Shadow in the Snow

On the Edge of a Knife

    Crow kept his distance from the others. Every now and then, Lars would run over to him and try to strike up a conversation, seemingly full of endless energy, but Crow only answered in grunts. He didn't want to talk. His mind was far away from them and his thoughts lay with Snow and La. What would happen to them now that he was no longer there to protect them? What if sending him away was just an easy way to get rid of all three of them?

    Despite his worries, though, he knew Snow was protected. Controlled, manipulated -- yes, but he was safe. It was La's safety he worried about most and it was only the burly men surrounding and guarding him that kept him from running back to the circus and making one last desperate attempt to set them all free.

    'So close,' he thought, gritting his teeth. 'I thought I was so close to saving us but that bastard is always one step ahead.'

    "Crow, hey, Crow!"

    Crow sighed. And here he had thought Lars had given up, but now the redhead was running to catch up with him again. "Hey," Lars said, a little breathlessly, 'we're goin' to stop up there, just on the ol' ridge by the cliffside. Rest for the night, have somethin' to eat."

    Another grunt for a reply. Lars seemed to take that as an affirmation as he nodded and stepped back again to join the others. One or two men walked in front of Crow, leading the way and making sure he didn't run off, but most were content to trail behind at an easier pace. He never looked back but Crow could hear them talking amongst themselves, sometimes even laughing, and he wondered what in this world there was to laugh about.

~~~~~~~~~

    Crow didn't sleep much that night. He lay awake but a few feet away from the cliff, staring out into the darkness. Behind him, the other men were snoring by the fire but for the two that were on watch who whispered quietly to one another, and in front of him lay the vastness of the Wildlands. They would be there by the following afternoon and there his fate would be decided. Likely not for the best.

    A rock was digging into his side but he ignored it, forcing himself to stay still. He didn't want anyone else to know he was still awake. As long as they thought he was asleep he was free to hink in peace, and his thoughts quickly turned to what new future might lie ahead, though he didn't anticipate that he would survive for long. It wasn't really his own future that concerned him anymore. He only wished there was more he could've done to ensure that Snow and La would have a future beyond the circus and slavery -- if La even survived the night. The fact that he left without even a goodbye made his gut twist painfully with guilt.

    When sleep finally did come, it was restless and plagued with a thousand bad dreams in which he saw Snow dangling from the trapeze over and over again, limp and lifeless, and he was unable to move in order to save him.

~~~~~~~~~

    Morning somehow came both too soon and not soon enough. His sleep was restless the entire night and there were times he would lie there, wishing he could get up and just get it all over with. But when morning did come, he realized how tired he was and wished he could lie there a little longer.

    "Come on, it's time." Lars -- who now seemed to be the only one even willing to talk to Crow at all -- held out a hand to him to help him up. Crow hesitated for a moment but took it, and Lars grinned at him. "Today we go to the Wildlands!"

    "Don't remind me. And don't sound so bloody cheerful about it, would ya?"

   The redhead shrugged but at least had the decency to look a little sorry about it. "Aye, I didn't mean it like that. But there's no use frettin' over somethin' you can't change and anyway, if anyone can survive out there and come back in one piece, it's you, no?"

    Crow bent over to grab his things, folding them up and shoving them into his bag with haste. There wasn't much to even pack. "You got family, Lars?"

    Silence.

    Frowning, Crow twisted around to see Lars slowly shaking his head. "Damn, boy, I ain't got eyes on the back of my head. I know you got words."

    "I don't have any family."

    "So then you don't know what I've left behind."

    Lars hung his head. "...No. I don't. I'm sorry."

    Crow straightened, shouldering his pack. For a moment he hesitated as if he might say something, then merely nodded and walked away. He knew the boy meant well but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but finding the Wyvern and taking it down, though he knew the odds of him making it back alive were very low even if he did succeed on his mission, which was unlikely enough. He wasn't even confident he could find the beast in there. The Wildlands were harsh to its inhabitants and downright cruel to those who didn't belong.

    Once again, Crow walked alone and in silence. The only sounds were the singing of birds and the chattering of the men behind him, yet the closer he got to the Wildlands the more he observed those sounds changing. The singing turned more into crowing, cawing, screeching, the sounds of bigger and nastier birds, and the chattering became a low murmur which, within the next few hours, turned into silence. Even lunch was eaten in silence -- and cold, too, since no one felt much like lighting a fire. No one wanted to be noticed by anything living here that might be meaner than one of those birds. As it was, Crow kept feeling like he was being stared at by a thousand pairs of eyes though he never caught a glimpse of anything watching him, no matter how many times he kept turning to look.

    They reached the edge of the Wildlands as the sun was starting to fade beyond the horizon. The few glimpses of light cast an eerie evening shadow over the small group as the shadow of the tangled trees before them seemed to reach out like fingers, trying desperately to pull the men into their grasp. Before long, Crow would be walking straight into that grasp. The thought of it made him grimace.

    He separated from the group, ignoring them as they whispered frantically amongst themselves. Their problems were no longer his concern -- he was not one of them, nor had he ever been, and soon enough they would go on and leave him behind. He wished he was more ready for it. Though he didn't like any of them but Lars, who was decent enough, they had been company. The sounds of their voices and footsteps had been enough distraction to keep him from going too far into his own thoughts, for that was a dark and dangerous road indeed, and now he would have nothing to keep him from that. Nothing to distract him from his worries. Tapping anxiously on the hilt of his axe, Crow stared into the trees before him. Very little could be seen.

    "Crow?"

    Grateful for the sound of a human voice, Crow turned and faced Lars. A quick glance showed him that all of the others were already walking away, doubtless eager to get as far away from here as possible before the sun was completely set.

    When Crow didn't speak, Lars cleared his throat awkwardly. "I thought about what you said. 'Bout family and all. You're right, I don't know what it's like 'cause I have no family but you do and you're leaving yours. So... well... I just wanted to let you know that I'll look after them, best I can. In case you don't come back. Leavin' this for you, too." He pulled his bag of rations from his belt and handed them to Crow who, after a moment of hesitation, took them with a nod. "I can find somethin' along the way back. You'll need them more than me."

    Crow stared at the bag in his hands. It was a weird feeling, this throbbing pain in his chest. Was it gratitude? Fear? He was uncertain. "Thank you, Lars," he mumbled, and then found he was quite unable to say anything more. But Lars smiled at him and Crow knew that the boy understood.

    "Good luck," he said softly. And then he, too, was gone, vanishing into the ever growing shadows.

    Crow was alone.