The Two of Us

Chapter 7: Monopoly

Morning arrives, and it's one of those days when the sun is playing peek-a-boo with the clouds. Zane and I tread cautiously along the edge of the road, sticking to the shadows of the forest that runs alongside the road, just in case those Dead Riders decide to crash our morning adventure.

Zane walks slowly, shoulders hunched, his gaze fixed on the dirt beneath his worn-out boots. He's been quiet for what feels like an eternity. It's one of those moments when you wish you could read minds or at least decode cryptic silence. I throw a sideways glance at him, and he's got this stormy expression on, like he's wrestling with the universe in his head.

Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, I break the verbal drought. "You think your father is fine?" I shoot him the question, my voice pitched just above a whisper, as if the gravity of the words might shatter the fragile peace hanging in the air.

Zane looks up, his eyes carrying the weight of a thousand unsaid words. It's like staring into a tempest, dark and tumultuous, with the occasional flash of lightning revealing the turmoil within. For a second, I'm almost convinced he's not gonna answer. But then his lips part, and the words spill out.

"He is, Jenna," he replies, looking uncertain. His fingers drum against his thigh, a rhythm that echoes the restlessness inside him.

"Yeah, he definitely is. After all, he's a warrior and a great commander."

Zane chuckles, a sound that carries a hint of nostalgia. "He taught me everything about survival and fighting."

"Tell me more. What kind of stuff did he teach you?"

Zane glances around, as if checking for eavesdropping trees or lurking shadows. "Well, first things first, he taught me to read the signs of nature. You know, the rustle of leaves, the direction of the wind, even the way birds fly. It's like understanding the language of the wild."

"That's pretty cool. Like having a sixth sense."

"Yeah, exactly! And then there's the art of camouflage. He'd show me how to blend into the surroundings and become one with the environment. It's not just about hiding; it's about becoming invisible, like a shadow in the night."

As Zane speaks, I hang onto every word, captivated by the tales of survival and the artistry of camouflage. His father sounds like a mix between a superhero and a wise sage. I can't help but imagine Zane as a young apprentice, soaking in the wisdom of a man who understands the wilderness like the lines on his weathered palms.

"And then there's the fighting," Zane continues, a spark in his eyes. "My dad knows martial arts—not the flashy stuff like in the movies, but practical, efficient moves. He'd say, 'Never let your guard down, Zane. Hesitation can be fatal.'"

"He's right about that. I hesitated back in that town. If you hadn't saved me, they would have killed me. Or worse..."

"I remember that one time I hesitated. If it wasn't for my father, I would be dead. I was out in some town—I don't remember the name—and I stumbled upon a group of bandits. They surrounded me, and I just stood there frozen with a crossbow in my hands. And then my dad appeared... He handled them like a pro. It was like watching a master at work."

"Wow..."

"He taught me that survival isn't just about physical strength. It's about adaptability—knowing when to fight and when to evade. He showed me that true strength is in the mind as much as it is in the body."

"It really is." I whisper.

We walk in silence until we hit a path. The trees part ways, revealing a narrow trail, and there we see a sign that proudly declares, "Winter's Cabin." I shoot a mischievous glance at Zane.