Sephtis

34. Strife.

I do not have to think where he is, his presence is everywhere, every part of my beginning is aware of him, aware of where he is. He is a long way from the ruins, in a part of the forest we do not go often, for it borders the hunting ground of other wolves.
I find him standing in a thicket, his body tense and aggressive, his hackles raised.  He doesn't growl, but he pants in expectation, fangs bared.  I crouch beside him. The forest and all within it seem to hold its breath.  Waiting. 
And then it comes. It is worse than my darkest dreams.  I hear women screaming, the sounds only half lived. Men are shouting in rage and pain, and swords and horns clash.  Children wail and animals shriek. The clamour echoes through the forest, causing the earth to tremble, and the air stinks with the stench of strife.
At last the screaming is over, and I only hear the laughter of men, their shouts and cheers making my stomach flip. It was the laughter of the victors. The air is heavy with the smell of fire, and weeping, burning flesh. Soon all is silent again.  Smoke rolls towards us through the trees, and I am afraid the forest is ablaze. But if it is, Kavah does not understand, because he is moving forward through the smoke. He must see for himself this ugly thing that has entered his kingdom.
I stand to go with him, my arm about his neck. He is moving cautiously, his nose close to the ground, beneath the poisonous smoke. 
We come upon a ploughed field. It has been trampled by horses, and crows peck at the now exposed seeds. Beyond the field, the houses are ablaze with blinding orange light, Fae fire. The surrounding fence has been broken, and through the smashed places I see smoke billowing across the ground.  I see men crucified to trees, arrows through their hands, feet, and groin.  Women are fixed to the earth with spears through their necks, the lower parts of their bodies bare, and bleeding. There are children covered in blood, or lying in flames, and goats and dogs slaughtered, naught but pin cushions to arrows and spear.
Then I see him. Waist length red hair swirling as plunges his sword into a woman's gut as she slumps against the wall of a burning house soundlessly: blood pouring from her mouth, her tongue gone.  Red and black wings catch the fire light as he and his fellow warriors laugh, my tormentor, my nightmare - Merikh. Horns glinting from underneath his crown of smoke he plunges his hand into the dying women's chest, her eyes bulge in silent screams as his nails rip flesh, and he jerks free a pulsing, bloody bundle. It spasms in his hand before stilling, it's last pulse spent, and the cheering starts again.
I turn and stumble back into the forest. The smoke stifles me, and my head spins I lean on a tree and heave, vomit burning my nostrils and throat. She had been blue haired, a cursed one like me, and I cannot help the thought that that might have been me, had I stayed in the village. Kavah presses against me, and I fall, weeping into his fur. He is calm now, now that he knows what has happened in his forest. He has probably seen it all before, but I haven't. I have only heard warriors telling stories and chuckling over their ale while they celebrated their victories. And I am ashamed, so ashamed that I once thought their tales wonderful. 

I am sad tonight. Kavah, Amitz and Shamar have gone out into the darkness to hunt, but Zahar stays with me. She knows I have seen enough of death for the night. She licks my cheek, and I lie with my head close to hers, and feel her breath go in and out across my face. After awhile she lowers her head and rests her nose in my hair. Clouds drift across the moon, and somewhere a wolf howls. Zahar whines and thumps her tail against the dirt.  It is Kavah, telling us they have hunted well. 
I think of vegetables cooked in embers, and grain cakes made by my beloved's hands. I sigh, for he is my beloved no more. He belongs to another, who wears all green, and has a greater claim upon him then me. I think of Kavah, he has two she-wolves in his clan, yet he is only loving with Zahar. They have greater loyalty, wolves.
"He is a fine man though, by the gods I cannot deny I do not long for him," I say to Zahar, and I ache.