Homecoming (2)

By the time evening came, Ein and Alend had left the woods well behind and were on the road, footsore and weary but anticipative. The fields stretched on in an endless swathe of white, dotted with the hardiest of weeds here and there. When the wind blew, snowflakes washed away like veils of dust across the plains.

Ein recognized a broken trunk and a crop of evergreens: the start of Evaine's farm. He quickened his pace.

The Tamelyn homestead took up a good portion of the roadside, bounded by a rickety old fence that any man could step over. Fields of snow-beans gave way to frosted radishes, leeks, turnips and other winter vegetables. Scarecrows stood guard, weathered and worn by wind and time. It was the biggest farm in Felhaven, feeding half the village's population.

"It's a bit quiet, isn't it?" Alend asked.

Ein nodded. The Tamelyn family didn't just grow crops, they had a flock of sheep too, along with a lone wolfhound who kept the livestock herded. The hound was usually the first to greet them, loping alongside the fence from several hundred yards away as soon as it caught their scent, sometimes even farther if the wind was blowing in the right direction.

The hound was about as old as Evaine herself, and she'd named it Einar—referencing Ein, of course. Evaine was odd like that.

"Maybe they're having dinner," Ein shrugged. "It's about that time, after all."

The last vestiges of daylight sunk from behind the clouds.

"Perhaps." Alend wasn't convinced. Neither was Ein, if he was to be honest with himself. The old hound always met them whether or not it was meal-time.

They slogged further along the farm until they reached the sheep pen. The gate was open, ripped off its hinges.

Ein stared at the fractured wood for a moment, trying to comprehend what had happened. It was splintered and sheared across the center, lying in a dreary heap across the road like a bundle of driftwood.

Alend took one look and then stepped into the paddock.

Soon after, they found the livestock—an entire flock of sheep slaughtered and left in bits and pieces on the ground, fleece soaked in the scarlet of blood and guts, bodies scattered across all corners of the pen. Their eyes stared lifelessly, beads of dull black locked in terror.

Ein could almost see them fleeing in their final moments, bleating with frenzy as their brethren were slashed to pieces around them. The thick smell of blood, entrails, and scat pierced his nose.

"It's the same," Alend said. He retained his composure, studying a series of tracks on the ground. "Exactly the same."

"The wolves," Ein realized. "The same thing killed these sheep as those wolves."

His father nodded. The tracks on the yellowed grass matched the ones in his memory—five-toed, clawed, bipedal. They littered the inside of the pen and around the edge of the fence, near the splintered gate.

Ein wandered amongst the corpses, checking each one in the hopes that at least one of them had survived. Beneath two sheep, Ein uncovered the lifeless body of Einar the hound; he must've spent his last moments trying to protect its charges from the unknown assailant. Einar's body was frozen stiff, a single clean slash opening up its belly.

"Einar…"

The hound would never bark again or wag its tail, never snap at his ankles when he came to visit. Tears pricked behind Ein's eyes. Then, with a sudden realization, Ein glanced towards the house.

"Evaine," he cried out, everything else forgotten.

"Hang on," Alend said quietly. He grabbed the back of Ein's pack and held him in place. "Don't go charging in right away."

Ein almost snapped at his father, but he understood and nodded. They armed themselves, gearing their hunting knives. Then, as the last corner of the paddock sunk into the darkness, they moved towards the house.

It was similar to most of the other houses in Felhaven, single-storeyed with wooden walls and a straw-thatched roof. But there were no wisps of smoke coming from the chimney, nor sounds of chatter or dishes being washed, and the windows lacked the homely glow of a hearth-fire. Alend led the way around the side and to the front door. Ein followed with bated breath, hoping that his childhood friend and her family were safe.

There were no marks on the walls, no scratches or splintering, and no shattered windows. However, the front door had been beaten inwards, the top half cracked, a great gash running along its length. Alend prodded it with his foot, then bent down and pulled it off its hinges with a low grunt. It made a loud creaking sound as it came free.

"Evaine!" Alend called out in a low voice. "Valeesha! Nath!"

His voice echoed against the empty walls.

"Wyd almighty," Ein swore. Unable to wait any longer, he pushed past his father and ran into the homestead, kicking down doors, calling at the top of his lungs. His eyes frantically darted across the rooms, searching. "Evaine!" he cried. "Evaine, are you there?"

The inside of the house was a disaster: plates shattered and strewn across the kitchen, shelves upturned with books and tableware laid across the floor, and furniture smashed to pieces. A large crack ran through the fireplace, rammed in by something. It was like a wild beast had rampaged through the house, leaving nothing untouched.

A pool of dried blood lingered on the dining room floor, and a bloodstain on the wall beside it.

Ein couldn't remember how long he stood there for after he'd sifted through all the rooms, but Alend finally brought him to his senses with a firm tap on the shoulder. While he'd been frozen in silent panic, his father had been carefully examining the door and the paddock for clues. Apparently he'd found nothing, and now that the initial shock had worn down, Ein could feel his exhaustion in his eyes.

"Let's keep moving," Alend said. "Maybe they're at the village."

Ein swallowed the lump in his throat. "They'll be there," he nodded. "They'll be there." He repeated the phrase to himself, as if saying it would make it come true.

Gods, what the hell is going on?

Whatever had killed those wolves in the forest had reached Felhaven. Ein and his father weren't safe, not even in the Sleeping Twins.

They left the farm, heading out along the road in complete darkness. Resting was not an option, not anymore. Ein never loosed his grip on the knife strapped to his waist. Not even when the farm was far behind them, as broken and lonely as they had first found it.