The path I was on wasn't well-lit, but I could make out two silhouettes arguing at one of the corners to my right. There was no light where I stood, but for them, closer to the main path, the twilight allowed me to recognize them.
"Are you going today?" Sabrina asked Hugo, and I wondered why they weren't at their homes.
"I am," he replied curtly. "If you want to stay, stay. I came just to let you know in case you wanted to go."
"Hugo…" Sabrina's voice wavered as she touched his arms, seeking na opening. "Eight people today, and I…"
"I know! And I won't stay here, okay!? If you want to cry, go ahead. It's not all my fault anyway," he said, pushing her arms away and restraining himself when he realized his own agitation. Hearing his insinuation made me take a step toward their conversation, but I decided to stop—I wouldn't be like him. "Besides, I'm very close to not being part of this anymore." The girl sighed, looking around. They were on the verge of an aggressive argument.
"It'll be a couple of days!" she snapped. "Going to D'haime now might be seen as a challenge Carmem won't accept. She'll be on your case. Just wait and go with everyone else…"
"If she removes me as captain, you're here to take over, right? Or any other idiot!" he said, pressing her against the wall. I took another step toward them, but he soon released her. Despite his rudeness, I had never seen him like that. "If you want to come with me, be ready in the same place at the usual time."
He left, and she followed him with her eyes, her expression frustrated. Then she left too. Sabrina was right—if Carmem saw him leaving for D'haime after losing eight of his team members, she wouldn't be peaceful with him. In fact, she wouldn't be peaceful with any of us. I continued on my path, thinking about what they had said. He really wanted to leave this place behind, and I wouldn't blame him for it. Sometimes, I'd give anything to forget too.
When I spotted my house, my grandmother was at the window. The forest always weighed on me in some way—first my father, then my mother. Everyone around me seemed to share that fate. My grandmother was all I had left. The villagers rarely referred to those who were no longer alive; the past, in general, wasn't discussed much. When she saw me, she waved and went inside to open the door. I missed her more than ever.
"Child, what took you so long? Was the hunt bad today?" she asked as I stepped through the door.
My grandmother was much smaller than me, a bit plump, and incredibly friendly. Her white hair and glasses gave her the cozy aura that grandmothers should have, but her scar-covered hands revealed just how tough her life had been in the place she never left.
I hugged her, leaving the lady momentarily speechless. "Oh, my child, what happened?" she asked, patting my back. I quickly let go, masking my melancholy—I didn't want to get into a discussion with her about the calamity of this place. "No, Catarina," she said, holding me back before I could sit. "Go take off those clothes and get in the bathtub for a bath. You're quite injured today. I'll prepare a remedy for those cuts."
I grumbled; I had been waiting for the moment to collapse somewhere and sleep. I walked down the corridor that led to the other rooms of the house, entered the second door on the right, and there was the bathroom. The old bathtub was already filled with water. I stripped off my blood-stained clothes and sank into the warm water. The wounds began to sting, but I stayed there until I got used to it.
Electricity in that region rarely worked properly; our light bulbs resembled weak candles. The green-tiled bathroom seemed better illuminated by the moon and the auroras than by the bulb that should have done the job. My grandmother entered and saw me staring out the window, completely defeated by the day.
"Are you okay? You can't even lather yourself up," she said, handing me a soapy sponge. She used to tease me about complaining about the place, but my expression and sudden hug were enough for her to look at me with concern. "What happened?"
"Eight people from the group…" I said, trying not to reopen my wounds with the sponge. "…they…" Tears welled up in my eyes again.
"Oh, my love… you don't need to say it," she said, taking my hand and wiping away my tears. "Let me take care of those wounds…
"I don't want to die here…" I muttered aloud, staring out the window as na overwhelming urge to scream filled my chest. "I don't want to die like this."
My grandmother looked at me thoughtfully, as if she wanted to say something but lacked the right words. Her kind gaze made me stop drifting and return to washing myself.
"Catarina, don't think that life in D'haime will be any more pleasant than here. I assure you, it's not," she sighed. "I understand why you want to leave the village, and I regret not taking you away from here when you were little. But don't believe that D'haime would solve issues like this. It can, but it chooses not to."
I looked at her; her eyes were serious. I tried to understand why she resisted that place so much. By the way she spoke, she wouldn't take me to D'haime. I wondered why Golksel seemed better if it was so dangerous to get there, and no one ever returned.
"Why, Grandma?" I asked, knowing deep down that it would be a futile attempt. She turned her attention to my leg, applied the ointment she had brought, and I winced in pain.
"Everyone has to draw their own conclusions. That's my opinion, and Carmem doesn't like it much either. Personal choices, my dear," she said. The seriousness faded, replaced by the slightly high-pitched tone I knew well from childhood—the tone she used when avoiding questions about my parents or her own past. I resigned myself to accepting her answer once again, thinking about the mothers who must be crying by now. How could D'haime be worse than this? Apparently, I'd have to become one of the chosen to form my own opinions.
I stepped out of the water and put on the clothes I had set aside on the sink—a flannel nightgown that looked more like na oversized shirt. I tied my hair in a loose knot and looked at myself in the mirror while grabbing the gauze to finish the bandages my grandmother had started. I was utterly broken. My lips couldn't even maintain an indifferent expression; they drooped in an almost dramatic despondency. Scratches on my face gave me a rugged appearance, emphasizing my deteriorating state. I didn't consider myself remotely attractive at that moment.
I secured a stubborn lock of hair that had come loose from the rest and began tending to my wounds. The marks on my body multiplied ever since I started hunting. Scars covered my skin—some recent, others fading. Tales used to say that my non-white complexion should protect me from getting hurt. The fewer permanent scars he had, the more confident he felt about being chosen by D'haime. It could have been him, I thought. Scenes kept flashing randomly in my mind, making my eyes burn. If I weren't so exhausted, I'd doubt the tranquility of my sleep.