The West Woods

Chapter 6 : Home is Where the Heart Is

Hope is a fragile thing. It does not take much to crush it. Woodie and Wes were not unfamiliar with disappointment. One came to expect such a thing in a world like this. It was only because they had found each other that they remained so hopeful. But even together they could not prepare for the sight that lay before them back at camp. Their hearts sank.

The walls had been destroyed, all except the back wall and two pillars that supported the door. All of Wes' hard work had been undone. A few chests had been gnawed open, the contents inside either gone or too torn to make use of them. Their bed rolls had been shredded beyond use and their fire pit entirely dismantled.

Woodie stared on in disbelief at the destruction. Wes had his eyes on something else.

His Avian room had been the first to be broken into, the hounds had torn into the cages, leaving nothing but blood and feathers for the mime to find. Wes' lip quivered and silent tears formed in his eyes. His face scrunched grossly and his teeth grit while he tried to choke back the sobs.

One cage remained unbroken. It was laying on its side and inside was a red bird, chirping and throwing a fit. The first bird Wes had captured, whose cage was marked with a plaque labeled Winona. Wes stepped closer and she quieted. He opened her cage and reached in, she perched on his finger and he brought her to sit on his shoulder. Her feathers had been clipped and she was thus flightless, and she sat on Wes' shoulder quietly.

He moved to his bag, stored away in the back corner of the house, and he retrieved birdseed to feed her. She ate eagerly.

When Woodie was finally able to pry his eyes away from the damage he looked to Wes, to find that the other was looking at him with the same worry in his eyes. Woodie moved to the fire pit, reconstructed it as best he could, and began to throw the boards from the destroyed chests into it. He struck flint to light it up and motioned for Wes to join him by the fire.

The two of them sat in silence, watching the flames and letting their bodies warm. Wes obviously wouldn't say anything but Woodie - Woodie just didn't know what to say. There was nothing that could be said to save this situation, and both of them knew they couldn't live in a place close enough to the hound mounds to be torn down. It was too dangerous for them.

"We'll have to pack our bags. Only stuff we need like flint and sticks, lumber too. Medicine. Keep the rest of the room for food we find along the way."

Wes looked at Woodie and nodded his head in numb understanding.

After they were warm enough they packed their bags accordingly. Wes picked up the bits of bedroll left and handed Woodie the remains of his. They wrapped them about their shoulders and set off to the north east, being sure not to stray into the swamp as they went.

Wes looked back and Woodie stopped a moment to turn as well.

This was the last they would see of their little home. The lumpy stone pillars and quaint wooden door that splintered and hitched awkwardly, and a floor half finished, these were things left to memory now.

Woodie rested his hand on Wes' shoulder, like Wes had done for him so often, and he turned to continue walking. There was no sense looking back now, it couldn't fix anything. He could hear the soft crunch of snow as Wes followed behind him.