The wind whipped peacefully through a large open clearing. Every blade of grass, every wildflower, danced in it's wake. It touched down on the burnt remains of a building, as if to caress it in it's final slumber.
It lept over the stench of rotting corpses, bloated and ripe in the sun of the late morn. It carried the sounds of wildlife, of bluebirds and jays waking to the day, babbling in their energetic ways.
Finally it rested at the edge of the clearing, coming to a halt at the line of the woods. The stalwart trees blocking it's encroach into their territory. With a final brush over a bush of honeysuckle it shot upward, and over the tree line, skirting the canopy to drift onward, in it's endless wandering.
Below, a lone figure moved in the under-dark of the forest. He was unaware of the wind, of the birds, of how sweet the honeysuckle smelled in the Month of halfast. The boy had places to be, had things to take care of.
His tiny feet fell on ancient stones and overturned leaves from last autumn. The scant few the earth had not reclaimed.
A flash of steel in his hand spoke to his intentions, and the animals of the wood kept a wary distance. Not because of the steel, but because he was man. And man was dangerous.
He didn't feel dangerous to himself though. Instead, he felt small. He felt afraid. He felt like the forest was going to gobble him up at any second like some massive beast. He expected a goblin to come barreling at him from around a large oak, to hear the shrill cry of the pig-faced beast as it made it's way towards him. To murder him.
But there was nothing then. No goblins. No creepy crawlers that he so heavily imagined. Just the wood. It was the same trees he had marked with stones before. The same path he walked many times before with his friends.
The same friends he was going to save.
It took a while to reach the waterfall, as he was wary of every step. He did his best to be quiet. As much as he could for a clumsy 8 year old anyway. It wasn't enough to keep the birds and squirrels from fleeing, but it made him feel better, a little more safe.
The familiar crashing sound of the water brought back good memories, a strange nostalgia that was immediately trumped by the feeling of dread. Yesterday's dread to be exact. The odd feeling of having one's safe place, one's haven trounced on and defiled.
It was like all his memories of his childhood up to that point had been dashed on some stones. Had been thrown from a cliff. It was all different, in less than a day.
He scoured the dim river-clearing for any sign of his friends, but saw nothing. "Where did you both go?" He mumbled to himself. He wanted to shout out to them but stopped himself. The fear that some green monster might hear him and come after him quelled the temptation.
Instead, he took off his boots and pants and waded through the water slowly, crossing to the other side of the small river. He nearly slipped coming out on a smooth stone near the riverbank, and splashed wildly to steady himself.
Alder looked around, his heart beating fast. Nothing. No one had heard that he could tell. He shook off the water and put his clothes and shoes on, setting down the blade on a rock nearby with a soft "clink". He looked down at the weapon, knowing he may have to use it on a living thing. On a monster.
The thought both sickened and excited him. He had never killed anything. Yet, the idea of getting revenge filled him with a desire to kill.
He picked up the dagger and proceeded down the riverbank, in the direction he and his friends had initially ran.
As before there were no tracks, no blood or signs of any struggle. If they had been caught it was well after the river. It probably helped his friends too that he himself had been caught.
The only reason he was alive was because the wound to his head wasn't deep enough to puncture his brain. Something about this fact made him shiver. Were his friends as lucky? Were they quick enough?
Some part of him knew they weren't. But he hoped.
He walked quickly, keeping an eye in the dirt to spot anything. Any sign that they took off in a certain direction. Before long he had reach the edge of the wood again, where the river dwindled into a stream and the riverbank ceased altogether.
It became obvious there that Harold and Greta probably dashed into the forest, because the brush was heavily trodden on. Tiny foot prints and crushed vegetation made the pathway easy.
He stepped carefully into the forest, taking care not to make too much sound. For 10 minutes or so he followed the path, the trees getting closer and closer together all the while. The brush turned more into bushes that made getting through harder and harder.
All at once he broke into a clearing, and spotted them. On the ground twenty feet away were the bloodied corpses of his two friends. He cried, but found something inside himself that made him stop. It was as if he had grown use to heartbreak already.
He walked over, sword in hand, and sat down next to their bodies. They both had their blue eyes wide open in an expression of fear.
"I'm sorry.." he said, as he closed Their eyelids carefully. He tried not to look at their wounds, at the crushed in skull of Greta, the girl he had a crush on for as long as he remembered. He avoided looking at Harold's intestines lying in the dirt, maggots and insects crawling all over.
Alder stood. Turning away as he vomited in the dirt. Pure acid from the lack of food in his stomach. He felt guilty that he was hungry. That he longed for some stew... his mother's stew that he would never get again..
He yelled as loud as he could. Letting out all the rage and sadness all at once. He turned towards a small tree and lashed out with his blade, cut after cut, as the chips of bark flew off in chunks.
He slipped from a clumsy swing and fell, and he cried. "Why... why..." Alder wailed.
The wind carried the stench of blood and rot from his friends to his nose, and he retched. He wasn't sure what to do. He had no shovel there to bury them, and he wasn't sure if he had the strength to do so.
His stomach began to growl louder as he stood paralyzed. "I need food.." he said to himself. It was primal, instinctual. His body was trying to survive and pushed him to get away, to go find food, to go find water. He was deathly thirsty.
"I'll be back... to bury you both... I can keep that promise I think" he told Greta and Harold. He covered them with leaves and grass, as if that would do something to fend off the wildlife or the bugs.
He turned then and started to make his way back through the forest. It was harder than getting there, as he had to scour for the broken twigs and rustled underbrush.
But eventually he found the path and started his trek to the waterfall. 5 minutes in he put one foot after the other. He held the dagger tightly, as if his life depended on keeping it at the ready.
He rounded a large elm and immediately turned and hid behind it. "No.." he thought, his mind racing. On the other side of the tree was that which he dreaded: a goblin. It was eating something from the glance he got of it and he only saw one.
He heard it grunt to itself, and could hear the tearing of some type of flesh and bone, accompanied by loud chewing sounds.
It didn't seem like the Goblin spotted him. It didn't approach the tree at all. He peered carefully around, revealing only one eye to get a better look.
He was sure that his heartbeat or his rapid breath would give him away, but the beast seemed engrossed in whatever meal it was having. It was seated over a large hunk of raw, pink meat and was tearing and chewing on it.
It had a small sword at it's side that was shoved into a crude belt. It gave Alder an idea.
With all the stupidity of an 8 year old he jumped from behind the tree, and charged the beast. Rage and anger filled his heart and he lunged clumsily with the small dagger, trying to stab it in the face.
The goblin squealed, and looked with black beast eyes in surprise at Alder. It leapt back, but wasn't fast enough to dodge the entire attack, as Alder sliced open it's left arm.
It screamed in pain and danced around for a minute, all the while Alder stood stunned, looking down at the blue blood on his dagger. It made him confident, and he raised it to swing at the beast. They were about the same height so he aimed for the neck.
The goblin was quicker this time though, and stepped out of the way. It retaliated with a hard kick to Alder's stomach. He reeled backwards and fell in a limp heap on the ground.
"Ouch!" He yelled, feeling for the dull pain in his abdomen. In an instant the goblin was on top of him, clawing and trying to bite him.
It would have ripped him apart in an instant if it wasn't for the large gash on it's arm, that seemed to hinder it's attempt. Alder yelled back at it and fought with all his might.
Scratch after scratch, bite after bite, he started to accumulate a lot of tiny wounds. He also had been cutting here and there at the goblin, who didn't seem to care about the dagger at all. It was entirely focused on killing alder.
The goblin drew it's own blade at one point and barely missed Alder as it plunged it towards his face. Instead, it cut open his shoulder.
It was an exquisite pain. Something that didn't hurt at first, then all at once the searing agony erupted from his shoulder. It put tears in his eyes and he nearly stopped struggling, nearly dropped his dagger.
He gritted his teeth and fought back harder. It was like all at once the idea that he could die then and there entered his small mind and he gave it everything he had.
He waved his dagger around as the drool from the goblin's danger mouth fell on his face. It stunk of meat and piss, but he wasn't concerned about it. Instead he focused on getting the point of his blade into the ugly head of the monster. He wrapped around, rolling to his side to reach and with a loud "aaah!" Stabbed the goblin hard in the temple.
He felt the crunch as the blade stuck deep into the head of the beast, and it gave a weak "aargfhh" before crumpling on top of him.
He lay there hyperventilating for a moment, before he pushed the goblin off. It was heavy, and he struggled to get out from under it. Eventually though he stood weakly, and wobbled slightly as he felt for his shoulder. Blood was coming out steadily and he quickly took some cloth from his shirt and pressed it onto the wound.
No thoughts entered his mind at that point. He was like a beast himself, that had just won a life and a death struggle. He merely felt exhaustion, and an odd sense of triumph, that was overshadowed by the severity of his wounds.
His arms, legs, face, chest, and neck all had some degree of biting and scratches. It all stung and sent waves of pain like he had never felt before. Alder walked a coupled steps then dropped to his knees. He sat down and tried to catch his breath.
The grass beneath him was cool and comfortable. A soft blanket that he wanted nothing more than to lay down on and go to sleep. He knew he couldn't. That if he laid down he wouldn't be able to get up again.
Instead, he pushed off the ground with a blood soaked hand, standing weakly. He was coated in blood, sweat, and tears. Not to mention the mud from wrestling the goblin. Yet he moved then... He took one step after the other, taking one last glance at the dead goblin, which made him half-smile.
Alder turned his attention back to the path ahead, and took in a deep breath before pressing on...