Fallow

T H R E E

My footfall echoed in the dark cave that I found myself wandering into. The familiarity of the walls and the cool draft welcomed me, gave me a chance to breathe. My head spun wildly, but I focused enough to locate the rightmost wall. Fingers trailing over the rough stone, I followed the wall until I felt the exact crevice I needed to. 

Instincts and muscle memory helped me climb the wall and contort myself through the small opening in the ceiling of my personal retreat. As I heaved myself into the just big enough crawl space, I was surrounded by eternal darkness. My hands searched the ground softly until my fingertips came across the hard lump of wood that I needed. Without picking it up, I quickly located the other essentials--my flint and sharp stone that I left near my torch. 

Within a few frustrated moments, I was able to light the torch and position it in the crack I had crafted as a placeholder. The light illuminated my surroundings. 

Years of hard work and personal possessions surrounded me. From items such as my first broken arrow from my first hunt to a wilted flower pressed onto a piece of bark that was gifted to me from Lionel last Spring. I had all sorts of possessions, but the one I cherished the most found its way into my arms immediately. 

A doll, crafted by my late mother. Hair made of twine she spun, flesh made from fabric she crafted, clothes from skins my father and her shared. The doll was supposed to be my companion as a little girl, and her beady black eyes of coal held more comfort than that of anything else in the hole. The dirt that was smeared across her face and clothes I carefully brushed off, affectionately wiping her hair off her face. 

Remember, Corey, everyone needs a companion, My mother's voice echoed in the depths of my head. Her voice was toneless, almost a complete figment of my imagination. There was not much left for me to remember what she looked like, or how she sounded, but I always tried my best to repeat those moments; even as they tend to escape me. 

She will be just as good of a companion as you are, My mother had told me, and I yearned for her to brush the hair off of my forehead. But only ever just as good as you try to be. It is important for you to recognize the ways of our people, and the importance of companionship. 

Why? I remember the innocence of the question, the yellow warmth that filled our hut from our hearth in the middle. 

I wish I could've remembered her laugh, as my father told me it was as sweet as the honey the bees drink. 

Because, dear child, to not have companionship is to not have family. To not have family is to not have a people. 

I shuddered, a mixture from the cold, damp air in the cave but also from the swirl of emotions within me. Was I wrong to reject Arrow? Would my mother have disapprovingly corrected my behavior? Was I destined to lay down my bow and retreat as merely a wife and a mother within the season? 

The questions spun like crazy in my head, and the heels of my hands found their way to my temples. I felt the hysteria of emotion climbing up my throat, the prickling of my eyes and the dryness of my mouth. I did not wish to cry, but the tears came flowing out freely. In the event of my sorrow, I yearned for peace. 

When my last tear fell, I still felt a turmoil beating at my chest, like the wings of an angry bird, desperately trying to escape from its perch. But the anger was silenced, the confusion somewhat muted. All I felt was a pull at a question that was all too familiar in its unfamiliar ways. 

I was not sure exactly when I had started to doubt, but for seasons I struggled with a single question. 

Where did I truly belong?