The Outsiders

The Outsiders: Chapter Seven

Khristopher De Caldwick

The heavy tread and patter of each gallop brought me back into construction.

            A searing pain scorched my body as I shifted. Though my eyes were shut, the scents and ambiance of the world whispered where I was. A piney odor filled my nose as the South Everstonian oaks swayed in the air. Fresh and citrusy, Toasheh held me in her arms as she gently caressed my arm. A certain musty scent filled my senses, signaling to the horse galloping. Just in front of me, a distinct herbal and flowery odor filled my nose: Sonia's scent.

            Curling up into a tight ball, I pressed myself into Toasheh's warmth.

            Tears began to brim my eyes as memories filled my tethered and torn recollection. From the bites to the betrayal, the pain branded me with its poisonous stain, tainting my very soul. A soul I found to be utterly useless. As Toasheh wiped my tears, I could only lay in complete, torturous despair. Not even the warmth of sanctuary thawed the thick thundering turbulence that lulled my sanity.

            Like a cold, cavernous cave of utter desolate distress, my chest ached to be warm once again. A soul would take more than a few hundred bites to be taken, more so since I was half immortal. I knew I still bore my soul on my chest, yet the blackened weight brought a small whimper to my lips.

             "Toe, it's okay. You're okay."

              Toasheh brushed her fingers through my hair, spreading her intoxicating warmth through my body. The air grew brittle and icy, sending a shiver down my spine. Not her scent nor her comfort could console the pit in my chest. A pit of scorn.

Opening my eyes, my dull vision retracted at the bright sun. Rubbing my eyes, I groan before trying again. The subtle greenery and senile scents surged my senses. With the pallid grey sky and the misty forest grounds, the woody display before me was littered with markings of the South Everstonian wolves: three claw marks forming a horizontal transversal atop the sodden bark. What would a Sorcerer and a Sprite do in South Everstone so close to the largest accumulation of werewolves south of The Sylvic Republic?

Sonia and Toasheh were never the cowardly types, living among hundreds of vampires for almost ten years. They were brave but smart: smart enough not to mess with the Cauldron. They knew what they were doing and knew their trade like the palm of their hands. Sonia had learned the art of Sorcery since young, telling me stories of her childhood in the human world. Toasheh, being a Sprite native to The Isles of East Everstone, was taught Sorcery and three different combat styles: her favorite was Sejto-Sejto, which translated to Stab-Stab from Vashahmej: the native tongue.

Finding each other on the beaches of East Everstone, they had been inseparable for fourteen years come the seventeenth of November. Though a small smile adorned my mournful lips, the pit and tight density of my chest never loosened.

"W-where are w-we?"

Throaty and hoarse, my voice was hardly audible. Toasheh simply stared off into space, tracing the scars and marks left from the canines and mutts. Looking at my arms, I only winced at the faint gashes and wounds.

"South Everstone," Sonia answered.

"W-why?"