Ander - Part 5: Subchapter 11
11
Ander held the knife in his hands and slowly ran the blade across his thumb. It was sharp. Very sharp. The perfect tool for the job. Only... he never thought the job would be so unpleasant. It's never happened to him before. It was supposed to be fun, like all the others. He didn't have to hide in a cramped old tent to do it anymore, away from the cold eyes of the Wolves, always telling him to stop wasting time on such useless trash. He could make things without fear now, he could sit outside, in the shade, whittling his heart away and nobody would try to knock it out of his hands or kick dirt in his face.
So why... why couldn't he finish this? He had had no problems with Bethany's, or Rufio's, or Layla's, or Sarah's, or even Kiana's, and he had slaved for _days_over that one, making sure every line and scratch was absolutely perfect before he felt confident enough to present it to her.
So why did this one give him so much trouble? Just holding it in his hand made him feel... it was difficult to explain. There was sadness, there was guilt, but none of those on their own were quite right. This little carving in his hand made him feel... away. Far, far away. That was supposed to be another good thing, but it most certainly didn't feel good when seen from wooden eyes that did not yet exist.
He looked down at the carving in his hand, at the bushy, unkempt tail, the lean body...
The face.
Ander quickly put it down and looked away, feeling slightly ill. It had started out so well, but when he got to the face, he simply could not go through with it. He's been stuck, unable to make a single cut, for over a week now, and it's started to become a bit of an obsession with him. He needed to finish it, he owed it to himself and to the one he had promised it to, but he didn't know how.
Ander put the knife down and rubbed his eyes, thinking that maybe he should just put it aside for today. Maybe he can finish it tomorrow. It's not like he had a deadline to work with or anything like that. Or maybe he should start on something else and then come back to this one later, once his mind's had a chance to cool off.
Sure. And all the while the little carving would just gather dust on his shelf and watch him sleep with eyes that didn't exist anywhere, not even in his own imagination, because he couldn't figure out what to carve.
The wind slapped him across the face with fingers of ice, as if telling him to pull himself together and to stop dwelling on such depressing matters. A neat trick, if you could do it.
Ander watched the clouds roll on for a bit. They've been getting thicker and darker while he sat here on this log bench, burying the Cora so that not even its tallest peaks were visible. He could definitely smell the moisture in the air. Maybe that's why Kiana hasn't showed up yet? She usually makes an effort to stop by at least once a day, but maybe Beth didn't want to risk her getting caught in a storm. He didn't want that to happen either, but seeing her smiling face crest the hill sure would lighten his spirits.
Ander folded his hands behind his head and leaned back, staring straight up at the gnarled claws the oak's branches had become. There were still a few solitary leaves here and there, the last survivors of the season, but they wouldn't last much longer. He didn't really mind seeing the tree like this, though. It might look black and dead right now, but he knew it was just sleeping. Once spring came along, it would burst with life. New leaves would unfurl, shockingly green, and there would be birds and squirrels and maybe even an owl, if he was lucky. It was something he was really looking forward to. Looking at the branches above, this old tree sort of reminded him of Sarah, patiently enduring the cruel teeth of winter for so many years.
"Sarah..." he whispered to himself. It still felt strange, thinking of her as his mother when they've really only known each other for a couple of months, not even the full length of a season, and yet it also felt perfectly natural (certainly more natural than anything he's ever felt between himself and Shekka, but then again, that went for most of his kin).
He remembered what it was like, lying in that bed, his body and mind in completely conflicting states. He was broken and battered and covered in bandages, but he was also happier than he's ever been in his entire life. Just being able to feel pain at all was a reason for celebration.
He closed his eyes and he thought back to that day, not too long ago, when he was able to fulfil the promise he had made. There were others he still needed to keep, and others that had been broken, but this one stayed whole. It was the promise he had made to his birthmother as she cried in his arms, begging him not to go.
He promised he would come back, no matter what.
And he did.
He came back.
*
"Really, Bethany, I can feed myself, see?" Ander tried to wriggle his right arm free from its sling, something he should have known would only end badly for him.
"Absolutely not!" Bethany barked and gave his knee a good hard wallop with the back of her wooden spoon, one of the few body parts he had left not suffering some kind of medical malady.
"Ow!"
"Now be a good boy and open wide," she said, dipping the offending spoon inside the big, steaming bowl of meat soup in her lap.
"Bethany, this is silly!"
"Shush! Not another word! Now open up!"
This time Bethany didn't allow for any protests. She simply came at him with the spoon and he had no choice but to open his mouth (either that or let her poke him in the nose, which would've hurt like hell).
"There. Was that so hard?"
Ander chewed, swallowed (something that still hurt quite a bit, but he'd rather not let Beth know about that, otherwise he might end up spending the rest of his life in this confounded bed) and said, "It's delicious."
"Well, of course it is," Bethany said, scooping the perfect balance of meat and stock and bread onto his second spoonful. "I made it myself, so it can't be anything but. Now come on, you know the drill."
And so Ander spent the afternoon sitting in bed with his arms crossed over his chest, double-bound in slings, completely useless, being spoon-fed a bowl of soup by this mountain of a Fox who would occasionally wipe the dribbles from his mouth with the care and precision of a long-time nursemaid.
"There's someone at the door," Ander said through his last mouthful, and a fraction of a second later there came three rapid knocks by way of the kitchen.
"It's kind of creepy when you do that, you know," Bethany said, dropping the spoon back into the empty bowl with a hollow thunk. "Try not to do anything strenuous while I'm gone."
"I promise I won't go jumping off the roof."
"You so much as think about jumping off that bed and I'll get the restraints."
"Er..." Ander watched her gather up the cutlery and leave the room, wondering if she really did have a set of Wolf-sized restraints stashed away somewhere. Probably best not to find out, so the most strenuous act he dared to indulge in was swivelling his ears back and forth.
He heard Bethany's heavy footfalls going down the hallway and then the clatter of the bowl as she dropped it in with the rest of the wash-up. Then came the knock again, three quick raps of the knuckles, exactly the same as before.
"Coming!" Bethany said.
Ander sniffed, but he couldn't get the scent from here with all the windows closed and the wind blowing the wrong way.
The latch scraped against the door and suddenly a strange voice he's never heard before came floating to his ears, exuberantly jolly and chipper. "Bethany, my word, it's been ages! How are you doing, everything quite all right? How's the children?"
"Well hello to you, too, Michael. Though I'd hardly call it 'ages'."
Ander sat straight up and his ears froze at attention. Did she just say 'Michael'? As in Mateo's father? The one who paid the dowry for a wedding that Ander completely derailed? 'Michael' as in Sarah's husband? The one she was still courting while sneaking off on her secret rendezvous with Ander's father? That'Michael'?
After being Thrown to the Wolves Ander didn't think there would be much left in this world that could scare him, but evidently he was wrong.
"Hello, Bethany." Now that voice was much more reassuring. It belonged to Sarah, and if she was here, then surely he wouldn't have to worry about being shot in the face by an adult version of her hot-headed son. "I was wondering if it would be okay to see Andrew? Just for a little while? I know he must still be in a lot of pain, but I'd really like to talk to him."
"Hmm... I don't know," Bethany said. "He's in a very critical stage in his recovery right now, so -"
"I feel fine!" Ander shouted. "Let her in!"
"Don't shout like that or you'll rip your stiches!" Beth shouted back.
"Let her in or I'll rip them on purpose!"
"Oh, for the love of..." Ander could almost hear her rolling her eyes, but then: "Please come in, you two. Wind is starting to get frisky this time of year, isn't it?"
"Absolutely ghastly!" More footsteps, and then the door clicked shut. "I suppose Rufio is in his smithy somewhere?"
"Either smelting or smoking. Rufio! We have company!"
"What?" Rufio's voice, muffled by layers and layers of walls. And maybe a cloud of smoke, too.
"Company! Sarah and Michael! Come say hello!"
"Whaaat?"
Ander heard one of Beth's patented grunts of frustration, and then Michael again. "No need, Beth. I have to talk to him anyway, so I'll just leave my darling wife to you."
"Smithy connects through there." Ander imagined her pointing to the door that lead to the dark, yet somehow comforting confines of Rufio's smithy (the same door that nearly caved his head in the first time he tried to duck through it), and then more footsteps, retreating, growing softer. No noises from upstairs yet, and that could only mean Layla and Kiana were listening with the same intensity as he was.
"I really don't want to be a bother..." Ander had to really strain his ears to hear anything from Sarah. Not only did she talk softly, she also had a habit of talking downwards.
"Trust me, Sarah, Ander will be a much bigger bother if he doesn't get to see you soon. After all, you are his... oh dear, I really don't want to sound like one of those gossipy chatterboxes, but..."
"It's all right, Bethany. I know everyone knows," Sarah said. "But it's not nearly as bad as I thought it would be. It actually feels like... like there's one less thing to worry about. One less thing weighing me down. Isn't that peculiar?"
"Well, I suppose it depends on how you look at it."
"Yes, exactly!" Her voice sounded closer now, but Ander didn't hear any footsteps. That Fox made less noise than a sleeping mouse. "If I don't think it's a bad thing, then why should I let what others think about it influence the way I feel? That's just silly, isn't it?"
"Couldn't agree more. I'll take you to him right away. Just down this hall here..."
Bethany's big loud galumphing footsteps, coming closer, completely masking any sounds Sarah might be making.
The door opened, and Bethany stuck her head inside. "Ander? Did you rip your stitches on purpose yet?"
Ander shook his head. "No, not yet."
"Then you've got a visitor." She stood back, and there was Sarah, standing in the hallway, a perfect mirror image of how he had left her in her home on the last day of his old life. Except for one detail.
She was smiling now.
"I think I'll give you some time alone," Bethany said and hastened back to the kitchen, where urgent matters undoubtedly awaited her attention.
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