. The trees are thinning around me and I see a rather tall grassy hill in front of me. Better to tackle that in the morning, I pick a new tree to climb up. I don't succeed at climbing it. After the third try, I curl up at the roots and try to find sleep again.

  The morning did not magically remove the looming hill. My feet are in agony, and there is a hill in front of me. Stupid not quite fitting boots, you are no longer cute. I trudge up the incline. Parch mouth, no food, feet are all blister, I'm cold and the hill is a mountain. It's not really but I hate it all the same. I reach the top, out of breath and staring at the ground. It takes a moment but once I look up, I see the town. There are no walls, and from vantage point I can see the fountain. It's just down this hill, down the road, past the guard house and then water. I've forgotten the pain in my feet and start a light jog down the hill. It's a full on run by the time I'm at the bottom. The town is getting closer, I'm crying and that's when I get punched in the chest and fall backwards.