Page 6 of The Arrow and the Alder

“I don’t know. That’s why Linnea left.”

Seph gathered the fur on either side of the incision and, in one decided motion, ripped the skin apart. Flesh tore free of muscle; blood drained and pooled upon the bench.

“Don’t be so hard on her, Josephine.”

“I didn’t say a word.”

“You don’t have to.”

Seph flipped the rabbit over and repeated the process on the other side.

“You know what it could mean for our family if he proposes,” Mama added, beseeching.

Seph set the pelts aside and began cutting away the bits of fur that still clung stubbornly to the rabbit carcass. Just like her hope, always clinging to dead things.

Mama took a step closer, and Seph knew what was coming next, even before her mama said, “You won’t have to do this anymore.”

Seph swallowed her rising emotion. It was a geyser of grief and despair, always simmering at the surface, reminding her of all she’d sacrificed, and all she sacrificed still. “I like doing this.” And she did—or at least she’d learned to. As much as she hunted for Nora, she had also grown to love hunting for herself. Nature was the only thing that could bring peace to Seph’s restive spirit.

The only thing that could remind her what freedom felt like.

In the woods, there was no king or queen. Titles didn’t matter, gold held no value, and flattery fell upon deaf ears. There was no posturing. Nature was never trying to be anything other than what it was. Trees were subject to season, creatures to instinct, neither beholden to man, because the law of nature was simple: survive or die.

Seph liked simple.

“Sephie, I know you do, but…” Mama sighed. “I want more for you than this, and with the baron’s support…well, perhaps you might be able to move on and finally start a life of your own.”

Seph knew Mama was referring to Elias Sandenford. The young man Seph had fancied and might have loved someday had the depraved not torn Elias’s body apart just one month into battle. Seph had grieved, but not properly; she’d been too busy filling the various roles her papa and brothers had left behind.

Mama was mistaken if she thought Seph could just move on. It wasn’t that she still felt Elias’s loss as she had in those early days, but more that she’d lost so much that she didn’t even know how to want anymore. There was no space for it in her life.

“I think I’d rather stay here with you and Nora,” Seph said. She almost believed it.

Mama sighed with old frustration. “Don’t you wish to marry and start a family of your own?”

Saints, not this again.“Honestly, nothing could be further from my mind.”

“Well, you’d do well to bring it closer! You know it’s only a matter of time before the baron catches you!”

“Yes, well, I refuse to sit here and accept this prison of an existence while we starve to death.”

“Which is why I’m suggesting that you?—”

The large high-backed chair behind them creaked, and they both glanced over to where Seph’s grandfather sat, slumped and unconscious. He’d been like that ever since his wife—Seph’s nani—had passed six months ago, as if Nani had gone to heaven and taken his soul with her, leaving this empty shell of a man behind. Sometimes his eyes would flutter open only to stare, his lips mumbling things too low for anyone to hear, and then he’d slip back into this deep state of unconsciousness.

It broke Seph’s heart.

“I’ve got it.” Mama strode to her father-in-law and adjusted him in the chair so that he didn’t fall out of it.

Seph hated seeing her grandfather like this—a man who’d always brought such verve and levity to their lives. He’d been a lamp for them all, shining all the more brightly when the world felt darkest, and without his whimsy and good cheer, their circumstances seemed bleaker than ever. Seph had tried everything she could think of to bring him back—they all had—but nothing could reach his spirit, and Seph couldn’t figure out why he still clung so stubbornly to this world. Of course, she didn’t want him to pass on, but watching him rot like compost was almost worse.

Seph finished cleaning the jackrabbit, chopped the meat, and added it—and a few bones—to the leek and barley pottage they kept simmering over the fire. The stew had grown thin, she noticed. Too much water and too little substance. She remembered that magnificent stag with some regret, then wiped her hands on a rag and started for the small door in back, ignoring hunger’s dull and persistent ache.

Their home was built of two rooms: one where they cooked and ate, the other where they slept. When Mama had become pregnant with Seph’s older brother, Rys, Seph’s papa added the loft, which was where all five of their children eventually slept—including Seph, who’d arrived a few years after Rys. Levi came shortly after that, then Linnea. Mama assumed they were done adding to their brood until sweet Nora arrived nine years ago. It was crowded, but they’d been happy. Now that Seph’s papa and brothers were gone, stationed at the Rift by order of Baron Gazinno to fight a war that had nothing to do with them and everything to do with helping the kith and filling the baron’s deep pockets, the place felt empty, hollow. Seph’s grandfather and nani had moved in after her papa and brothers left, but even they hadn’t been able to fill that space completely. And when Nani passed, taking Grandpa Jake’s spirit with her, that hole grew even larger.

Seph put a hand on the small door and listened as rainwaterplinkedinto the bucket near her feet. The leak was getting worse, but she hadn’t had time to fix it.

Sighing, she pushed the door inward.

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