The Unwanted Wendigo [ManxMan]

Chapter Eight: At Wit's End

~Chapter Eight: At Wit's End~

The next morning, the entire Mer royal family disappears into a meeting for hours. Unsurprisingly, I am not invited to join them, but, knowing the news, I wait outside. My hunger might slowly be killing me - figuratively, unfortunately - but while the king's death means next to nothing to me, it will mean something to one person I know and possibly something to someone else. Nero will likely take care of Atasah, if it is not the other way around, but I doubt any of his siblings will be together enough to really help Cyra, especially since she tends to be rather scathing when bothered by things.

When the doors eventually open again, I first look to Atasah as he leaves, but while he does not look happy, the king's death does not seem to be having all that much of an impact on him. Nero, who follows close behind him, does not seem all that bothered either, but he is also very tense, and the fact that his eyes do not really seem to be seeing anything, even when they actually focus on something, says otherwise. I will not be the one to comfort him, however, as that is not my job.

And though it is not actually my job to comfort anyone here really, that does not mean I do not walk up to Cyra the second she wheels herself out of the room with red-rimmed eyes and a cracking mask of indifference. She does not exactly look happy to see me, but she does not argue when I start pushing her chair towards the Royal Wing, which is where the rest of her family is going now that the meeting is over. With my longer legs, though, we reach it faster than the rest of them.

When we reach her room, I am relieved to see that it is well-equipped for the fact that she cannot use her legs outside swimming, which is why I do not insist on helping her when she wheels herself to the bed after waving me off. While I am sure that she could handle herself without wall bars and other support items under normal circumstances, she is still a child that just went through a traumatic experience of learning about her father's death. The last thing her family would want to hear is that their youngest sister joined their father in death because, shaken by grief, she slipped and split her skull on the corner of her bed.

"Go away," she says, before pulling the unmade sheets down on her bed and climbing into them. "I don't want you here."

Rather than leave, though, I linger by the door. "I'm sticking around, but it's up to you whether I sit in one of your fancy chairs or outside the door, 'cause I'm not leaving you alone right now."

"Leave me alone," she snaps back, and then pulls the covers over her head.

Unoffended, I just nod - even though she cannot see it - and open the door. "I'll be right outside if you want to talk," I remind her, and slip out, closing the door behind me. After a minute, I drop to the floor and sit cross-legged, quietly ignoring the fact that I can hear her crying inside her room.

Poor kid.

For a while, I entertain myself with just staring at the wall and ignoring the fact that, out of the corner of my eye, I can see the ocean through the windows. Every so often, something inadvertently make me look outside, but since it is never more than a fish or some other random sea creature, I never look for too long. Still, by the time I hear Cyra's wheelchair finally move a few hours later, I am very restless and tense, having been reminded one too many times that I am very, very far under the ocean.

When the door slides open a few minutes later, I tilt my head back against the wall, causing my antlers to clack and scrape against the wall, and can just barely make out her bewildered expression with my antlers limiting how far I can move my head without sitting forward. "You stayed," she states, and I cannot tell whether she is surprised, annoyed, or relieved. Or maybe she is a little bit of all of them.