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Malt the Manslayer
50 - Might as Well Make Something of It

50 - Might as Well Make Something of It

The pale dawn sun hung just above the horizon, casting long shadows amongst the willows and making the scars covering Mari’s front yard easily visible.

It was quite a lively morning. The woodland echoed with the sounds of children’s laughter, and things weren’t any less festive back in the cottage. Through the open windows, Malt could see the ma’am packing various belongings into little wooden crates within, likely originally meant for produce, with startling efficiency. Mari and Nadi helped where they could, and chatted where they couldn’t; speaking to each other with a hushed tone he could only assume was reserved for gossip-talk.

He himself had been left with loading the crates into the rickety wagon borrowed from a neighbor, hoisting a seemingly endless supply of blankets and fabrics onto the creaking carriage.

Upon placing down a particularly hefty crate, one of many to come, a sigh of relief escaped his lips, turning into mist the moment it touched the near-frigid air outside. He took a moment to wipe the sweat off his brow, savouring the sensation of biting cold upon his cheek.

These moments were pure bliss.

Or maybe he was just being overly sentimental, which would make sense considering the circumstances.

A lump of anxiety gnawed away at the back of his mind. The idea that times like these could be drawing to an end made it difficult to swallow, his breath quickening the longer his mind lingered on the subject.

He knew very well that the only thing he could do, was to do his best; yet these thoughts still remained. Thus, the weirdly dramatic mindset he found himself in.

A fall flower looks so much more beautiful once you realize it’ll be gone by winter, after all.

A sizable ruckus broke him out of this loop of negativity.

From the forest, a chorus of laughter and quick footsteps approached, eventually manifesting in the form the younger siblings, who frolicked about with enviable glee. They had been asked to ‘help’ by collecting twigs and pretty looking pebbles, and they were now bringing their work to the mangled landscape of the front yard.

As they did so, Misha emerged not too far behind. She trotted along and stopped just beside Malt, watching the younger ones attentively.

They needn’t even glance at one another to express their acknowledgement. The relationship between them started off on a weird note, and the dynamic that developed between them was no less strange. Whereas one might label her as uninterested, or even unempathetic, a couple months living with her had taught Malt that she was in fact very attentive to what occurred around her.

She responded often and even thoughtfully. You just needed to know where to look.

He turned his head slightly toward her, eyes still following the three siblings as they frolicked about.

“Need a little help?”

She shook her head, waving her hand in front of her dismissively. Instead, she turned off to a different direction and tugged twice on the hem of his shirt. He followed her lead, trying to discern what it was she was trying to draw his attention to, and found it almost immediately.

Niko stood axe in hand, splitting firewood with such force that his internal struggle could be perceived even without having to see his face.

Misha’s expression had worsened noticeably. She was obviously worried, and for good reason

Malt patted her shoulder affirmingly, a sympathetic chuckle leaving his nose.

“Don’t worry too much about it.”

He glanced back at the wagon to make sure no new crates had mysteriously made their way to him.

“I’ll have a word with him, pretty much done here anyway.”

She closed her eyes and bowed slightly, a common expression thanks that the townsfolk liked to use.

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As he made his way toward Niko, the look on his face proved his previous observation. Whereas Misha was expressive in order to compensate for her lack of conversation, Niko was just plain easy to read. He was the kind of person to crack a guilty smile on the rare occasion he told a lie.

Malt approached, letting himself down on a stump adjacent from Niko. He was the first to initiate.

“Yo.”

He looked up at Malt in acknowledgement, before returning his eyes and concentration to the wood splitting.

“Hey.”

A loud thump echoed through the forest as the crude looking axe split another log in two.

Malt picked a piece of wood up off the ground, examining it as if it was the most interesting carving the world. His mind raced for ways to start the conversation, which was made only worse by the fact that the other party was clearly not keen to reciprocate. After a bit of meandering, he eventually dropped the piece to the ground.

“Alright fuck it, you and I both know where this convo is going, so let’s just get to the juicy bits.” He rested both elbows on his knees, looking up at the woodcutter.

Another thump, and two messily quartered logs fell unceremoniously to the ground. This time, the axe stood stuck, its weighty head embedded within the scarred splitting trunk.

This time Niko’s hands lingered, gripping onto the axe’s bleached handle with white knuckles. Eventually he let go, an exasperated sigh escaping his lips as he fell into a sitting position upon the ground.

“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, man.”

Malt twirled his hand about his wrist, urging him to continue. “Care to elaborate?”

The more troubled of the two leaned backward, using both hands to support himself.

“After the...incident, I just kind of fucked off into the forest. Didn’t try to talk to Nadi, or even make sure Kirk and all were safe. Just went off and told myself I was ‘training’. I knew it was dumb even at the time, but…”

He scratched his head in frustration, messing his already ruffled hair. “I just dunno man.”

Malt kept his expression unempathetic.

“Give me the long story short, you’re being way too vague.”

He raised one eyebrow, obviously a little irked by the guy’s seeming lack of empathy to his struggles. He quickly brushed aside these thoughts, likely realizing with some humility that this whole situation had more or less sprung from his actions in the first place.

“Basically, I’ve spent the last few days making stupid decisions and thinking...well, moping about them.”

“That’s it?”

Niko looked at him incredulously, “...whad’ya mean ‘that’s it’?”

Malt twirled his wrists around, mostly because there was nothing else he could do with them.

“I’m not gonna pretend that I understand your...uh, parental status…?” He cleared his throat abruptly. “Well anyway, that I’m trying to say is that you’re obviously already pulling your own weight and more. Can’t you be a little easier on yourself?”

Niko shook his head, repeatedly brushing his hair back with his calloused fingers.

“Yeah, but I’m the eldest son. I’ve got a duty, y’know? Obligations.”

“You’re obligated to do fuck all, dude.”

He continued before Niko had a chance to interject. “At the end of the day, you and I are still kids, y’know what I mean? No better time to be stupid than now.”

He looked downward, playing with the idea in his head.

“I just think it’s...unbecoming. If I keep acting like a kid, when will I ever stop being one?”

“Bro, I’m not a philosopher. What I’m thinking is that you’re going to do stupid shit regardless, and you might as well make something positive out of it.”

“...I suppose you’re right.”

Malt glanced at him sneakily.

“That being said, if something were to happen to them, you’d be there to protect them this time, no?”

He reared his head up in a flare of emotion.

“Of course I would!”

A chuckle escaped Malt’s nose.

“Then I don’t see a problem.”

He stood up and grasped the axe near it’s head, planting a foot on the stump and wrenching it out with a dull thud.

He looked at Niko, who was still a little affected on the ground, and gestured to the log with his head.

“Come on then. Wood’s not gonna split itself amirite?”

The confused expression in his face was quickly washed away with a hearty smile. A certain vitality seemed to have returned to him.

He pushed himself off the dirt and grabbed a log, placing it upon the stump.

Malt reared the axe overhead, and after a moment of anticipation, split the log into two clean halves.