Old Wounds

[Penance]

The winds howled. A snowstorm raged outside. It piled waist-high blanketing the ground as far as the eye could see. A cabin stood on top of a hill, forgiven the worst of the gods fury.

A soft female hand ran across Malarik's chest admiringly, tracing countless scars that marred an otherwise perfect physique.

"Where did you get those?" Her voice was lilting and beautiful, an excellent companion to her looks.

Malarik smiled as he looked into her large, brown eyes. The eyes of a commoner. Though they were strangely absorbing, like the rest of her. She was the type of woman a man could get lost in and lose all sense of time and direction. "I got them from battles and hunts. Not all at once. They've collected over time."

He rested a hand on her face, making it appear so small. She shivered. Smiling at his touch.

She rested a finger on one of his scars. "This one. Where did you get it?"

"A drunken man at a bar who, if he wasn't drunk, might have killed me."

"And this man, what became of him?" Curious girl, wasn't she? He had bedded her once and already she seemed a little too interested in his past.

"He died on my knife. Even drunk I don't miss the vitals."

She gasped. "How many men have you killed?"

"More than I can remember." Malarik pulled the sheets further over them, keeping them buried beneath the warmth it provided. His other hand left her face, wrapping around the female and pressing her into the strong muscles that adorned his chest. She was two-thirds of his size. If he hadn't found refuge in her cabin as he traveled through the snowstorm, she might've died without him to keep her warm. If he hadn't found her cabin, he would've died too. They both owed each other a debt. She had told him that her husband was out hunting when the snowstorm fell upon them. She, a meek little thing, was unable to collect enough wood before the worst of the winter came. The stone chimney burned with what little wood Malarik had managed to collect from nearby trees he felled.

"What's it like killing a man?" Her long, chestnut hair cascaded around her face whenever she moved, framing it like a veil.

"It feels like cutting wood, only it screams when you chop it in half. They beg, plead, fight. Anything. They just want to live a second longer. Don't we all?" He was frowning now. More out of the frustration of trying to find the right words to describe how he felt than dealing with the troubling emotions they would cause most people.

"I suppose we do." She laid her head on his chest and closed her eyes.

[Penance]

The storm had ceased. Dawn had come, bringing its light shining brazenly through the glass windowpanes adorning the cabin's walls.

Malarik awoke to find the woman, Elizabeth, wrapped tightly to him. He tried to move away from her, but she resisted by pulling on his arm. She seemed to want to retain whatever warmth she could. The bear of a man couldn't blame her. The winter had been the coldest he had seen, and when he finally struggled free of her grip and adopted some trousers and a shirt he saw just how heavy the snow had fallen. The ground was gone. Everywhere he looked, there was a sea of white. He imagined it had to be up to Elizabeth's chest: a good five feet of snow. It was the most freakish weather he had ever seen.

"It doesn't look like you will be able to leave anytime soon." Elizabeth rose on her elbows against the bed, clutching the sheets tightly to her chest to defend her modesty. Though, most likely, she just wanted to keep herself warm. He had seen enough of her indecency that it probably merited a lack of care by now.

"I suppose not." Malarik eyed the dwindling supply of firewood. "Though I'll have to brave the elements in a few days regardless of whether the winter lets up or not."

"Please. Wait for the snow to recede before you venture out again. I would feel terrible if you got hurt on my behalf."

"I'll give it a day." He responded, nonchalantly plucking a loaf of bread from his backpack and sawing it in half with a knife he unsheathed from his belt. He tossed one half to the female, and began biting into the other.

He needed to leave. To go somewhere that she couldn't watch him every waking moment. It sometimes felt as if she was in his head. Reading his thoughts. Fogging his mind... No. That was ridiculous. What was he thinking? Snapping out of his thoughts, he saw her staring at him. Smiling. Remember, Malarik, she has a husband. This can't last.

Malarik finally slid back into the bed with the woman, and made love to her again. He had forgotten all about the hidden door under the rug on the cabin floor. And he soon began to forget his doubts of her as he lay enmeshed in her arms.

[Penance]

The dream. He had had it every night since he had entered the snowstorm. That terrible, cold and inescapable dream.

It always began with Malarik waking in a dank, dark cavern; naked, shivering and alone. He spent hours searching for an exit to no avail. There seemed to be a network of tunnels connected to various antechambers carved out in the rock. Stranger were the signs of habitation. Scattered tools, furnishings, as if each chamber was a room. Though, not once, had he come across a living, breathing person. Thankfully, however, he found a fur blanket and he wrapped himself in it for warmth as he walked through the frosty corridors of the bizarre dreamscape. Once in a while, he would get a feeling of déjÃ* vu when he went by a room he swore looked suspiciously like one he had just passed.

And so the dream continued listlessly on until he'd eventually come upon a room with statues of warriors frozen valiantly in battle. The room was large and at least two dozen of these sculptures stood eerily about, their icy portraits glistening with a light that filtered through a thin crack in the cave wall beyond. Malarik found that the hole was big enough to fit his arm...yet whenever he attempted to do so ice began to climb up it, encasing his struggling form until he too was turned into one of the silent statues and even his frigid breath was turned crystalline cold.

He awoke howling every night, only for Elizabeth to hush him back into sleep with her exhaustive love-making.

[Philomel]

Set during Phi's past when she used to travel for a few years with her teacher-warrior.

White. Like cotton rain floating in the air, idely riding on air currents made by the breaths of the mill workers as they strained to make a living in the busy fortress of a cotton mill.

So cold and haunting, like ghosts from a long dead nightmare have come back in the depths of winter and touched a beating heart to make it go slower and slower until it simply freezes to stillness. The snows were deep and thick, and light feet made light work of it, so light were the bounds and leaps of the fox as he made his way across the hillside towards the small cabin he could see as the only source of shelter in this blizzard. He nickered over his shoulder, but still no response. Wherever Philomel had got too he did not know, all he knew he had to do now was get to warmth, get to shelter - for if he died now and then was reborn back under the ash tree of his birth then he might never find her again in Salvar. Corone was their home, Corone was where they met, but now, this was now, and he needed to survive this storm, then find her agan.

Veridian let out a cry of shock as an avalanche of snow fell across the path he was headed towards. He skipped back, growling as much as he could, pulling back his upper lip to reveal his sharp teeth, and paused for a moment before lithely flicking his tail. One bound and he ha twisted around, around to the right and chose a new path in an arc towards the cabin, by the undergrowth of the beginning of a diciduous forest, where the tree grew thick and close together as if huddling against the cold.

Eternal winter, he almost hated this land, but Philomel had chosen to come with her teacher here, and where she went Veridian followed. Except now ... they had become separated, lost, somehow through this terrible storm, and all Veridian hoped was that he would outlast it to find her once more.

Skitter, jump, patter, he lengthened his strides and lunged towards the cabin door just as the wind howled harder and a current swept underneath him, threatening to knock him off his feet. Burying his claws into the earth the red red fox looked so out of place against the stark white of this world. Placing his nose to the rift of snow in front of him he dared the wind to try again and scurried further towards the cabin, this time keeping low, so low, to the earth.

So low, on towards the light and warmth and promise of somewhere dry, away from this snow. Veridian furiously leapt forwards and threw himself at the door, a low rumble forming in his chest, which came out as a yowling grackle. He screamed at the top of his voice and thought loudly, "LET ME BLOODY IN!" and caused the wood in this storm to shudder and splinter in its hinges.

[Penance]

The door opened seconds after the fox started yipping outside and across its threshold stood all six and a half feet, two-hundred and fifty odd pounds of Malarik with a knife gleaming in his hand that was attentively scraping beneath his nails. The man looked down with a delighted smile to see food had walked up to their doorstep. A female face came into view at his side, peeking out from blankets that were hugged to her shapely form, otherwise bereft of any clothing. "Try to get him inside! We can kill him and cook him up into a stew." What was this we she used? Malarik had seen her do very little besides tempt him and make love to him. The questions in his mind were disappearing less, as strange occurrences seemed to plague the woman. Her story didn't add up. And he had again found the hollow trap door beneath the rug, though he hadn't inquired with Elizabeth about it.

Inside a toasty fire was lit, illuminating the otherwise dark cabin and providing much needed warmth. There was a stack of firewood that rested not too far from the stone fireplace, but it seemed nearly diminished. Beside the fireplace lay a recently sharpened axe. Malarik was hungry, and her idea coincided with what he already planned so he didn't see much point in disagreeing simply because he was distrustful of Elizabeth and her identity. He took a seat in a chair by the fire and waited to see if the red fox came in. He had never seen one with a coat like that before, the only foxes he had seen were grey and arctic white ones. It left him to ponder how the creature had gotten here.

Elizabeth was already back in her bed, eying the creature evilly as if its presence was a defilement to her home and it needed to be put down.

[Philomel]

When the door opened Veridian jumped, he shuddered in shock. His golden eyes stared up to fix upon the man who stood there. He raised a nose, and at once froze. The end of his tail was caught in a gust of icy wind and he yipped in fight, but knew from the eyes of the people in that cabin that this was not a good idea. His mind, his senses, they suddenly felt as if a surge of lightening had flashed through him and everything was on edge, so suddenly. His ears twitched and his gaze moved to that of the woman, he knew then, there, that he was in grave danger in or out of the cabin, for these people meant obvious harm to him.

He paused in the doorway, watching terrifyingly warily as his Sixth Senses kicked in, heightened from the mere fact that he was an Earth Spirit, and the strains of magic burned through him as he waited with the decision of death now or later, indefinite or definite, by the cold or by human hands. The man picked up a chair and moved it back a few paces, then sat, his eyes lowering until they came face to face with Veridian. The fox sniffed once, outside, and knew his chances were better in here, at least for now. Better warm up for even a second, then flee to the rafters of his place and sit there, howling, until Philomel found him and they could kill these two bastards and let their blood stain the wood below.

He scurried on light feet, so light it could be called dancing, and flittered with a small growl forming in his chest around the periphery of the room, leaping towards the fire first, for that was where warmth came from, he knew this well that fire defeated cold. Yet, it could also burn, he kept up his guard, kept the two humans within his eyesight, heart thundering like a drum, trying not to attack them now and then. He was not sure if he could even win.

All he could think was where the hell was Philomel, and what was she doing? He certainly hoped, he certainly wished, she was not dead.

[Penance]

Malarik quietly observed the fox from the chair. The tension was palpable and Malarik felt like he could've cut it with a knife. For a moment he almost wanted to try. Instead he watched the fox, occasionally making eye contact with Elizabeth. Then, out of nowhere, the heavy wooden door that had been left open slammed shut and he took advantage of the distraction to spring to his feet and reach for the axe. Its weight was light in his strong arms and he swung it effortlessly for the creature as the woman in the bed watched in suspense. He took every precaution not to wreck the floor or anything else in the cabin. His aim was good enough to a trim beard from a man's face - but his intent was to skewer the fox in two with one stroke of his fell weapon. Malarik moved with the grace of a man much smaller and less bulky than he. "Sit still!" He roared, his voice shuddering the cabin and echoing across the tundra outside.

[Philomel]

The axe fell a hair's breadth from his tail, grazing past Veridian's thigh as he let out a high-pitched squeal. Turning direction he yelped, then went for his plan of escape, skittering first to the hearth of the fire, then leaping neatly onto the mantelpiece and aiming for the rafters. Then at least, up there, he would have some form of cover, somewhere to dodge and hide whilst the man tried to kill him. He wished right then, suddenly, that he had some form of physical magic, an ability to make a tree grow right where the man stood to hit his balls straight and painful. But no, that had always been beyond him. Instead he had only his keen senses, and his call. He had to live, he knew, he had to survive this torment, whatever it was. The winter would not defeat him, this cursed snowfell was not his death, and neither were these humans. He had to live...

Slam

This time no question. No knock or yelping. The door fell open and in tumbled a figure, around five and a half feet tall at this age, with brown dreadlocks flailing over her shoulders and large ram horns that were thrown forwards first as she headbutted her forceful way into the cabin. What followed was a thinly blanketted torso and then brown hairy legs. So hairy and tumbling that they looked as if they should belong to a man, but as fortune would have it, they were none. Oddly jointed and positioned backwards the figure rolled into the cabin, a high cry of desperation shooting from her voicebox, and then as suddenly as she had entered she stopped.

And lay down. On the bare floorboards, still with the door blasting a cold chill from behind her. There was utter silence in the room. All attention was away from killing the fox. The axe of previous murderous intent lay somewhere, abandoned, as all eyes stared.

Stared.

Then Veridian let out a nickering cry and flew to her side. He buried himself into her hair, yapping.

Philomel he cried in his foxy tongue Phi, Phi, Phi!