Page 39 of Upon Buried Embers
Yet why do I feel like this is a symbol of my life?
Forever caught, pain looming at a moment’s notice.
A roar sounds closer than I expected, and I realize I’ve walked quite far away now, distracted by my thoughts.
I look to the treetops and see tips of wings gliding through the mist curling up there, hungry creatures waiting.
I look back down at the ropes secured around the sheep, and then I slowly loosen them.
“I’m sorry.” I untie them one by one, and at first they don’t move. But another roar has them running away from me, from the sound.
A moment later, talons swoop down, their bleats loud and frightened, and then they go silent.
I don’t take my eyes off the place where they once existed.
In the blink of an eye, there was life, then there was death.
“Elf,” Rohan growls from behind me, startling me. He grabs the end of my rope and yanks me away. “The horses need grooming; you will not slack off.”
I guess I’m grooming today, after all.
I stumble after him through the cold and realize that I’m just like them…
The sheep.
And that freedom is an illusion, only death can set you free.
Twelve
Elf
Rohan takes me back to a scowling Calian with orders to keep a closer eye on me. That I need to be put to work and earn my place here, not stare off into the distance.
I must have looked at where the sheep were longer than I thought.
“Make sure to brush in the direction the hair grows,” Calian says, as he takes the brush from my awkward, fumbling hands and glides it down the side of Serah. “See? Now you do it.”
I try to copy his movements the best I can, but I don’t think it’s good enough because he stomps off, shaking his head. My arms ache and my stomach rumbles with hunger, but I don’t complain.
Just do as I’m told.
Calian hasn’t hurt me yet, but he no doubt will.
They all do in time.
By late afternoon my muscles ache with today’s chores, exhaustion clawing at me.
“Maybe I should pretend to be a sheep,” I mutter to Serah. “Maybe then all of this will go away. Maybe I can get away thistime and not run into a pack of wolves.” She snorts and I nod. “I don’t like the odds of my chances either.”
“What are you mumbling about, Elf?” I freeze, the brush stilling against Serah as heat covers my back.
“N-nothing.” I drag the brush down the horse shakily, her tail swishing as she softly neighs at her owner.
“You’re doing it wrong.”
So I’ve been told.
His large hand covers mine, and my fingers twitch at the contact. “You need to go down with the hair.” He drags the brush down, his other hand coming around me and landing on Serah’s neck. Stroking, soothing. “Always put your other hand on her so she knows where you are. Horses don’t like surprises.”
