The ride back to the castle was unexpectedly calm, and devoid of danger.

Even still, I was wracked with anxiety for the entirety of the time I was on horseback at the possibility of any unseen potential threat, made worse when the sun had set, and darkness descended upon the world.

The crumpling of snow became the sound of tribesmen sneaking up on me, the noise of tree branches dancing in the wind was the unsheathing of swords, the faint glow of the moonlight as it reflected off of what looked to be snow, but was in reality the metal plate of my enemy.

Partly taking off my blood drenched fur, I intentionally exposed myself to the cold, so as to make sure I wouldn’t accidentally fall asleep on the horse.

The horse abruptly bucking for any number of reasons would likely send me careening into the powder snow, and while it admittedly looked quite soft, the fall would still be unpleasant, and likely result in my being injured.

So I stayed awake for the night, jolting in fright at each and every little thing that wasn’t and was out of place in the forest.

By the time I finally reached definite safety, the twin moons were still up, daylight was six hours away, and the castle was completely silent, save for the panicked footsteps of the guards on the wall.

“Halt, what news do you bring?” A shaky voice questioned.

Groggily looking up, the bright moonlight blinded me.

“Captain’s dead, the lieutenants dead, most of the company, if not the regiment, is dead.”

The guardsmen immediately opened the gate to the courtyard.

I rode into the castle, and as I began to get off of the white horse, the head guard, a bearded redhead, quickly descended from the wall, and questioned me, “What do you mean, and why are you riding the lieutenant’s horse?”

“Captain’s dead, Lieutenant's dead, regiments been slaughtered,” I plainly repeated, hazily looking up into the man’s eyes.

My groin severely ached from my ignorance on how to properly ride a horse, and I instinctively knew I wouldn’t be able to walk properly for the better part of a week, though I would take that over dying any day.

The head soldier and two other men formed a cluster, and began to whisper in a hushed tone, every so often looking at me with uncertainty.

Initially waiting to see what decision they would make, I began to limp away to the well in the courtyard, too tired to care. I completely emptied my mind, being thoroughly exhausted and unwilling to think further.

Suddenly feeling my wrist being grabbed, I turned back to see a panicked, forehead slick from sweat, hair greasy from not being washed, scraggly young man in unmaintained, dirty plate.

“Where the fuck are you going?” The man panickedly questioned.

Not even bothering to answer, I visibly recoiled in disgust, and I annoyedly tugged my hand away from the unwashed man's grasp, before continuing on my way.

“HEY” the man agitatedly yelled, “I’m talking to you.”

This time putting a hand on my shoulder, the guard attempted to fully turn me around to face him, but out of reflex, or annoyance, I couldn’t discern which, and despite my fingers long having gone numb, I punched him in the chin with as much force as I could generate with my tired body, knocking him down to the ground.

Out of a mix of pain, but mostly shock, the man stayed on the ground, and blankly watched as I continued limping my way forward.

Making my way to the courtyard well, I quickly lowered, and refilled the bucket, before looking at my reflection on the water’s undisturbed surface.

Under the moons' light, the face of a corpse stared back.

From my pale, slightly anemic skin covered with splotches of dried blood, to my hazy, unfocused pitch black eyes, to the way my lips were puffed and so chapped the skin was beginning to tear, and bleed, if I were to close my eyes, and be placed next to ten recently deceased boys’ corpses, I would be completely and utterly indistinguishable from the actual dead.

My hair, so soaked in blood it had a slight reddish tinge, stuck to my forehead, though it fortunately hadn’t frozen in the frigid winter air.

If it had, I'd have likely contracted hypothermia, if not have had the flesh on my head necrotize.

Throat dry from the night’s ride, I drank from the bucket to my heart’s content, until I felt as if my stomach had transformed into a ball of ice, and my belly had uncomfortably swollen.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Thirst satiated, I slowly dunked my head into the ice cold bucket, dying the water burgundy red, washing the blood, guts, and flesh out from my hair.

Despite drinking my fill, I still felt empty inside, and attributing the feeling to hunger, I limped into the castle.

Stumbling into the kitchen, I was met with the scent of fresh baked goods.

“Hey!” The cook happily greeted, before noticing the state I was in, “What happened?” she worriedly asked.

Not even answering her question, I pounced on a piping hot loaf of algae bread, and tore into it, even ignoring the resulting burning sensation from my fingers, tongue, and throat.

Swallowing the last of the brad, I sank down to the stone brick floor, the warmth of the roaring fire too alluring to resist.

No longer feeling thirst or hunger, all that remained in my brain was the desire for sleep, as I completely ignored my still wearing sweat and blood-drenched clothes and armor. But despite feeling an intense desire to rest, I refused to give in, knowing that with the complete destruction of the regiment, my future was thus uncertain, and I needed to make a plan for the future.

Even so, despite swearing to myself that I wouldn’t fall asleep, I couldn’t fight the inevitable, as my eyelids began to quiver, eventually closing. I forced them open, attempting to stay awake, only for them to close once again.

Eventually recognizing that I couldn’t continue this way, I told himself that I would rest my eyes for just a moment.

I knew that what I said to myself was a lie; that inevitably, I would end up falling asleep, but my exhaustion had reached a precipice, and I could no longer continue, so I drank the sweet nectar of deceit, and gradually moved closer and closer to the slumber I so dearly desired.

Sighing in exasperation, the cook walked behind me, and lifted me up from my armpits, supporting me so that I wouldn’t fall and hit my head on the hard floor.

“Up you go,” she whispered, “You’ll catch cold like this.”

In a semi-unconscious, conscious state, I felt myelf being dragged to a chair in front of a pot hanging over a roaring fire, and as feeling slowly returned to my extremities, the cook began to fill the pot with water from the courtyard well.

I hazily wondered if she was going to cook me, as the cook inspected the temperature of the water in the pot,

A thought came over me; that if I was cooked in a soup, with vegetables, and pasta, a relatively nutritious meal would be created.

Soon, I heard the water in the pot reach a rolling boil, as steam visibly emanated from the surface.

Though, I had no meat on my bones to speak of.

At the mental image of the cook miserly scraping the littlest bits of flesh from his bones into a bucket, while angrily grumbling about how little yield she was getting, I burst into delirious laughter, nearly toppling over forward into the fire, if not for the chef diving at me, and pushing me back into the chair.

Short of breath from the sudden exertion after the hard work of filling the pot with a dozen hand transported buckets of water, “Mad bastard, laughing in the state you’re in,” she reprimanded in between labored breaths, “Dying like that after everything would be pathetic,” to which I burst into a fit of laughter once again at the absurdity of the thought.

After deciding that the water was a satisfactory temperature, “Hands up,” she directed, taking off all of my clothes. Despite being in the nude, and completely exposing myself before her, I felt no shame, my current state not even registering in my mind.

Taking a sponge and bar of lye soap she acquired from goddess knows where, the cook slowly wiped me clean, wiping off the dried blood and sweat that had caked onto my malnourished body, in the process exposing my scar riddled body..

Despite the desperation with which I fought in the last battle, miraculously, I only sustained minor wounds here and there on my body, with no new major injuries to speak of.

After wiping my body with hot water and soap, the cook began to clean my hair.

“Eyes closed,” the cook chided, as my eyes twitched in discomfort for the 10th time from the lye entering my eyes.

Closing my eyes, memories of my home in the South once again flashed through my mind.

Where my mother, brothers and sisters were.

I wondered how they were doing, if first brother finally mustered the courage to propose to the tailor’s daughter, if third sister finally gave in to our mother's scolding, and stopped hiding in the forest behind our house whenever she wanted to avoid etiquette lessons.

Fifth sister needed me to tell a bedtime story, or sing a song in order for her to sleep at night, and sixth brother was still a babe when I left, so weak and vulnerable, and ignorant to the dangers of the world.

Most of all, I worried about mother.

I worried whether she was taking care of herself or not. Previously, what started out as one of third sister’s typical escapes into the woods quickly resulted in her not coming home for three days.

She had fallen into a pit, partially snapping her leg, but she had gotten what she wanted, getting a month off from lessons. But, I remembered in the days she was gone, mother was so overcome with worry, and stress, she had absentmindedly scalded her hand with boiling water. After that, each and every time I saw the burn scar that marred the skin on her hand, I was overcome with fear at making her worry.

Tears started to flow down my cheeks, but this time, my eyes were tightly shut.

Suddenly, the last of the hot water in the pot was dumped over my head, washing the last of the soap out.

Throwing a set of clean clothes at me, the cook directed me to wear it, before turning around.

Wearing freshly washed wool clothes, I stumbled down the empty castle halls supported by the cook, before finding myself in front of one of the laborers’ sleeping quarters.

With its walls painted completely black, and no windows, the room felt incredibly cramped, made worse by the 8 beds taking up the majority of the floorspace.

Though, the room did have proper insulation, as the air inside felt warm.

Making the bed before I got in, the cook turned around to leave, when I suddenly grabbed her hand.

And with tears in my hazy, unfocused eyes, throat hoarse from exhaustion, and no longer lucid,

“Please,” I begged, voice beginning to crack, “I don’t want to fight anymore.”

The cook bit her bottom lip, eyes briefly indecisive, and looked away, before she directly met my gaze, seemingly having come to a decision in the short time she was in thought.

“Don’t worry,” she reassured with a smile, but I had already fallen asleep.