The Parted Way

Chapter 4

And the smoke of their torment ascendeth up for ever and ever

************************************

The perimeter walls stand ten feet tall at least, built from timber and stripped of bark; each one crudely sharpened to a rounded point upon its pinnacle.
The product of many seasons effort no doubt; a small measure of defense against the fear of savages to be certain, for this land had long been cleared of them (cleansed as the elders would say).

The emrold gates with their chipping paint hung unsecured, a gentle push sends them turning inward with a resonant creak to reveal the desolation therin.

The great square two story buildings (those that still stood) had burned out from the inside. Windows and doorways stood ringed by charcoal and soot,

Somewhere far away, a Raven was screaming with Glee.

---------------------------------------------------------

We left the cart by a silent stable; I make to peer inside a moment but ultimately dare not look further. I've always loved horses…poor things.
I give a wordless motion with my head which she seems to understand (What now?).

She points toward the small gray church house standing in the towns center before retrieving a heavy blanket from the cart; draping it loosely about her shoulders like a cloak.

The church's yard lay enclosed within a crumbling stonework fence. It encompassed a modest plot of sturdy death's heads, shadowed by a crooked willow, with the snow around them being shallow; clearly, the yard had been maintained with dedication up until a short time previous.

The church itself is half collapsed on the side we couldn't see; it's pews scattered; the pulpit splintered and black. Though the pastors quarters had been spared for the most part, appearing spartan even by the standards of a holy man. Consisting of a rough wooden table, small bed, and a pot belly stove, which I pack with wood and set alight; piercing the dimness of the sanctuary with its flickering red glow.

She signals her entry to the room with a sharp rap on the doorpost, bindle in hand.

"I'm not a bear, don't shoot me alright."
She says with a weak smile.

I answer with a grunt, then turn back to the fire.
Suddenly perceiving a great burden, as though I had only just become aware of our circumstance; reminded in the way an old wound is torn anew; made fresh.

"I found some bread that's not totally stale, and a mostly full bottle of wine. They must've been saving it for a sacrament…Braum?"

"…"

"I found a jar of something as well. It's frozen shut but it might be jam..."
She adds as an afterthought; clearly trying to sound upbeat.

"…We'll sleep here tonight."
I mutter.
"You can have the room, I'll sleep outside the door."

"Oh…thanks. It'll be nice to have some privacy for once."
She says; louder then she needed to, setting the bindle down on the table with a quiet thunk.

"And a real stove no less, why this room will be warm as anything in an hour or so."
She sings; taking a few paces back to latch the door.

"Why don't you come eat something?"

I give no reply; pulling the grey fur hat from my scalp to scratch at an itch that wasn't there.

"Braum?"

I give a small look back, only to turn away again.
It's too hard to look at her.

"…I know this isn't your fault Braum."