Nobody's Child (complete)

Chapter 12 - A White Horse

Chapter 12 - A White Horse ©2018CarolynAnnAish 

When Boy left Felicia and Blade, he didn't intend to return to Swan Lake, or to any other place that they would know about, so he guided the boat up a small stream and moved west. To his consternation, the stream quickly became narrower. He had misread the map and had chosen a wrong tributary. Guessing that this route would take him towards Linberg, he became more agitated in his overwhelming feeling of isolation. How forsaken and alone could he become before he completely despaired? Who cares about me? he asked himself, there is no one; I am friendless. I feel lost, so lost...

Soon the stream became rocky and shallow, but Boy didn't care. Blade would likely tell them that he was heading for the north border, so Boy decided not to go that route. Maybe he would go south back to Bernberg; that would confuse any pursuers.

Tossing his haversack up on the west bank, Boy scrambled from the vessel, leaving it to drift aimlessly back downstream. He had the fishing line and the snare, and he would make good use of them. Summer weather was here, and Boy decided he could live quite well in the wilds.

"I must take hold of myself," he said aloud. Pulling out the long bone-handled dagger, he began slashing his way through the undergrowth. To his glad surprise, he stumbled upon a narrow but well-formed track, which he followed. Downhill and up dale, across a small bayou and into dense forest; Boy followed the track until he was too tired to tread another step. The path was wide enough to take a horse and Boy saw that such animals had once been ridden along here. Climbing a tree, some yards off the track, he hung the canvas between two sturdy branches. Making a meal of left-over stringy meat from a leg of the duck, he soon slept.

The following morning, Boy was slow to awaken. "What for?" He asked himself. "What need I rise for?" Nevertheless, rise, he did. Therefore, it was with great amazement to his depressed senses that he rounded the next corner of the track and beheld a small but beautiful lake. Not only a lake, but a hut beside the lake. Boy couldn't believe his eyes! He approached the small timber shelter timidly, pushing the door in with great caution.

Strongly built of round logs, the hut had wooden slat bunks across one wall, long enough to sleep four. Thick cobwebs, dust, and a strong musty smell displayed sure signs that no one had been here since winter, perhaps even longer.

"A hunter's hut, maybe?" Boy asked, aloud. He dropped his haversack on the table and investigated the room. The slats had no mattresses and there were no rugs. Not a cupboard or shelf was in the place. Just the table and two wooden benches; eating and sleeping space for four. Boy stepped outside and stared at the beauty of the lake, the reflections of the white clouds. He noted a circle of stones where a fireplace had been formed. Walking down to the lake, he saw that a tiny, ancient, but sound, dinghy, had been pulled up, out of the way of flood-water level.

Someone has been here, he told himself, wondering who they were and if they returned, would he be pleased or afraid? Utter aloneness with dread of humans, is an awful feeling,he reminded himself.

Boy set the snare that day, and used the line successfully to catch a medium-sized carp. He had dug up some worms for bait, wondering if he would end up having to eat such bait if he didn't catch a fish. The snare remained empty and Boy was unable to catch one of the swans which floated temptingly by. He shook his fist at them, but didn't feel so bad when he thought of the fish he had caught.

The next day he snared a hare and found some ripe tree-tomatoes in the forest. He worried about the possibility of bears being close to his site as he saw such signs, like fragments of fruit scattered around.

The third day, Boy was restless. He had slept enough to have calmed his nerves and collected his torn thoughts.

"I can't run forever and I can never escape myself," he spoke aloud as he always had when alone. With his face raised to the sky he asked, "What do I do? I'm troubled, so troubled. I thought I believed, but I have no peace or comfort for my heart ..." Boy cried, "God, help me, if you can." His desolation seemed to seep into his bones and he ached all over.