INTO THE WOODS

SACRIFICE

The day my brother died, was the day my father realized I was alive. 

When I was younger, I slept in our living room by the fire, waiting for  my family to return — as the morning sun peaked its way through our kitchen windows, the pair of them would always stumble through the door. As time passed, I slowly stopped watching for their return from the window, and soon enough, I stopped waiting up all together. But in darkness my eyes would always find the carving above our entryway, a permanent reminder of my father's motto for us:

D I E     T R Y I N G

One night, months after I'd started sleeping in my own bed again, I was jerked awake by the sound of my brothers limp body hitting our kitchen table. It's been four years since that night, and the stain of his blood still coats the surface, no matter how many cleaning spells I hiss at it.

I had pressed my way through the crowd of healers to find Gavin's lifeless body, his heart beat silent — his chest still. Everyones voices had blended together above my head, and amidst the chaos I'd found my fathers eyes. It was like a moment of clarity had swept across me, a certain calmness that can only be accompanied by magic. Without hesitating, I'd pressed my hands against Gavin's chest, murmuring the first words that came to my mind,

"You stand at the door of death, waiting to cross into darkness — but I will guide you towards the light. Your wounds may be healed, but your scars will remain. When the time comes, I will pay death for your escape. You life has returned."

Hours later, as the sun growled high in the morning sky, my father's hard eyes had found my own as we sat at the kitchen table — the air thick with unspoken words and magic. Finally, he'd cleared his throat and spoke. "Your brother is resting. Next time, bring him back quicker so we won't miss a training day." He paused before continuing, "This talent of yours will be useful, perhaps you will impress me."

Others had praised me, holding my face in their hands as they looked for clues, searching for the reason that I was chosen to bring other back from the other side. My father wasn't like the others, he knew exactly why I was chosen — to bring Gavin back from the other side every time.

I didn't tell any of them about the thin white scar that had materialized on my arm, almost looking like a tally mark.

_

The sun was hanging low across the mountains when the three of us emerged from the forest, the sunset slashing vibrantly though the cool winter sky — the traces of red in the clouds stared pointedly back at me, reminding me of the wolfs blood I had underneath my fingernails.

I crossed my arms across my chest as we walked; scars were littered across my skin now. In the past four years since I'd discovered my ability, I owed death too many deaths to count. When it first began, I could only think of worry — "The tally marks must represent something," I'd whispered to Alex, fingering the few scars that were so carelessly splashed across my skin, "Maybe it's a sign from the Witches, that I should stop."

"Or," Alex had responded, a teasing lilt to her voice, "It's just a way for Lady Death to keep track of her biggest competition." She'd bumped my shoulder with her own as we walked, out hushed conversation ringing out through the morning air. "Don't worry about it," Alex had said in a softer voice, her fingers squeezing my own, "It probably means nothing."

Soon enough, the tally marks became too much of a constant to worry about — for when you see something everyday, no matter how gruesome or terrifying it is, it eventually becomes less and less scary, until one day, it means nothing at
all.