The Journey

The boy

The wood creaked throughout the house, shifting and bending with each passing breeze. Blood dripped down the frosty window. A strong foul odor hanged around the doorstep. Various sized meats hung from an overhanging rusty hook. Inside the dark cabin was two wolves feasting and a frightened boy. The boy hid in a closet by the kitchen door, giving him a clear and conspicuous view of the perpetrators. Their fur was sleek white with a black stripe on their tail. Clearly starved, they paid no heed to the boy as they ate the bloody meat.

The boy shook quietly, whether from fear or the biting cold was uncertain. His apprehension to leave was no mystery in comparison. "Uncle?" he cried quietly. His Uncle left for firewood last night, but never returned. Time seemed to wait for no one as the temperature dropped even further. "I miss him," the boy rubbed his fingers against his warm jacket. Closing his eyes, he waited for the wolves to leave.

After some hours, the winds raged at high speeds. Threatening the safety of the decaying cabin. Knowing he couldn't stay any longer or risk having the roof collapse atop, he left the cabin with axe in hand. The snow rose almost to his waist, but he pushed on to find help. His father warned him against going to the nearby village. Several times, he asked the boy not to go down the mountain.

This is an emergency, the boy reasoned.

As the boy walked down the mountain, his breathing grew ragged and uneven. He rarely left the Cabin, much less got any exercise apart from walking. What could have been a fifteen-minute walk during the day was turning into thirty.

The white trees rose into the low hanging clouds. Hail started to fall in the distance, causing branches to snap off suddenly. The ferocious wind picked up the debris and made the stroll more unbearable.

The boy was tempted to leave the axe behind so he could keep his hands from freezing. Knowing he could endure the pain; he increased his walking pace.

"Please, someone be there," the boy prayed. 

Holding the axe was becoming increasingly painful and the early warnings of frostbite echoed in the boy's mind. He did not want to drop the handle out of fear of running into a ferocious beast later on his trek. His right shoe was becoming numb from the piling snow. He forgot to tighten his boots while sneaking from the house. Although it pained him to stop, his uncle's stories taught him that carelessness could cost everything. 

He kneeled slowly and made his best effort to tie the shoe appropriately; tight enough to keep the snow off, but loose enough to let blood flow. His frigid fingers occasionally stuck to the laces, pressuring him to hurry. His mood worsened as he came to understand he lost feeling over his hand. Laughing from fear, he stood up and ran towards the town. 

The boy found his way to the town but burst into tears seeing his hand riddle with black blotches. "Someone! Please let me inside! I need to speak to someone! My uncle needs help!" The cries were drowned by the rushing snow and the wooden doors remained unmovable. These homes were left without windows to guard against flying debris. It would be unusual if someone heard his dying pleas, yet the unusual happened. A young barkeeper heard the boy's pleas. He merely wanted to double check the locks and make sure the doors would hold, before he went back upstairs to sit with his family. Although he felt compelled to help, he needed to keep his daughter's health in mind. Opening the door could allow more cold air into the building and they ran out of firewood hours ago. The doctor was on the other side of the mountain; any attempt to reach him would lead to injury. The path was known among the town to be dangerous even for the most experienced of climbers. "There is someone outside Mary. Do we let them inside?" 

His wife pursed her lips uncertainly. "He could be a bandit or another one of those foolish adventurers." The barkeep shook his head, "it sounds like a child."

She waved him to go open the door, but her eyes never left her bed ridden daughter. "Grab the axe and make sure he's unarmed."

The boy was leaning against a snow-covered barrel hoping a small measure of wind would be kept from his face. Thoughts of his uncle dying in various ways flashed past his mind relentlessly. "Please don't go Uncle Ray."

The door from a distant building opened, and a man waved him to come inside. The boy tried to get up, but felt his weak legs fail to hold his weight, dropping him on his knees. The barkeep crossed the cold air and grabbed his arm sternly, "Stupid child, who told you to come out here? You're lucky I heard you." The boy smiled from the obvious concern, then frowned "my uncle is missing. Can you save him?" 

Once inside the inn, he rushed the boy by the burning fire. The boy continued to plead for a rescue party. The wife hearing his thoughts, cursed "forget your uncle, frostbite did a number on you and it's a wonder how you lived this long. Saving your hand might be the most pressing issue." With that said, she looked over to her husband, "Do we need to amputate it?" 

The boy grew uncomfortably still, and worry shadowed his face. "I can still move my fingers and they aren't that dark. I think this is dirt from when I was on the ground." The boy struggled to move his fingers but move they did. He shook his hand hoping the dark spots would come off. The inn keeper instructed the boy to keep his hands close to the fire and went to find some alcohol. Coming back with the chilly drink the woman shot him a disapproving look. "That's too strong for him." The man laughed, "this is for me. I need to steady my nerves." Taking a small swig, he grabbed the boy's wrist and stared intensely. "That's enough of the fire, did you feel the heat?" The man stared straight into the boy's eyes. 

The boy shuddered, "I did feel it." 

"Did you feel it in your fingers?" The wife waited quietly for the boy's answer. The muffled winds and soft sigh from the sleeping daughter filled the room. "Ye... Yes, I did?" The boy started to rub his frigid hands together. The innkeeper slapped his wrist and chided him, "don't do that. Wait for me to draw some water." A small laugh escaped the innkeeper as he walked away.

The wife sighed outwardly, "he's not laughing at you. He's relieved he doesn't have to cut your hand off right now." 

The boy grimaced silently at the thought. Right now? "When can we go for my uncle?" The wife clicked her tongue in annoyance. 

"Look outside child, any man we send out in that weather will die a slow and painful death. Maybe they would get lucky and fall off a cliff while blinded, but that's assuming the wolves don't find them first." The boy bit his lip sadly.

The woman added, "if your Ray's boy, then I think he will be fine out there. He's seen worse before."

"You knew my uncle?" 

"Once."