[Homecoming - Part Four]
The wind roared with primal might and whipped freshly fallen snow into a whistling cloak of biting fury. Â Sturdy trees shuttered in the face of a Coerthas blizzard that tested the strength of roots-massive anchors dug deep within frostbitten earth. Â The brief hours of winter daylight were cut shorter yet by the long enveloping shadows cast by the threatening peaks that loomed menacingly above the highland hinterlands which the storm relentlessly gripped. Â The chill of death descended upon the land on the heels of the retreating sun, smothering everything within its creeping expanse. Â
This was never the plan. Â There had been a plan hadn't there? Â Three days in the open country with a week's worth of provisions, just in case. Â Heavy fur-lined trappings, the bounty of gil spent with an unusual foresight by the happy-go-lucky girl. Â She peered through the narrow slits of snow goggles that protected her eyes during the brief hours of daylight, but banks of thick coniferous trees vanished into the gray-soupy cloud of white-out mere feet before her. Â Each step forward bore the weight of snow and frost accumulating in the furs that had so far preserved her against the season's even harsher cold.
This was never the plan. Â There had been a plan hadn't there? Â The sky had been clear on the night of her flight. Â A new moon was the key to success, and there had been no sign of approaching storm. Â But the expanse of Coerthas' forest could trap the most experienced woodsmen, let alone a woman who had never before set foot in them. Â A woman had known nothing but stone, cobble, brick, and shingle for a decade or more. Â Three days passed, and she seemed no closer to her goal. Â The roads were hostile, patrolled by those who would carry her back to the prison-city from which she had fled. Â There was no comfort, and no path but to move forward.
This was never the plan. Â There had been a plan hadn't there? Â It seemed like everything was coming and going in circles. Â Each step forward felt like the last. Â Her thoughts trapped in a cycle of a confused searching. Â How many nights had she spent in that makeshift shelter? Â She'd lost count. Â The storm arrived with such merciless haste that she had been caught unprepared. Â Only quick thinking had spared her - it had, hadn't it? Â But the food was gone. Â
This was never the plan. Â There had been a plan hadn't there? Â The weight was intense. Â Her muscles strained. Her flesh long ago had gone numb from the wet chill, but she pressed forward despite all. Â Just another step. Â Another step forward. Â She didn't think about where she was going - she had no idea. Â The forest closed in around her. Â Long-shadowed trees were enveloped in life-quenching darkness. Â
This was never the... hadn't she been over this already? Â She struggled to stand upright. Â Her feet paused momentarily. Â What is the plan? Â She wondered, confused. Â Tired. Â Exhausted. Â Her stomach was empty. Â Her blood grew cold. Â Senses that had been sharpened by the demands of necessity now grew weak and faint under its strain. Â She pulled the protective goggles from her eyes, searching hopelessly for a path in the endless expanse of snow-covered forest. Â A mittenned hand fished into a pouch, retrieving her magitek-beacon. Â With a click it hummed to life. Â A blue-white light shone in every direction, but still she could not find a way out or a path forward. Â If she even knew where forward were, her tracks rapidly filling in behind her. Â Â Â
There had been a plan hadn't there? Â She looked in confusion as she stared at the light emanating from the device in her hand. Â What was she looking for again? Â She felt the strange warmth in her palm. Â She smiled against a blast of wind, and wondered if this was what the end felt like.
It is said that one's life flashes before one's eyes as you are about to die. Â She stumbled forward, and fell face-down in the fresh snow. Â There was no flash, only the dull-numbness of the frozen air encroaching all-around. Â It seeped into every pore, cut through every garment. Â She thought of the fires of home. Â Of smiles and laughter. Â A sense of warmth overcame her, then of peace. Â The struggle was over. Â She felt her body no more.
She was as if floating. Â Gliding, sliding along. Â She could still hear the wind. Â It howled around her. Â How strange, she thought, that death could sound so much like life. Â But everything was so restful, carried aloft by these currents. Â
She felt a bump, and a thud. Â Then the gliding, the floating returned. Â The peace that had overwhelmed her had been interrupted. Â Eyes strained to open. Â Dark tree-shapes slid past her. Â The shapes grew broader, and darker once more, until she saw no more.
Warmth. Â Warmth. Â Warmth. Â This is better - Â warmth in the darkness. Â The cold was gone. Â Or maybe it had never been.
A rush of sensation forced her awake. Â A pressure against lips, a sense of touch as if the broken connection to her body were suddenly restored. Â A feeling of heat filled her mouth, her throat, and flowed deep within. Â
She exerted every once of strength to force her eyes open. Â Bare slits saw the reflection of fire covering whatever space she was in. Â A moment later she felt the sensation again, as she took in another mouth-full of hot broth. Â
It seemed as if an eternity passed as she tried to open her eyes. Â Slowly the scene emerged within the hut. Â A gray-haired Elezen carefully, and slowly offered her spoon-fulls of the life-giving soup.
Her throat was too hoarse to speak, and the old man never broke the silence. Â How long she was there - only he could know. Â At some point he ushered her back into the elements, and seated her on his hand-built wooden sledge. Â He looped a yoke over his shoulders and began the task of bodily pulling her along the still-fresh snow. Â The storm had passed. Â The sun returned. Â
At last he stopped, and helped her stand. Â He set her pack upon her shoulders, stocked and full. Â He placed her beacon within her palm, gripped her shoulders with a broad smile, and turned her around. Â He gestured toward an obvious path, and then turned back the way he had come, drawing the yoke upon his shoulders as he took up the weight of the now-empty sledge. Â She tried to call to him, but no voice escaped. Â At last, she started down the path. Â Within minutes the wood opened up before her, forming a broad snowy plain. Â But the fresh snow was receding. Â In the distance it became patchy, interspersed with bare ground. Â On the horizon stood the black, enormous trunks of the Black Shroud...
Slender fingers of a gloved, feminine hand pushed away the flakes of frost from a small slab of gleaming white granite that was embedded in the soil. Â She traced the outline of the inscription, which read simply, "Du Bois" (of the woods). Â As she gazed at the memorial she imagined her own name upon it, "Aya Tharintreu". Â As it would have been, but for the man memorialized. Â
With a careful, slow motion she lowered a token of her affection onto the small slab. Â A single White Rose, carefully dried to preserve against the ravages of frost. Â She knelt before the nondescript grave, thoughts and memories washing over her. Tears flowed free--sadness mellowed by a sense of overwhelming gratitude.