Flames of the Forgotten

Chapter Nine

As I grow closer to the creek, I sense no-name's presence. It's strange to think he's been around all this time, and I didn't notice. I suppose I was so busy coming to terms with my new, unexpected life and how to survive. Maybe I just didn't sense something off until I had been here long enough. However, I felt his gaze on me so strongly the other day that I can't help but wonder if he wanted me to know he was there.

But then, why was he so hostile once we met? The last thing I want is to confront him again, but I need water.

Screw it; he doesn't get to tell me where to be. I yank the heavy sled past the game trail to the clearing. He's standing with a fishing pole in hand in the same spot where I usually fish. I stop and study him for a moment. He's wearing a pair of ripped-up loose-fit jeans with a baggy faded tee shirt. From a distance like this, he looks like any other guy out fishing, well, with the exception of the choppy hair. There's a jacket tied around his waist and a flask of water alongside a bucket next to him. 

A moment is all it takes for him to sense me. He turns to look at me as I walk closer. His body tenses as I grow closer, and a stunned look highlights his face as he takes me in.

"What the hell happened–" he trails off as his gaze drops down to the sled with the bloody mess of a deer in it. "Oh."

"Oh?" I killed a buck by myself, and all he can say is oh?

"I heard some shots, assumed you missed, good for you." 

"It was much easier than I thought it would be," I say with a casual shrug.

"Was it now?" His tone is as mocking as his smoky grey-blue eyes, which look me up and down as he adds. "Did you fight it with your bare hands?"

I look down at my once-upon-a-time gray sweatshirt; it is coated with blood, and so are my jeans. I'd bet my face is, too, recalling how it splattered all over me.

"Is there another way?" I quip with a tiny smirk. His lips twitch ever so slightly, and his eyes flicker with something, but it's gone so fast that I may have imagined it.

"Well good for you, but most of it will go to waste. You can't eat that fast enough before it will spoil, and it's not cold enough to keep it outside. You'd be better off trapping rabbits and squirrels..." His eyes trail off behind me at something near the water hole.

"Is that what you do?" I follow his gaze but frown when I don't see a thing.

"You won't see them. I make sure they're practically invisible."

"See what?"

"My snares," he replies. "Don't ever come over here and start shooting. You'll scare the animals away from the water hole."

"Maybe, but they'd have to come back and drink at some point," I argue.

"There's other water sources out here," he says.

"Where?"

"There is a small pond out by my camp, and if you go far enough west, you'll find a cranberry bog. It should be ready to harvest in a week or so."

"A cranberry bog!" That is the best news ever because the crab apple trees are all pretty much depleted now. "On my side of the woods?"

"I'm sorry, what?" He looks up abruptly. "Your side?"

"You're the one who said, ' Stay on your side, and I'll stay mine,' " I remind him. "And here you are by my creek."

He scoffs loudly. "This isn't your creek. Not one inch of this land belongs to you."