Gabal

Chapter 9

Gabal was content to feed Aoifa more jerky as they passed the borders of her garden. Samuel led the way from the front, chatting enthusiastically about the pack and its progression over the last few decades. Ansel, the faithful Shadow, took up the rear, silent and alert. Aoifa struggled to focus on anything other than the wilderness around her, enchanted by the new foliage and wildlife. Black bodied squirrels with silver tails chatted loudly in the canopy above. Small brown, tailless rodents scrounged in the foliage below. A hawk circled them, letting out a sharp cry before moving out of sight.

It was hard to tell for sure, due to the thick covering of interwoven branches and leaves, but she guessed they were in a valley, nestled between towering mountains. The weather was mild, despite it being mid summer. A quiet breeze blew through the leaves, gentle and warm. The wind swept the scent of pine needles, burning fir, and cooking food to her nose. She knew they must be getting close to the pack's center.

Traditionally, a pack would cover a large swath of land, but very little of it would be developed. Smaller portions would be reserved for housing, agriculture, training, and similar necessary establishments. In larger packs, there would even be something similar to downtown areas where pack owned and operated shops would allow for more human convenience. But, Aoifa thought as the party of four broke through the treeline and she could gaze upon Gabal's home in all its glory, this was nothing like the packs she had known.

She used the term "breaking through the treeline" very loosely. Everywhere she looked, the same soaring, thick trees rose from the soil and mingled with buildings that looked like they had sprouted from the ground themselves. The houses seemed to be a mix of double and single story, arranged neatly at the end of well managed, wide dirt paths. Short fences would be seen surrounding some of them, all made from natural wooden posts, some still sporting bark. The colors of the structures were a wide variety of natural colors that fit right into the landscape. Most seemed to be made of wooden logs and clay, and several seemed to have storefronts built into the first floors. Seating and tables occupied much of the space around the structures. They bustled with life, the air solemn but still alive, almost defiant in nature. Far be it from them to cow down to this invisible foe, to let such a thing rule their life. Children could be seen running between tables, catching the attention of whomever they dared before darting away with squeals and giggles, leaving kind smiles in their wake. Teens gathered in groups, displaying feats of strength and strategy amongst themselves while being cheered on by their peers. It was the families that held the most tables. Happy couples with children, elderly folk whispering sweet nothings, men and women going about their day, filtering in and out of busy shops.

And the more Aoifa observed, the more she saw the cracks in the facade put forward by these people. She saw what was absent, what was starved, and what was festering.

The more Aoifa looked, really looked, at these people the more she noticed members of family units missing. It was hard to catch at first, but then, it was hard for the living to hide much from her. Their bodies angled toward the empty spaces at their tables, the frequent glances there, the weight on their shoulders and under their eyes, the emptiness in their smile. She saw it all.

Gone was the easy way she had seen packs touch one another. It was common knowledge that the animals thrived off of contact with one another, the comfort and security of being surrounded by ones that had your back. This was reaffirmed often through physical contact. But here everyone seemed to be avoiding those outside of their personal circles. They gave each other a wide berth and she could see many catch themselves in the habitual act. The hunch in their posture and the desperate hunger in their eyes.

And worst of all was what Aoifa could see under the surface, the things that were not felt through blood and skin and bone.

There was anger in these people, a deep, brewing, malicious force that they had pushed deep. They breathed with repressed emotion. Rage for those that laid abed, rage for the time lost, rage for all the promised relief with no results. And yet, for the sake of those around them, they shoved it down, doing what they could to never let it break the surface. Like an open wound to their souls, it grew more and more rotten every day. Something needed to be done to flush it out, to cut away the dead flesh and let them heal.