Cold Blood Beast

11

Lia

As I stood back and watched my very sickly father lift crates onto a wagon, I felt my heart sank down to my toes with dread and fear following close behind.

"Father," I yell out from the front door.

"I told you to stop, many times already," I shout, my voice thick. I try to hold back my tears. This is the worst I've ever seen him, yet he insists to go into the village? Can't he just go tomorrow? Hell, even a week later? Anything gives him time to recover from this bug.

His aged hand shakily waves me off. He wobbles lifting the second crate up. He's going to get hurt.

I lift the ends of my skirt and run to him, all the way down the hill. Breathless, I place my hand on his back before taking charge of his duties.

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried. You're very ill. Let me come with." I tell him with a serious voice. Loud and clear. I knew I needed to accompany him even though the thoughts of exploration were long gone now and were replaced with a sunken doom that I'd run into the beast. Or that my father would, no matter how well he claimed he knew his way around the village.

"My dear I am alive and healthy." He sighs and hunches over his cane. He throws the heavy satchel over his shoulder trying to move away from me.

"You always say that. Let me come, I'm almost 18 years, and I can't just let you go in this condition." I speak faintly my voice wobbles and a single year slips from my eye. I wipe it quickly feeling overwhelmed and embarrassed.

He stops what he's doing and looks up at me. Scratching his white beard and pushing up his glasses he shrugs me off.

"If it makes you happy." He speaks in a flat voice. Staring for a while he lets out a chuckle. "Unrelenting but only because you care so much." He mumbles.

"Thank you, father. I'll take care of you, I'll bring some boiled water and biscuits. I will also get some extra furs to keep us warm. You won't regret this." I say running up the hill towards the cottage.

My heart pounded as I gathered a basket full of things to bring. My favorite novel, a canteen of boiled water, and a sack of warm fluffy biscuits.

I wrapped the fur around my shoulders and clipped the front. It was cold outside but I'd make sure we stayed warm. My father took care of me for 17 years I can take care of him.

~~

We started our adventure by heading north. Miles of rocks and thick trees, every corner, nook, and cranny looked the same as the last one. I pushed the wagon and helped my father drink water when he needed a rest. It's been hours.

We came to a stop, right next to a huge burr tree. Red and brown leaves started to fall and I held my hand out. Catching a crisp brown leaf in my hand.

"I need a break." Father sighed out. He leaned his cane against a protruding root and sat upon a slanted rock. He took off his heavy backpack and it tumbled to the dirt-coated ground. The rocky floor was frozen and stiff.

"Are you thirsty?" I pull out the canteen and move over to him. I tilt it against his dry lips and he drinks his share. I put my hand against his forehead. Warm, but not as hot as his fever was a week ago.

"Must you treat me as such an old man?" He scoffs and I furrow my eyebrows. Leaves rustle in the distance as he speaks.

"It's not because you're old it's because you're sick," I whisper and bend my knees and crouch to his level. I wasn't going to tell him it was because he was- in fact, old and withered. In his mind, he was still in his thirties but the cold hard truth would say otherwise.