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The chill morning brings me little comfort, the whiteness of the snow only serving as a reminder of what I had done last night. I keep my blanket wrapped around myself all through breakfast, trying to hold onto those last comforting tendrils of blissful unconsciousness and non-memory. I wait to pack up my blanket until we finally break camp and start off towards the haven. I pull my travel cloak around me, I feel unusually cold. I can normally stand the cold because I have star blood in me which allows me to stand more extreme temperatures than a normal elf, or a human.
My great-grandmother was a star. She came down to our realm when she fell in love with my great-grandfather. My mother is their direct descendant.
We ride slowly, at first to allow the former prisoners time to adjust to the feel of riding. We soon come back onto the main path.
The days are very short during the winter. I can see the hoar frost on all the twigs that remain hanging over the road. The cold seems to sink into my bones, or is that guilt? I can't get the image of the vampire out of my mind, the vampire I killed. Who would have thought such a small knife could do so much damage to a life? I'm not sure why I'm so depressed about it, I only held out my dagger in self defence. The dagger was bound to kill him instantly; there was nothing I could have done that wouldn't have ended up with one of us dead.
The sun creeps across the sky quickly, noon is upon us before we know it. Alastor seeks shade among the few pines that are scattered throughout the forest while the rest of us set out a small lunch of dried meat and various roots and herbs Jana found around our campsite. I must be honest, I prefer having a hot meal as opposed to a cold one; it fills one up better I find. We head off again before long. Alastor fears that the vampires will come out looking for their escaped 'donors' come nightfall. I agree with him, but Seth, who has taken charge again, is allowing a slower pace than I would be comfortable with.
As we set off again, the girls start to ask questions about us. Who are we? Why did you rescue us? Where are we going? Seth tries to answer the questions as best he can. We don't have any long-term plans for the freed prisoners, I don't know what we're going to do after they have healed sufficiently. We are going to take them to the haven for a few months. I suppose they will leave and try to make a new life for themselves elsewhere when they are ready.
The pale sun seems such a contrast to the freezing snow that covers the ground, yet none of its warmth reaches down to the shivering figures on the road. The pines, telling of life while all other trees speak of death. I am reminded of the paradox that is the duty of a protector. We must defend the realm, but in defending it we must destroy some of those within it. It is such a sad life to lead. My depression deepens; the cold seems to be more than it is.
“Why are you so upset about the vampire?” asks Mella as she urges her horse, Zenith, alongside mine. She is rather pressed between the two women she shares her horse with, both asleep. “You killed all those werewolves without a second thought, yet you've gone dead silent about a bloodsucker who wanted to rip your throat out. What's going on?”
“I did give them second thoughts,” I reply, “Werewolves are more human than vampires, in a sense, and werewolves can't help themselves. I suppose it has something to do with the fact that there aren't many ways to cleanse a werewolf without killing them, not that it makes me feel much better about killing them. But killing beasts that can only terrorize people is much less guilt inducing than killing a creature of free will, that can make his own decisions. He could have become good at some time, for all we know. Now I've taken that chance away from him. I'm not the creator, the mistress of fate who can decide who should live and die at any given time whenever I feel like it. Besides, I had to kill those werewolves in the defence of others, where as my killing Megildur may only have put others in danger.”
My depression deepens at the memory of the werewolves, now coupled with the image on Megildur's face when he died. Mella, seeing that I'm probably not going to talk any more for a while, sends Zenith into a trot to catch up with the others. I keep lagging behind, I just can't summon the energy to even lift my head. I watch Starlight's legs as they walk along the road to Yeste, kicking the snow out in a small spray before her. The young girl behind me is admiring the scenery, not paying attention to my inattention. Starlight remains unhurried, sensing my need to be alone, to not be spoken to at the moment. I lean against her thick neck, tangling my fingers into her coarse mane and resting my cheek on the strong muscles in her neck. I don't know how long it is before I start to be lulled by her rhythmic movements.
 Girl of the Dragons · Wed Jan 12, 2011 @ 10:30pm · 0 Comments |
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