ARC 6-Winter War-43
The child is given the enviable position of Alana’s lap as she coaxes them into spilling their story. The telling is a disjointed barrage of detail but I manage to piece together the plot.
Two neighboring villages get along extremely well. Neither have an abundance of resources but they compensate for each other’s deficiencies. One village has good fields and herds beasts. They have food aplenty, but few craftsmen and other resources.
The second village is a mining village. The mine provides plenty of iron and there are many craftsmen who can work it. Selling ore and tools makes them plenty of money, which they use to buy food from their neighbors.
Tragedy strikes. The first village that normally has an abundance of food has a poor harvest, due to a wave of monsters destroying their fields. They don’t have any excess to trade if they want to keep their people fed through the long winter, so they reject their neighbors’ attempts to buy food.
While their decision is understandable, village two still needs to eat. It is particularly terrible timing as, due to the campaign, I’m sure food prices in the north must be sky high, if there’s anything to buy at all. Village two is relying on their usual trade with village one. They aren’t going to be understanding about unfortunate happenstance when they’re facing starvation.
As these things do, it turns to violence. Village two, having an abundance of iron, has far more weapons. They marched into village one and took the food they needed at sword point but did not harm anyone aside from the only man who tried to stop them.
Hypocritical benevolence. After all, without food, the people in village one will die anyway. If anything, the thieves sentenced them to a far more pitiful fate. One the victims aren’t going to take lying down.
The men from village one decided to raid village two, armed with farming tools and desperation. Included in that group is Wenry’s, the girl sobbing into Alana’s chest, father. Apparently, she left in the middle of the night to chase after him and bring him home. Brave girl but terrible navigator. She admits to being lost. It’s a good thing we found her. I don’t think she could have made it another night.
The story concludes with the expected tears, Anna cradling the little girl bawling her eyes out. I stand a little to the side, planning. I’ve brought a lot of supplies but not enough to feed a village full of people through the winter. Perhaps, with Kierra’s and Geneva’s help, we can hunt and dry enough meat. It’ll cost us nothing but a few days, assuming there’s enough prey to go around.
There’s also the much quicker bloody solution but I only consider it long enough to acknowledge it. I may not be the most empathetic person but I can’t murder a village of innocent people who took drastic action to save their lives and the lives of their families. Physically, it’d be disturbingly easy, but mentally, it’s an impossible hurdle. I imagine it’s the same for Alana. I don’t dare bring it up to her.
Suppose I should send Rolly back to tell the others that we’ll be deviating from the schedule a bit. Saints, at their speed, we’ll probably catch up to the acolytes before we reach Victory. In the meantime, Alana can take Wenry back to her village and I’ll track down the men before they start a bloodbath.
“Alana—"
“Lou—"
We stop, having both started speaking at the same time. I wave for her to go ahead of me but she frowns, shaking her head. After a brief staring contest, I continue. “I was going to suggest you take your new friend home while I track down her father and stop the menfolk from hurting themselves.”
Her frown deepens. She slowly rises to her feet, keeping hold of Wenry. “Lou, what do you want to do?”
My brows furrow as I stare into her stern eyes. “What do I want to do? Isn’t that obvious? I’m going to chase down the brat’s father and stop them from hurting themselves or anyone else. As for the food…” I trail off as I notice her expression isn’t getting better. “Why are you giving me that look?”
Gently, she sets Wenry down. “I need to talk to my friend for a little while.” She waits until the little girl nods before leading me away with a hand on my shoulder.
“Don’t worry. I know there’s no way you can leave this alone. It won’t take too long and we can still make it to Victory by—"
“Lou, stop.” A hand on my stomach brings me to a stop. The future saint’s expression is conflicted. “This…isn’t something we should get involved in.”
I stare at her, stunned. “What do…you want to just ignore them?”
“No. I want to take Wenry home and sort something out for the village. Give them some supplies, maybe drop in on their governing lord, who should be the one handling the problem. But as for the men…they’ve made their choice.”
I’m not sure I believe what I’m hearing. “You want them to slaughter each other?”
“I don’t want them to kill each other, no, but they’re the ones who decided to handle the situation through violence. The men who took the food by force had to know they risked retaliation and the attackers know they are putting their lives on the lines. Despite that, this is what they chose. Let them reap what they sow.”
I call Alana a future saint because, in my eyes, she is kind and honest, two traits that have been a rarity in my life. However, as we grow closer, it becomes increasingly clear to me that she is not a hero, nor does she strive to be one.
Her kindness does not extend to all and is tempered by the ruthlessness of someone who has seen too many bad things. I know she isn’t a bleeding heart who will be moved by every tragedy and she warned Mr. Talented about reckless intervention.
Still, this is a bit unexpected. Even I am moved having a dirty, injured child pleading to save her father. Despite our turned backs, I know she’s watching us with subdued hope, perhaps praying to the saints for a miracle.
I know my future wife isn’t completely unaffected. She may not be naive enough to think she can save everyone but I have no doubt that she could if she would. What is bothering me is that we can help these people. The minimum amount, stopping the men and leaving them some supplies, wouldn’t even take that much effort.
“Do you…really want to do nothing?”
Her lips twist in a scowl. “I thought you would be the last person to look down on my stance.”
It’s my turn to be displeased, but I contain my reaction to a small frown. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“You were hesitant to approach Wenry, weren’t you? You didn’t want to get involved.”
“I didn’t. I wanted to walk away while I still could. Because I could only walk away when I didn’t know.” I may imagine there’s a tragic story behind the injured child crouching beside a creek but as long as I don’t know, I can pretend it’s something innocuous, like a stroll gone wrong. Better, I can imagine it’s a story with a happy ending.
Had I walked away without meeting her, I could have told myself that Wenry would make her way home and forget all about her nasty scare in the woods within the comforting arms of her mother.
If I walk away now, I know I will be leaving several people to die. Wenry won’t be returning to a comforting mother but a grieving widow if her father doesn’t make it back from this supposed raid on the neighboring village.
And if he should? How changed will he be after bludgeoning their previous neighbors with a plow? Could they really be happy? What will happen to them when the governing lord makes inquiries about the mess? It would be a sick twist of fate if the men who killed to save their families were put to death by the law.
To let that happen when it would take a few days effort to stop it…it’s a bit distasteful.
“What’s going on, sweetie?” I ask, trying to meet her eyes as she averts her gaze. “I would have thought you’d already be charging off by now. Don’t you think it’s a bit weird that I’m the one arguing to take action?”
“…are you disappointed?”
“What? Of course not!” My hands flex but I stop myself from reaching out to her. Then I remember that I don’t have to restrain those urges anymore and pull her into a hug. “I want to make sure that you’re not doing this for some ridiculous reason like you’re worried about bothering me.”
Alana sighs deeply as she leans against my chest. “No. It’s…I’ve been thinking about home. If this was Victory, if they decided to settle things through martial means, they’d be left to it. The orders would sweep in afterwards to ensure no petty vengeances extended the conflict and that the innocents were taken care of, but the men would be left to it.”
“This isn’t Victory. You don’t have to do things the way they would. What do you want to do?”
She’s silent for several moments. I let her think, a hand idly rising to massage her waist. It slowly migrates to her backside, as my touches become more intentional. With a soft scoff, Alana steps out of my arms before I can go much farther, but she’s smiling. “Not the time. Come on, grab Wenry. We need to move if we’re going to catch up to the men before the fighting starts.”
“Your first debut!”
We both jump as Rolly appears over us, her shout accompanied by trilling music. The ball of light, the form she usually takes around strangers, bobs excitedly back and forth. “Oh, it’s too soon for a performance but the stage waits for no one! Remember your lessons. Half the battle is appearance.”
Alana smiles thinly. “For this, you may be right.”
ARC 6-Winter War-43
The child is given the enviable position of Alana’s lap as she coaxes them into spilling their story. The telling is a disjointed barrage of detail but I manage to piece together the plot.
Two neighboring villages get along extremely well. Neither have an abundance of resources but they compensate for each other’s deficiencies. One village has good fields and herds beasts. They have food aplenty, but few craftsmen and other resources.
The second village is a mining village. The mine provides plenty of iron and there are many craftsmen who can work it. Selling ore and tools makes them plenty of money, which they use to buy food from their neighbors.
Tragedy strikes. The first village that normally has an abundance of food has a poor harvest, due to a wave of monsters destroying their fields. They don’t have any excess to trade if they want to keep their people fed through the long winter, so they reject their neighbors’ attempts to buy food.
While their decision is understandable, village two still needs to eat. It is particularly terrible timing as, due to the campaign, I’m sure food prices in the north must be sky high, if there’s anything to buy at all. Village two is relying on their usual trade with village one. They aren’t going to be understanding about unfortunate happenstance when they’re facing starvation.
As these things do, it turns to violence. Village two, having an abundance of iron, has far more weapons. They marched into village one and took the food they needed at sword point but did not harm anyone aside from the only man who tried to stop them.
Hypocritical benevolence. After all, without food, the people in village one will die anyway. If anything, the thieves sentenced them to a far more pitiful fate. One the victims aren’t going to take lying down.
The men from village one decided to raid village two, armed with farming tools and desperation. Included in that group is Wenry’s, the girl sobbing into Alana’s chest, father. Apparently, she left in the middle of the night to chase after him and bring him home. Brave girl but terrible navigator. She admits to being lost. It’s a good thing we found her. I don’t think she could have made it another night.
The story concludes with the expected tears, Anna cradling the little girl bawling her eyes out. I stand a little to the side, planning. I’ve brought a lot of supplies but not enough to feed a village full of people through the winter. Perhaps, with Kierra’s and Geneva’s help, we can hunt and dry enough meat. It’ll cost us nothing but a few days, assuming there’s enough prey to go around.
There’s also the much quicker bloody solution but I only consider it long enough to acknowledge it. I may not be the most empathetic person but I can’t murder a village of innocent people who took drastic action to save their lives and the lives of their families. Physically, it’d be disturbingly easy, but mentally, it’s an impossible hurdle. I imagine it’s the same for Alana. I don’t dare bring it up to her.
Suppose I should send Rolly back to tell the others that we’ll be deviating from the schedule a bit. Saints, at their speed, we’ll probably catch up to the acolytes before we reach Victory. In the meantime, Alana can take Wenry back to her village and I’ll track down the men before they start a bloodbath.
“Alana—"
“Lou—"
We stop, having both started speaking at the same time. I wave for her to go ahead of me but she frowns, shaking her head. After a brief staring contest, I continue. “I was going to suggest you take your new friend home while I track down her father and stop the menfolk from hurting themselves.”
Her frown deepens. She slowly rises to her feet, keeping hold of Wenry. “Lou, what do you want to do?”
My brows furrow as I stare into her stern eyes. “What do I want to do? Isn’t that obvious? I’m going to chase down the brat’s father and stop them from hurting themselves or anyone else. As for the food…” I trail off as I notice her expression isn’t getting better. “Why are you giving me that look?”
Gently, she sets Wenry down. “I need to talk to my friend for a little while.” She waits until the little girl nods before leading me away with a hand on my shoulder.
“Don’t worry. I know there’s no way you can leave this alone. It won’t take too long and we can still make it to Victory by—"
“Lou, stop.” A hand on my stomach brings me to a stop. The future saint’s expression is conflicted. “This…isn’t something we should get involved in.”
I stare at her, stunned. “What do…you want to just ignore them?”
“No. I want to take Wenry home and sort something out for the village. Give them some supplies, maybe drop in on their governing lord, who should be the one handling the problem. But as for the men…they’ve made their choice.”
I’m not sure I believe what I’m hearing. “You want them to slaughter each other?”
“I don’t want them to kill each other, no, but they’re the ones who decided to handle the situation through violence. The men who took the food by force had to know they risked retaliation and the attackers know they are putting their lives on the lines. Despite that, this is what they chose. Let them reap what they sow.”
I call Alana a future saint because, in my eyes, she is kind and honest, two traits that have been a rarity in my life. However, as we grow closer, it becomes increasingly clear to me that she is not a hero, nor does she strive to be one.
Her kindness does not extend to all and is tempered by the ruthlessness of someone who has seen too many bad things. I know she isn’t a bleeding heart who will be moved by every tragedy and she warned Mr. Talented about reckless intervention.
Still, this is a bit unexpected. Even I am moved having a dirty, injured child pleading to save her father. Despite our turned backs, I know she’s watching us with subdued hope, perhaps praying to the saints for a miracle.
I know my future wife isn’t completely unaffected. She may not be naive enough to think she can save everyone but I have no doubt that she could if she would. What is bothering me is that we can help these people. The minimum amount, stopping the men and leaving them some supplies, wouldn’t even take that much effort.
“Do you…really want to do nothing?”
Her lips twist in a scowl. “I thought you would be the last person to look down on my stance.”
It’s my turn to be displeased, but I contain my reaction to a small frown. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“You were hesitant to approach Wenry, weren’t you? You didn’t want to get involved.”
“I didn’t. I wanted to walk away while I still could. Because I could only walk away when I didn’t know.” I may imagine there’s a tragic story behind the injured child crouching beside a creek but as long as I don’t know, I can pretend it’s something innocuous, like a stroll gone wrong. Better, I can imagine it’s a story with a happy ending.
Had I walked away without meeting her, I could have told myself that Wenry would make her way home and forget all about her nasty scare in the woods within the comforting arms of her mother.
If I walk away now, I know I will be leaving several people to die. Wenry won’t be returning to a comforting mother but a grieving widow if her father doesn’t make it back from this supposed raid on the neighboring village.
And if he should? How changed will he be after bludgeoning their previous neighbors with a plow? Could they really be happy? What will happen to them when the governing lord makes inquiries about the mess? It would be a sick twist of fate if the men who killed to save their families were put to death by the law.
To let that happen when it would take a few days effort to stop it…it’s a bit distasteful.
“What’s going on, sweetie?” I ask, trying to meet her eyes as she averts her gaze. “I would have thought you’d already be charging off by now. Don’t you think it’s a bit weird that I’m the one arguing to take action?”
“…are you disappointed?”
“What? Of course not!” My hands flex but I stop myself from reaching out to her. Then I remember that I don’t have to restrain those urges anymore and pull her into a hug. “I want to make sure that you’re not doing this for some ridiculous reason like you’re worried about bothering me.”
Alana sighs deeply as she leans against my chest. “No. It’s…I’ve been thinking about home. If this was Victory, if they decided to settle things through martial means, they’d be left to it. The orders would sweep in afterwards to ensure no petty vengeances extended the conflict and that the innocents were taken care of, but the men would be left to it.”
“This isn’t Victory. You don’t have to do things the way they would. What do you want to do?”
She’s silent for several moments. I let her think, a hand idly rising to massage her waist. It slowly migrates to her backside, as my touches become more intentional. With a soft scoff, Alana steps out of my arms before I can go much farther, but she’s smiling. “Not the time. Come on, grab Wenry. We need to move if we’re going to catch up to the men before the fighting starts.”
“Your first debut!”
We both jump as Rolly appears over us, her shout accompanied by trilling music. The ball of light, the form she usually takes around strangers, bobs excitedly back and forth. “Oh, it’s too soon for a performance but the stage waits for no one! Remember your lessons. Half the battle is appearance.”
Alana smiles thinly. “For this, you may be right.”
