Village Orphan

Village Orphan: A Fine Breakfast

The light of the dawn streaming in through the windows forced me to wake up. 

With a stranger in my house. 

I had fallen asleep with a stranger in my house. In fairness, I had gone to bed at the same time for eight years. Adrenaline and panic had brought me through the previous night, but the aftermath sloshed through my veins like an infinite potion of weakness. Groaning, I pulled myself out of bed. I could hear Steve moving around downstairs. His heavy footsteps caused the planks of the floor to protest. I stopped for a moment and listened, not used to such controlled and fast-paced movements from another living creature.

As I listened, I heard Steve open and close the downstairs door. Seconds later the cries of dying pigs sounded next to the house. At the thought of a bacon breakfast, I immediately head downstairs. Days of lambchops left a strong craving for sweet, savoury bacon. Right on time, or perhaps too slowly, Steve came in. His hair was disheveled and morning stubble made his face look as grimy as the raw pork he held in his bare hands. At the sight of me, he stopped, startled, and in a disgusting movement raked his greasy hands through his hair. Realization, disgust, and embarrassment ran through his face. 

"You wouldn't happen to have a shower would you?" he asked me, his voice gravelly from sleep. 

"There's a creek at the bottom of the mountain," I told him. I was annoyed. I wanted that bacon. My hanger overpowered my amused disgust. Sensing my annoyance, or maybe just hearing the sound of the lion in my stomach, he sheepishly tossed the pork to me. 

"I'll go find the creek then," he said to me, but I only vaguely heard him. I was already at the furnace, searing a piece of the juicy pork. I watched the meat brown and sear on the grill. My teacher said I was weird with food. I shook my head at the thought, shooting my hand out to grab the meat just as it finished grilling. I consumed the entire thing in one attempted gulp, chewing as the grease drizzled down my face. I pulled out a blank map, one of many I had in my bag, and used it as a napkin while belching the rest of my grogginess away. 

'That,' I thought to myself, 'was a good meal.' 

Completely awake now, I was beginning to feel nervous about the stranger in my home. He was different. I had never met anyone like him. He was so different from the other villagers, just like me. A part of me wanted to trust him because I was alone, and he acted so calmly, as if we were meant to be together. Which is a crazy thought. A small part of me felt connected to him as if I'd come home from a long adventure in the mines just by being near him. Again, crazy, and that was enough reason to distrust him. 

Hidden beneath the stairs was a small trapdoor. It kept all my supplies for stays in the village. Emeralds, arrows, spare bows, cool things I found in the mines. Most importantly, however, it had food. Obviously, Steve wasn't great at observation, or he wouldn't have had to murder a pig. Not that I cared, that pig was pretty tasty. Still, for the sake of the next cute piece of meat we ran into, I grabbed Steve some stale bread and mushroom stew. While I was down there I stocked up on arrows and added a new bow to my inventory. I needed to get out of this house. My new preppy demeanor was barely woven together. Without it, I felt like I would fall. Fall and never get back up again. 

With that somber thought, I climbed back up to the main floor and headed out the door. The creek was a small stream of water on the opposite side of the mountain from the village. With any luck, Steve had found his way there and hadn't gotten lost. I probably should have made sure he knew where it was, but I was grieving, hungry, and faced with a fine breakfast.

A bee followed me as I walked along the stone. The sun rose as my mind wandered, and the terrain shifted overwhelmingly fast. It was so strange. Whenever I tried to think about the memories of the people I lost, my mind refused to move, refused to recall their faces. It was as if a small part of me wanted to forget them. A deceptively thin ravine cut across the the mountainside. As I approached it, I could begin to see the pool near the top of the crevice, a small body of water that cut through the rock and flowed down the East side of the cliff. It led into the creek that Steve was hopefully waiting at. Picking my wave along a patch of gravel that bordered the ravine, being careful not to set off the volatile material, I combed through the rocks and pebbles. I took my time. Steve was, hopefully, not going anywhere, and the day felt so peaceful. It was a lie, of course. No doubt that, at the bottom of that ravine, a skeleton cowered in the shade of the cavern. Dotted throughout the darkest and dampest areas of this world, more monsters waited to rip from us the things we loved the most. They could kill mercilessly, and would if I wasn't careful. 

I reached the portion of the mountain where the side reached its steepest incline and began hopping down. The ground hit my feet with intense and sharp pain, but the pork in my belly gave me the strength to take riskier jumps. I was down the mountain in almost no time at all, and only my knee-high boots were worse for the wear. 

In the creek next to me, I heard subtle splashes. Heading towards the noise I spotted Steve, clothes soaked as he trudged his way out of the water. 

"That was freezing," he said as his teeth chattered, "do you usually wash in this?" 

"I don't usually comb pig fat through my hair," I remarked. He didn't say anything, so I continued.

"You said you were going to 'show me everything'? So lead the way, we're wasting daylight," He looked at my bulging backpack and nodded his head. He grabbed a similar bag from a rock next to the creek and slung it over his shoulder. 

"I have a base not too far from here. Have you ridden a minecart before? I have rails set from the nearest base to the lab" he explained as he pulled a diamond sword from his bag. The thing was huge, chipped in places and coated with dried blood. I usually preferred to stick with bows, emeralds had much more worth than diamonds in the village. Still, the shape of the sword troubled me. The first thing my teacher had taught me was how to maintain a weapon. Strangely, at the sight of the sword, my distrust for Steve grew, despite the natural familial connection I felt with him.