Fate and the story of blood

Chapter 53: Unhealed Scars

My lungs quickly ran dry, and as I sprinted across the street and down the twists and turns that were ingrained in my mind to my home, I didn't stop for a moment to waste any time. The rain had already started its drizzle and my clothing was starting to dampen from it; the cold and wet droplets that fell on my clothing only added to the tense and time-constraint circumstance. My feet came to be sore as I sprinted as fast as my small feet could and each time I stepped over stones and pebbles my shoes weren't fitted to go upon, I would feel the hard stones push against the bottom of my feet, leading to a much slower pace than I had desired.

As the rain proceeded to intensify along with the darkness that set the clouds, I eventually made it back to the house and quickly opening the doors, I found it to be too dark to see anything. Yet I knew well where everything was, for it was my house after all, and as I walked in, I could envision the old blade that was hung up above the fireplace where its sheathe would always be what encased it. Pulling a chair near the burnt ashes and remains of a fire, I slowly but surely made my way up and picked up the blade that hadn't left its spot for as long as he could remember.

It was heavy, much more than I had anticipated, and as I held it in my arms, I noticed the sheath it was in seemed to be made of an odd material that weighed a lot; the sheathed seemed to be made specifically for defensive instances yet I wondered what on earth could it defend with such a slender base. Not questioning it further, I braced myself as I was about to jump down and sprint all the way back to where my father was, I was suddenly met with a loud crash that came from right in front of me. Something large had crashed into the house and as the splintered wood and broken wall scattered about in the room, I came to witness a dazed creature who arose with its eyes peering through the smoke and its head quickly shook to come back into its senses.

It was unmistakable, for there I came to see once more of the furred beasts that ransacked the village and attacked my father. I was terrified, my body not able to do much more than stand rooted to where I stood while I accepted my fate. But as I remembered what the task my father had assigned me to do, I was suddenly brought back into the reality of the situation I was currently in. Observing the situation, it seemed that the crash had shaken the entire building they were in and moved the furniture, for I could see behind me that the grandfather clock near the door now blocked it from opening.

I had no escape but as I noticed that the beast before me seemed to be breathing more loudly than usual, I found it to have sustained multiple arrow wounds behind its back; the creature having already met battle before it arrived here. It was injured but it certainly still posed just as great of strength as it would be in perfect health. Not knowing what to do, my hands gripped the blade in my hands and at that moment, I recalled what my father did back during his attempt to rescue my sister and me near the forests from the wolves. It was also then that I suddenly remembered my stick fighting techniques and as I stood here with a blade in hand, a wave of confidence then surged through my body for I felt I had a chance to defeat my foe despite being disadvantaged.

The blade was too heavy to wield, thus making me have no other choice but to drag it along the floor. I would have to exert all of my strength if I were to defeat my foe and as I stood before the greater foe like that of a famous warrior standing at the feet of a giant that threatened to destroy the entirety of humanity. The feeling of needing to become triumphant over my foe pushed me ever so greater into the light where I would strike my enemy. I already broke a sweat before the two of us had even moved and as I listened to the growl of the beast before me, threatening me to stay away from it, I stared straight into its beastly eyes before action would soon follow.

It rose from under the rubble that had fallen on it and as I came to stand within his reach, it didn't hesitate to swing its claws over to attack. I instantly backed off, moving a couple of steps back instinctually backing up as the wooden floor splintered under the strength of the wolverine's paws. Adrenaline shot up in my body and as it swung once more, I recalled a movement my father used and bringing the scabbard forth, the creature slammed its paws on the metal sheath, knocking me aback as I chose the wrong approach in the fight. I was far too young to use a technique of this caliber and realized I only barely managed to avoid getting harmed by dropping the scabbard I held just before it slammed its arm onto it, I would have otherwise sustained broken bones if I committed to it.