“Please forgive me!” Yig yelled into the wind, streams of tears running down his cheeks. “Please, please, please.” Kneeling in the grass, he

  “Please forgive me!” Yig yelled into the wind, streams of tears running down his cheeks. “Please, please, please.”

  Kneeling in the grass, head bowed, Yig had curled into a ball beneath their tree at the top of the mountain. A strong, icy wind picked up the debris around him. His red cloak was the only thing shielding him from the cold—not that the temperature could touch him in his current state.

  “If I were stronger… as strong as you… stronger than you—I could have done so much more!”

  Yig looked up, smearing the tears from his face with a trembling hand. His chest ached as he drew a freezing breath. Even after a month, his wounds had yet to fully heal. Now, he had to monitor not just the bandage on his arm, but also the ones around his stomach and legs.

  He rubbed his forehead, trying to ease the persistent ache. Then he reached to his waist and pulled out Mona’s broken sword hilt, the remaining shard still attached. He stabbed it into the earth before her grave. He held it there for a long moment before slowly releasing his grip. As he stood, a tear tickled his cheek—one he hadn’t even realized had fallen.

  Yig walked weakly along the winding paths at the base of the mountain. Clutching his stomach, he looked across the fields—far emptier than before. Trails of smoke curled from the burning bodies of the men and creatures that had attacked them, snaking into the sky. There had been no sighting of the swordsman Yig fought that night. People worked, but without joy. The apple farm, once lively, had lost its spark. He waved as he passed, but no one noticed.

  Meat had become scarce since the attack. The mayor, recognizing the hunters’ physical and emotional exhaustion, had pulled them from active duty, assigning them to farmwork instead. Some, like Jordan, refused to do anything that didn’t resemble a hunt and now disappeared into the woods each morning.

  Yig made his way to the woods where he and Mona had trained. The boulder they had used for practice still stood, now marked by new scars. He could only assume Mona had returned here the day those two men crossed their borders.

  Though she had rejected her family’s plan to make her mayor—choosing instead to travel with him—Yig knew how deeply she cared for her people. Maybe he could have done more to reassure her things would be okay, even if it turned out to be a lie.

  He picked up a wooden practice sword from the ground—lighter than the real blade Del had once given him. Still tearful, he struck the boulder, sending splinters flying from the dull weapon. Pain surged through his side, but he gritted his teeth. Rage boiled through him as the wound flared. He struck again, ignoring the sharp sting. Again, his grip so tight it burned his fingers. Again, drowning out the screams in his head. Again, convincing himself he could keep going. Again, proving he would never give up on her!

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  When he tried once more, he stumbled. His body hit the mud, staining his bandages a deep brown, mingled with fresh blood from his reopened wounds. He looked to the sky—just a sliver of light peeking through the grey clouds. It felt... wrong.

  ◇─◇──◇─◇

  Limping, he stepped through his front door and sat at the dining table across from his mother. Neither spoke.

  What was there to say?

  So Yig said nothing and watched through the window as the clouds drifted by. The fire crackled softly, warmth spreading through the room. His lamp friend lay curled beside it, sleeping peacefully.

  Only after the silence had stretched for some time did he notice the changes around the room—fresh orange flowers, rearranged bookshelves, paintings in new positions, and furniture made of glossy, dark wood.

  “You’ve redecorated?”

  Yig’s mother perked up with surprising speed. “You noticed?”

  “When did you do it?” His voice was dry, but his curiosity was genuine. He needed a distraction—any distraction.

  “Around two weeks ago… do you like it?”

  “Yes, it’s just… I didn’t notice.”

  She chuckled. “Well, you hardly left your room for a month.”

  “It’s only been a month?”

  “I’m afraid so, sweetie.”

  Yig let his head fall onto his forearms, slumping against the table. “I’m going crazy,” he mumbled.

  “No, you’re not. You were in a bad place—and still are. There’s no use getting frustrated about it. Why not go help the farmers? That might take your mind off things.”

  The door behind them creaked open, letting in a faint draft. Whoever entered stepped lightly, careful not to startle the boy. But Yig’s mother made no effort to keep her voice down.

  “Carol is here,” she said.

  Yig turned, stunned and afraid. It was Mona’s mother. He hadn’t faced either of her parents since the attack—and how could he? He’d let her die. No words, no apology could ever earn their forgiveness.

  “I… Carol… I’m sor—”

  Carol pulled him into a tight embrace, as if he were her own son.

  “Me too. I’m sorry.”

  The tears returned, no matter how hard he fought to hold them back. “But I let her die.”

  “Yig, I’ve known you since the day you were born—and I’ve seen you almost every day since. Your bond with Mona was stronger than even mine. Don’t worry about how I feel. Just know we’re all worried about you.”

  Tears streamed down Yig’s face—their tickling the only thing he could feel.

  Seeing her son still hurting, Yig’s mother stood to brew some tea. She poured it into a fragile little blue cup. The tea swirled gently, a lone leaf floating on the surface. Yig took a sip, then stared into the cup before taking another—repeating the motion with ritualistic rhythm.

  Yig and Carol continued their conversation for nearly an hour, until a particular topic came up.

  “The mayor wishes to speak with you, Yig.”

  Yig glanced at Carol, searching her face for any hint of danger. “About what?”

  “I don’t mean to be rude… but that’s between you and him.”

  Yig swallowed hard.