Winter Wolf

6. Tattoo

We've officially been out in these woods for two weeks. I hunt while Arlo prepares things at the cave. An ironic twist on the normal associated roles our genders play. Arlo has had hunted before, he surely could if his life depended on it. But it would take the longest time for him to actually get a kill. If I left all the hunting to him we'd be dead by now... Of course I told him in a much kinder way of why I should be hunter.

Ever since my last...incident...Arlo hasn't pestered me as much. He doesn't demand me to come back at a certain time. He doesn't question where I've been. He's been distant. As much as his constant "big brother protectiveness" was a bother I had to admit...I missed it.

Night has come. I started walking back to the cave. Arlo may not admit it but he still worries over me. He's my brother, I can tell. I'll at least come back at an adequate time so he can worry less.

Cold snow almost up to my knees and icy winds that were sucking the warmth out of me. These conditions were terrible, but still I persisted to get back to my brother.

"Please....please no!" A man's voice screeched into the night. "I can help you.... I...I swear... Just let me live!"

Then the gruesome sound of a blade ending a life broke the silence of the windy night. As quickly as the sound came it was immediately gone. There was nothing but the eerie silence.

Had my brother Arlo been here he would have tried to sneak off the best he could. He would have found me and insist we find another place to hide out. But my brother Arlo was not here. It was me, and I am his opposite.

I walked as quietly as I could towards the source of the previous commotion. Cautiously I came closer and closer. Then I saw a figure. A figure was rummaging through the recently deceased man's things. Suddenly the figure snapped up. It must of heard me... The figure walked slowly towards me. It came closer and closer. My heart beating so fast it would beat out of my chest and the struggle of controlling my breathing. Then a howl erupted through the night. I'm not sure what that howl meant to that figure but it forgot about finding me and took off running.

After I was certain the figure was gone I creeped up closer to the dead man. The man was middle aged with greying hair. This man was obviously not wealthy. His clothes showed that clearly. So why target a man with nothing to give? Then something on the man's arm caught my eye. Tattooed was the number 24.

Another night of horrible sleep. I'm jealous of Arlo. He's at peace in his dreams while I have the nightmares. All I can think of are images of the dead. Ever since the fire death has surrounded me like I'm a magnet. Then there was the mysterious matter of the 24. What did that number mean? Why was that man killed? The last thing that runs through my mind before I exhaust and fall into a nightmarish dream world is this one final question. What am I turning myself into?...