Emela emerges from the forest into the open, charred field where the village once stood. Humanoid shapes scurry about, some more familiar to her than others, all of them moving slowly, yet with purpose. Shellshocked as they may be, the people of the land are a hardy bunch, and with survival as uncertain as it is, the grief of the tragedy that befell them has to be put off for at least a while. Or at least until some decent booze can be made again.
The smiling girl steadily moves forward, mud and ash sticking to her boots as she trudges once again through the remains of her past life. Although she washed herself and her clothing in the creek earlier, there is only so much one can do to old clothing such as hers. The ash and mud mingle with old stains, and soon she looks roughly the same as the other survivors currently scurrying around, digging in the ash. The only thing differentiating them from her is the constant smile on her face she does not seem to be able to drop ever since she buried her parents.
Not that she wants it to drop. The smile is an unconcious reflex, triggered by her current constant emotional state of happiness. Back then, she wished nothing more than to never feel this overwhelming grief and sadness again, and the being nestling inside her soul complied, sucking out all that was undesirable. What it got out of this uneven trade, she does not know, and currently, she does not care aswell. All she wants is to stay happy and to spread that happiness to everyone she cares about. But first she has to build a solid foundation for her new life, something that she feels she has to do.
Ignoring the rather few remaining villagers, she moves to the remains of her home. The others also don't pay her any attention, too busy themselves with picking through the ashes and saving a few scarce trinkets and mementos that may or may not have survived the fire, or looking for some old metal tools that might be easy to repair and use.
Like the rest of them, she sticks her hand in a pile of ash, with this specific pile being the small storage shed where her father used to store a few low-quality tools made of wrought iron. While most things tend to break under intense heat, even rather bad iron still requires deliberate application of both high temperature and forces to be shaped differently, and handles can easily be replaced.
A small glint of sunlight being reflected in something inside this mountain of ash catches her attention, and rather quickly she digs out an old hatchet head. It's blade is rather dull, but blades can be sharpened easily. She also knows how, at least roughly, although where she learned this, she's not sure. Maybe she somehow always knew? Or maybe it's something she figured out by herself just now?
"Emela, is that you?", a sudden shout drags her out of her thoughts, a very familiar voice reaching her. She turns around to see a loving gaze emanating from a middle aged individual, the kind of gaze someone has when they see a long lost family member again, full of love and compassion, only instead of being long lost, the last time she saw him was just a couple of days ago. "I thought you were dead?"
"Uncle Loro!", exclaimed the girl, her smile sprouting ever bigger. "Good to see you again! How are you, how's your wife?" She jumps towards her uncle, wrapping her arms around his rotund waist, careful to not hurt him with the tool head firmly grasped in her hands. Blunt as it may be, it is still a rather dangerous piece of metal. After a few seconds of heartfelt embrace, they part again, and a certain kind of curiosity enters her, as if not quite her own, and she asks "How many have survived?"
Her uncle's gaze immediately darkens. He sees that smile on her face, immediately assuming that the girl in front of him hopes for some good news, that at least the ones she cares about survived. But he just can't be dishonest with his niece. Even in a situation as emotionally heavy as this, he knows that false hope would just make things harder in the long run. "I'm sorry", he starts, voice and heart filled with heavy sorrow. "Only about two dozen survived, and your parents are not among them."
Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.
The girl in front of him cocks her head sideways, never dropping her smile. "So about a tenth? That's actually good news!" Loro feels like something is wrong with this girl's demeanor, but he can't quite put his finger on it. Is the joy of seeing her favourite (and only) uncle alive big enough to alleviate the loss of her parents? Nevertheless, she continues. "And I know about my parents. I buried them myself yesterday. The shovel is still in good condition."
Loro is speechless. Here, this girl talks so nonchalantly about something serious, while most other villagers are trying to get their minds off of things, him included? Or maybe she is just stronger than he thought? Maybe she never was the innocent, helpless girl he always saw in her, or she just tries to hide her grief to not make him worry? What should he do now? "What do you want to do now?", he ends up asking her. She is almost an adult, after all, and while he would like to take her in, he would not fault her for trying her luck out in the world. Travellers joining a village because theirs was plundered by bandits is not an uncommon tale, and a few of the survivors are already planning to band together to travel to the nearest village, in hopes that it still exists.
"Oh, I'm planning to fix up that old building down the old cobble way", she says joyfully, still with a smile on her face. "I'm just gathering a few tools to help us get started. Fix up the old place, you know."
"Us?", Loro asks incredulously. Are there even more survivors? Someone they know? "Who is us, and how many? And why that place? Why not come back here, rebuild with everyone else, or move to another village?" While he welcomes the idea of his last remaining family living close by, the idea of them living in some old ruin in the woods fills him with a not insignificant amount of worry.
"Right now just me, Sana and some other dude named Oltes. It's actually quite nice there, feels way safer than out here. You want to come aswell?" Elena never drops her cheerful attitude or her smile. A genuine offer, one that Loro deeply considers.
"I would love to, but...", He starts, thinking it over. He much rather have them come back to the village, and 'Oltes' is a name he never heard before, which is weird considering that he at least had some interaction with every other villager. He would like to accompany his niece, at least to make sure she's safe, but there is a huge thing occupying his mind right now. His wife wouldn't agree with living away from the village. His wife needs to stay here. His wife NEEDS HIM! Maybe in a few months, when things have calmed down, he could pay Emela a visit, see how they're doing? And it's not like that place is too far away, she can come over anytime she wants, so should be fine, right?
Family is important, but he has an obligation as a husband to care about his wife, and therefore that has priority. He continues his answer. "But I can't go. I would love it if you could stay here. At least you should know that you are always welcome here, but promise me that you take care of yourself. Now let me help you find some tools, I know my brother always kept some around."
Just a few hours later Emela is on her way back to the old building, with a bunch of various tools and tool heads wrapped in a bundle she carries over her shoulder. Her uncle was a huge help, as he knew about an old trapdoor under the remains of the shed where her father always kept some emergency supplies. By now he should be back to his wife, Emela contemplates while putting one foot steadily in front of the other, with her uncle getting a mouthful for staying away from his wife for that long. To Emela she always appeared to be the needy type, always worrying about what her husband when they were not together. She asked her uncle about it once, and he said that it's how they show love, but for some reason she doesn't quite believe that.
The image of the church entering her field of vision drags her out of her memories, and something immediately seems amiss: a fresh puddle of blood on the ground, a new body to the side, next to where the first, already decomposing body is. She is glad she's got her shovel with her, so she can properly get rid of them now, before they stink up the place. There is no worry in her mind, she knows that her three companions are safe.
Wait. Three? There's her, Oltes, Sana, and... another? Not the God that saved her, but someone else, currently lying fast asleep in the church. She enters the church, a little excited about the prospect of meeting someone new, someone who can help out with rebuilding this place, of making a home out of this. "Hey Oltes", she shouts into the entryway, "I'm back!"