The White Sheep's Disguise ✓

Chapter 62

A month has passed since Rylan's funeral. We buried him on the outskirts of the village, next to his parents and the mass grave they dug the night after the Void Queen's terror slithered through our homes. We didn't have room for a separate grave for everyone, so they shared one. My parents included. Instead of visiting their shared spot to celebrate another year that they would've lived, everyone picks different areas throughout the village to honor those we lost.

For my parents, and now for Rylan, I head to the outcropping of large rocks near the beach. The waves crash against the sides and mist sprays, but the cold never reaches me. I always leave with a lather of salted air sticking to my clothes and the remembrance of tears reddening the corners of my eyes. I bring them flower petals and leave three, tossing the rest over the rocks to watch them flutter away into the crashing waters.

Sometimes, Chaska comes with me. If Castiel comes, I leave him towards the safe streets near the rocks where he can look out and enjoy the ocean. Any farther is too dangerous for his wheelchair.

Over the past month, I have spent many days sitting alone on the rocks, wrapped in a coat that doesn't belong to me. Rylan assigned none of his clothes to anyone, each of his belongings—money—went to Eligius. Nothing to me, nothing to my family, and everything to the guard that can't stand to look at me without wondering whether I am to blame.

We have hardly spoken since that day. He spotted me in the street, covered in blood, my hair in disarray, eyes swollen from crying. At first, Eligius hadn't wanted to believe it. He rushed into the house, practically tearing the door from its hinges. I walked away while listening to him sob. The remaining strength I had tugged me towards Theoden's house. He was cooking at the time and froze when I collapsed in the doorway, unable to take another step.

Castiel cried. For the fear of pain and my own despair, he shed tears once the moon set after he thought I had already fallen asleep.

Chaska didn't leave my side for a few days. She promised we'd find a way to pay for Castiel's potions and we have, but it has come at the expense of food and warmth. We can't afford firewood, so we huddle together underneath the blankets we have and hope to make it through each frosted night. For extra coin, we shovel snow off of porches and the streets, along with taking nearly all the shifts possible at the docks. We work from sunrise to sunset until our arms can't lift anything and our legs can only move far enough to collapse onto the closest seat.

Pooling all of our money together, we have just enough to keep Castiel from writhing in pain in the middle of the night, along with the barest of scraps. The bakery sells their burnt, stale bread for a measly coin. Sometimes, she throws in a small pastry for us to share. We devour it at the kitchen table and lick our fingers, frowning at the taste already seeping away from our tongues.

The butcher offers a similar kindness. We buy his old, unpurchased, and unsalted meats. The cuts that no one wishes to consume. They're chewy and tasteless, but my stomach doesn't ache as much when I lie in bed with Chaska at the other side and wonder if I'll wake in the morning or if my gut will eat me alive before that happens.

Castiel continues to clean and repair shoes. The only business that thrives in winter keeps my brother up late at night, but the same can't be said for Theoden's profession. No one requires a new bow or set of arrows in the thick of snow unless they plan to travel north for decent hunting grounds. Being so close to the shore, we don't have that here. Most of us cross our fingers and hope the small supply of meat, cheese, and vegetables is enough to get us through winter.

In exchange for mucking stables, the farmer on the outside of Gudgeon Village rewards a block of cheese. My hands freeze to the wooden handle of the shovel and my arms aren't strong enough to fight through all the filth, but I do what I can with Chaska's assistance. Never once has she complained. The lingering thought that carries me into every night of sleep is: how long can we go on like this?