Quiverless

There's a land where the mountains are nameless,
And the rivers all run God knows where;
There are lives that are erring and aimless,
And deaths that just hang by a hair.

* * *

     In the palm of my hand rested the tool that was crafted for a single purpose; it was crafted to kill. My quarrel was with an unseeable foe. My survival depended on who could land the first strike. Night drew near.
     Having tossed my backpack into a snowbank several miles back to quicken my getaway, I felt an inch away from hopelessness. I abandoned my food, my water, my blanket. I escaped the clutches of the unseeable foe and prolonged my inevitable demise, but my mood surely wouldn't ascend any higher that night.
     Hung over my shoulder was my bow. It was my one weapon, my one companion—the last one alive, that is. The arrow in my grasp—the final arrow in my arsenal—felt cool to the touch, mirroring the effects of the blanket-like snow encompassing my boots. The trees that surrounded me, tall, dark green, and deciduous, hid the darkening sky above. It was silent. Too silent.
     Upon each breath I would shoot a glance at the branches that loomed overhead. More often than not they were vacant, swaying silently through the quiet air. The rare occasion greeted me with the sight of an owl, calm and observant, lurking curiously at its human acquaintance. Its ruffled feathers, streaked with grey and black, wavered harmoniously with the accompanying branches.
     Finding a fresh sheet of snow next to a large boulder and sheltered partly by an overhanging fern, I sat down and leaned back, soaking in the scent of pine and the distant aroma of the abandoned campfire. My eyes closed uneasily as my hands shook. I came into the forest with seven friends. Now I was all alone with a curved piece of wood that acted as my only accomplice.
     It hadn't been four hours since we veered off the hiking trail. My friends weren't the ones who planned this alpine excursion. One of them even tried to veto against heading up into the mountainous forest during November, but my mind couldn't be swayed.
     I stood up and threw the vision of their bodies splayed around the campfire from my mind. If there was any way of temporarily omitting that memory, it would be to press onwards, back to salvation, back to civilization, and away from the relentless unseeable foe.
     Icy and cloudy swirls infected the air in front of me with every heaving breath, with every decreasing degree of my body temperature. My wool socks, now lined with a shiver-inducing smear of snow, joined forces with the formidable nature and clawed its way against my strength, against my stamina.
     But onwards I pressed, trudging through the half-foot deep snow. A part of me wished I wasn't creating a trail of footprints for the unseeable foe to follow, but my objective wasn't what lay behind me, but rather what lay ahead of me, beyond the forest. It didn't matter if the unseeable foe could catch me or not if I couldn't master the numbing effects of frostbite.
     The snowy terrain suddenly sloped downwards ever so slightly. Continuing along at a reasonably brisk pace, I came at length to a gentle glen. Along the bottom a fickle icy stream, one that seemed to stretch on for miles, was coursing over smooth stones and under overlying felled trees. I threw myself towards the water to to rehydrate, indulging in the refreshing coldness. After some time, I hopped across the stream and continued onward.
     What felt like twenty more minutes had soon passed. The campfire and the stream were now a long distance in my wake. The terrain had smoothened out again and I found myself in a dense cluster of tall trees. The sky above was completely black; I could make out a single twinkling star buried into the inky heavens. Drawing a deep breath, I sat down against one of the many trees and let my mind wander into a realm of wonder.
     Then the faint sound of a cracking twig snapped my concentration. My eyes flashed open. I was no longer alone. The unseeable foe had caught up to me. I knew a final showdown was inevitable; I just didn't think it would happen this soon.

* * *

     "Honey, don't forget your snowshoes."
     I turned around before stepping out through the front door. My girlfriend, with her long blonde hair streaming down both sides of her face, stood at the foot of our marble staircase wearing a look of anxiousness. She had been telling me to cancel the trip for the past two days. I knew it would be painful for her to watch me go.
     "I don't need 'em," I said.
     "But the deep snow," she said, "how will you trek through it?"
     "I told you already, Val. Me and the guys'll be sticking to the trails. There'd be no point bringing those along with me. It would just be dead weight."
     "You sure use that word a lot, Freddy. Dead. I'm just worried, is all."
     I squeezed my eyes shut, wanting this moment to pass. I hated being called that name, yet she always chose that particular nickname.
     "I'll be fine, Val," I said, hoping she'd just be happy and accept that I wouldn't be turning my back on this long-awaited alpine trip.
     "Whatever you do up there in the mountains," she said, walking over to me before I could successfully step through the front door, "just promise me you'll stay safe."
     I smiled. "Don't you worry. I will stay safe. You can count on that."
     "And your friends?" she said, crossing her arms. "They don't really strike me as the type who could tackle those harsh conditions. Why don't you take your brother along with you. You've always told me how much he loves the outdoors. Maybe he could watch over you guys. Or . . . maybe I'm just overreac—"
     "Yes," I said. "You're definitely overreacting. And no, I'm not inviting my brother. You know how much I hate him." There was a slight pause between us, lasting no more than the length of a deep breath. "Well, the car's already loaded up and raring to go. I should be on my way. I'm picking up three of the guys. Darren's driving the others."
     "Freddy," said Val, grabbing my arm as I tried turning away once again. "I know the news about . . . well, about you-know-what is hard to digest, but—"
     "It's fine, Val," I said sternly through gritted teeth. Before long I could feel my mouth ache from the grinding pressure.
     "No! I know you're upset! Look at me! This isn't easy news to hear, but we need to move forward together. Look at me! Don't think I don't know why you're heading up on this snowy hike. You began planning it hours after I first told you about you-know-what."
     "It's a way of clearing . . . my head."
     "Your head? That's what needs clearing? What about me? You don't think this news devastates me too?"
     I successfully turned and began my way down the wooden porch steps, getting ever closer to my car, and ever closer to my trip away from home.
     "Don't you walk away, Freddy," Val said, raising her voice. "You're not leaving here on bad terms! Turn around!"
     I obliged.
     "Before you go," she said, her eyes swelling up into glassy blue orbs, "I just want you to know I'm sorry."
     "For what?" I said, which flung out of my mouth like a growl.
     "I know how much you wanted to have a son," she said, sniffling. "Or . . . if anything, a daughter. Just any way of passing your . . . genes along."
     "Stop, Val," I said. Her distraught face was nearly enough to make me collapse into a pool of tears of my own.
     "No," she said. "I wanted to have kids, too. I'm just . . . sorry I couldn't be the one to give you them."
     With that she turned on her heels and headed back to the front door, saying goodbye and wishing a safe trip as she went. With chills now running laps throughout my bloodstream, I ran a hand through my hair and let out a deep breath. Beyond the horizon the sun was beginning its ascent, casting waves of golden glimmers along the avenue. I hopped into my white sedan and roared the engine to life before backing up, pulling out into the street, and speeding off to begin my alpine getaway.