The Damned Walk Among Us

Chapter Two

Wyert was greeted by the sight of his brother, Matthew, affectionately known as Ox. His nickname was well-earned, given his massive size and imposing stature. The two brothers shared a bond as strong their cattle barn. Ox wrestled with the barn door, its stubbornness a testament to the light dusting of snow that covered the ground. But Ox was not one to be defeated by a mere dusting of snow; with a herculean effort, he heaved the door open, the wood scraping against the snow and grime.

With the barn doors finally ajar, Ox and Wyert began the task of guiding their cattle into their new winter haven. The animals shuffled and mooed, seemingly appreciating the warmth and shelter from the impending cold. Wyert smiled at Ox's indomitable spirit, even on this frosty morning. "Bit chilly today," Ox grumbled, his arms crossed tightly across his chest in a futile attempt to retain some warmth.

Wyert chuckled, a cloud of warmth escaping his lips into the frigid air. "Catch your death out here, Ox," he teased, knowing that the nickname 'Ox' was earned in more ways than one. But the levity quickly faded as Wyert's expression turned somber. "If you need to keep warm, I could use some help back at the pasture; we have a dead calf that needs to be buried." His voice carried the weight of sorrow as the reality of farm life demanded their attention, even on the coldest of days.

"A dead calf? What happened to it?" Ox inquired, his voice tinged with concern. Wyert, his eyes reflecting a complex blend of sorrow and somber determination, swung his horse around and responded, "It'd be better if I show you. It's hard to explain." The gravity of the situation was etched on Ox's face as he nodded in agreement.

The crisp winter air nipped at their cheeks as Ox swiftly returned to Wyert, the horse's hooves echoing against the earth. Gone was his casual attire; now he was clad in his trusty heavy dark blue winter coat, the rich fabric shielding him from the biting cold, and perched atop his head, his favorite brown stetson. "Ready," Wyert's voice carried a sense of determination as he met his sibling's gaze. Ox responded with a solemn nod, and in unison, they guided their horses towards the desolate pasture, where the lifeless form of the calf awaited them.

Wyert and Ox, embarked on their solemn journey. With each step, the snow beneath their horses' hooves muffled the sound, creating an eerie hush in the otherwise vast expanse of the farm. Wyert's expression remained grim, and his words hung heavily in the cold air, a reminder that farm life carried its share of harsh realities. As they approached the pasture, the sight of the lifeless calf lying in the snow sent a shiver down their spines. Its fragile form was a stark contrast to the beauty of the winter landscape that surrounded it. Ox, still inquisitive, couldn't help but wonder about the calf's fate as they dismounted, bundled up against the biting cold. Together, they began the solemn task of burying the calf, a poignant reminder that life and death were inextricably woven into the fabric of their rural existence.

Ox put down the shovel, the frigid wind cutting through his worn jacket as he settled on the snow-covered ground, his breath forming frosty clouds in the crisp winter air. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he looked at Wyert with a furrowed brow. "So was it a wild cat?"

"No wild cat I have ever seen would do that to a calf or any other animal," Wyert replied, his voice tinged with bewilderment. He picked up the shovels and secured them on the saddle sides. "It looked too clean and precise."

"What do you think caused the injury?" Ox inquired, his eyes scanning the vast, snowy landscape.

"Honestly, I don't know," Wyert admitted, concern etching lines on his face. "But either way, I must inform Father of our loss. What's that now, three cows and two calves in just two months." He paused, a shadow of suspicion crossing his mind. "You don't think it could be another rancher, do you?" He asked, his voice laced with worry.