[Hoff Village]
[The Beginning]
The twelve year old Viktor had been living with Eric and Rose for about two weeks now. Simply helping out with their own farm or helping with the neighbors animals.
Viktor quickly adjusted to his new life, drawn into the rhythm of rural routines, the relentless cycle of seeding, nurturing, reaping. He was up with the first rosy fingers of dawn, tending to the horses before breaking his fast with Eric and Rose.
Every morning, he would milk the cows, gather eggs from the chickens and then, shoulder-to-shoulder with Eric, work in the fields. Eric was a patient teacher and Viktor was eager to learn. Under his guidance, Viktor quickly became proficient at identifying different crops by their sapling stages and learnt how to rotate them in order to nourish the soil.
Rose, on the other hand, taught him things about herbs and their medicinal uses that his instructors could never could. The kitchen was her domain and she ruled it with an iron ladle. She was a no-nonsense woman who managed to combine tenderness with a streak of steel.
In the afternoons when his tasks were done, Viktor would sit under a large oak tree, marveling at how different this life was from his previous one. Here in Hoff village, he found something he had never felt before - he felt needed. He felt like he actually belonged somewhere.
But soon enough, dusk would fall painting the sky with hues of orange and pink. The nights were tranquil and all you could hear was the soft hum of crickets along with an occasional hoot from some distant owl. Viktor would sleep heavy after a day of honest work.
Yet despite these pleasantries their was an undeniable gnawing in the back of the young boys mind… Blood-he missed it. The warmth he felt when he had been cut or cut something, the adrenaline of knowing someone's else life was in his hands, the young boy was without a doubt sick. But here in this strange land perhaps he would find himself a detox to his problem-or perhaps not.
The moonlit calm of the Hoff village nights often drew Viktor away from his slumber, out into the fields lined with quiet whispers of the rustling corn stalks. With a small knife he carried always at his side, he would slice through the supple corn husks, relishing the sharp hiss of blade against plant flesh. It was not the same as blood, but it was something. A hollow surrogate. Yet it appeased his unsettling desires, however faintly.
One night, after his ritual in the silent fields, he found himself drawn towards the still forest that bordered their land. The shadows of trees danced eerily under the flickering moonlight, and a chilling breeze seemed to beckon him in. He hesitated at first but then crossed the threshold, drawn by an invisible force.
In the forest, he stumbled upon a wounded deer lying in the underbrush. Its soft brown eyes held a plea and its flank was smeared with crimson. His heart paced itself to match the pulsating rhythm of life draining from the deer's wound...and he knelt beside it.
He placed his knife against the deer's flank and felt its warm blood run over his fingers. The familiarity set a blaze within him as intense as it was strange. But instead of making that final cut, a new sensation bloomed within Viktor – empathy. His fingers moved skillfully to stem the flow of blood instead of letting it spill.
Back in their tiny home when Eric and Rose slept peacefully, Viktor took up Rose's needle and thread which she used to mend clothes and stitched up the deer's wound under the silver glow of moonlight. The
pulsating rhythm of the deer's life gradually steadied, the trembling fear in its eyes gradually subsiding until it lay calm beneath his hands. He washed the blood off the beautifully crafted knife and tucked it away; a part of him relieved, another part doused with a cold sense of foreignness.
The following weeks saw Viktor frequently visiting the forest under the veil of night, checking on the progress of the deer. Its once fearful eyes now held an unspoken bond with him. The thrill he once found in shedding blood slowly morphed into fulfillment at saving a life.
As weeks turned into months, Viktor's routine did not change. But his relationship with blood did. He noticed how he no longer craved for it like he used to, but rather saw it as an integral part of life that ought to be preserved and not spilled carelessly.
One day, as he stood by the river washing some vegetables for Rose, he pricked his finger on a thorn. A small droplet of blood welled up on his fingertip. Viktor stared at it for a moment then did something he'd not done before; he let it clot, let it heal itself without tasting its metallic tang.
Rose and Eric noticed a change in him too. They saw less restlessness in their young ward, more calmness. His bond with nature, with animals seemed to deepen each passing day.
Word about Viktor's ability to heal wounded animals quickly spread around Hoff Village. Those initially skeptical began seeking him out whenever their livestock got injured or their pets fell ill. Word about his uncanny ability reached beyond their village too, and people began to travel from every stretch of the community to seek his help.
One evening, a neighboring farmer arrived on their doorstep with an injured wolf cub. Its leg was caught in one of the traps he had set for vermin out in his fields. The cub whimpered softly, its fear filled eyes appealing to Viktor. His hands moved gently, soothing the terrified creature before tending to its mangled leg. The village watched in awe as this twelve year old healed the wild beast with as much care and precision as a seasoned healer. His fingers, once hungry for blood, now flowed with an aura of peace and healing that seemed almost magical.
Viktor's transformation was not without its challenges. There were times when he was gripped by nightmares of his past - haunting memories that woke him up in cold sweat. But each time he found solace under the large oak tree or by the silent deer's side in the forest; each time his connection with life and nature grew stronger, each time he fell a little farther away from his past.
Stories began to be woven around him - stories of a mysterious boy who could heal animals and perhaps, humans too. In whispers, they began to call him the "Healer of Hoff," a title Viktor accepted with humble surprise.
He had become an indispensable part of Hoff village -- not just for Eric and Rose but for every man, woman, child and beast who found shelter within its boundaries. He had found his detox – it was life itself in all its beautiful forms.
And with his talent know being known the village people began to see the boy smile more, the once glooming look on his face now gone. He began meeting new people in the village such as the local blacksmith's daughter, Elara, with her fiery hair and equally fiery spirit. She was a girl of few words but her actions spoke loud and clear, a trait Viktor found himself admiring.
He met the elderly couple who owned the bakery, Mr. and Mrs. Tannen, a pair that radiated warmth like a fresh loaf from their ovens. It was in their shop where Viktor first tasted honey cake, an experience he likened to tasting sunshine itself.
He encountered characters like Old Tom, the recluse who lived on the outskirts of Hoff village, beneath the shadow of the great mountain. Most villagers were wary of his eccentric ways but Viktor sensed a kindred spirit in him, perhaps another soul seeking solace in solitude.
Most importantly, he met Father Oren, the village priest who took it upon himself to teach Viktor how to read ancient script. He would often join Viktor under the oak tree with a tattered copy of ancient texts, guiding him through the art of letters and words and the magic they wove when strung together just right.
The village evolved into an intricate tapestry of life around him - each thread unique yet weaving together to form a whole. As he stood at the heart of it all, he realized his once tormented past had become mere whispers against the vibrant hum of present life.
Despite his growing acceptance, there remained moments when darkness threatened to seep back into his mind. The sight of blood still stirred something deep within him but those urges gradually dulled into pale echoes beneath the overwhelming fulfillment he found in healing.
One cold winter night as snow blanketed Hoff village in its quiet beauty and embers glowed in the hearth, Viktor sat beside it, engrossed in an old manuscript Father Oren had given him. The flickering firelight danced across his face, casting shadows on his features as he concentrated on the ancient words, so much so that he didn't notice Eric stepping into the room.
"Viktor," Eric began, breaking the silence with a softness that matched the falling snow outside. The boy looked up from his reading, his eyes reflecting the warm light from the fire. "You've grown, lad," Eric continued after a moment of silence, "Not just in size but..."
His voice trailed off as if he were searching for the right words. Viktor watched him patiently, putting down his manuscript.
"In spirit," Eric finally said, "I've watched you wrestle with your past and come out stronger each time. You've faced your fears and turned them into something beautiful..."
The quiet of the night enveloped them once more as Eric let his words sink in. He patted Viktor's shoulder gently and left him alone with his thoughts.
Viktor turned back to his reading but found it hard to concentrate now. He stared into the fire instead, watching as sparks flew up the chimney with a crackling sound - a sound that used to remind him of bones breaking under his knife. But tonight, it was just another comforting note in this domestic symphony.
His life had indeed changed. Gone were those restless nights spent in deep woods where death loomed ominously around every corner; instead he now found peace and warmth within these four walls, surrounded by loved ones.