3 Mother

The deep rumble of the thunder echoed through his stomach, reverberating in his ears. Lightning flashed, blinding him momentarily as he stumbled through the woods. The heavy rain muffled the world around him – no animal would choose to come out in such a storm. He wouldn't have either had he had any choice. Deserting the King's Army left little room to maneuver. At the very least, his footprints would be covered.

Rain splashed around his face, soaking him through and lodging itself inside his bones. Shivers made him stumble; with teeth chattering he ventured deeper into the heart of the forest, hoping he would find shelter. His heavy boots, once perfect for trekking were now filled with cold rainwater, turning his feet into icicles. If he didn't find some shelter soon, he'd be dead by the morrow.

The raindrops fell incessantly as the storm caught power. They came at him in rapid succession – thousands upon thousands of tiny bullets found their way in every corner of his body, feeding on his body heat. The wind intensified and he felt his blood turn to ice. His breath was shallow, his throat on fire. He could barely breathe, let alone see.

Lightning flashed once more, allowing his eyes to wander for a second, scouting the path ahead. The muddy forest trail led to an orange light. A fire. Despite the desperation which had clawed its way into his heart he felt a grin split his blue lips, cracking them in several places. The wind had done a number on him but then Horace Fate had more than one life. He was pretty sure this was the second one. And it seemed he had another chance at it. Dragging his feet as best as he could, while ignoring the falling leaves clinging to him, he quickened his step, eyes pinned on his target. Another lightning strike let him know he had found a cavern. And there was a fire inside. No fucking way.

He would have run were it not for the mud plastered to his boots. His breath steadied as he made his way through the trees, closing in on the cave. Were it not for the heavy rain he would have felt the heat of the fire already. Beggars can't be choosers, Horace. Steady now. We wouldn't us to break our neck right before the finish line. He gritted his teeth and quite literally threw himself in the cavern, wheezing. Mud splashed as he dived, landing on his face, gluing itself on his scalp and making its way through his teeth. He couldn't care less. He was alive. When this blasted rain is over, I'm taking a vacation.

"Oi, didn't yer mother teach ye it's not nice to force yerself into another's home?" Two eyes met his and a hand stopped him from yelling. He thrashed wildly as another person appeared and took hold of his feet.

"Stop squealing. I'm trying to take your boots off" the boy heaved as one of Horace's boot slammed him in the chest and sent him sprawling. The woman, for it was a woman's hand atop his mouth, cackled and left his line of sight.

Able to now breathe properly, Horace hauled himself on his rump, enabling him to see what was going on inside the cavern. The boy was now returning, having left his boot to dry near the crackling fire. He was not what Horace had expected – since he was a little man he had heard tales of the cave-dwellers; a nasty lot with their lanky bodies and disfigured faces, it was believed they captured humans in order to feed on them – short and rather grumpy-looking the boy's face was in perfect condition, save for a thin scar right above his left eye. He didn't seem too interested in eating Horace either.

"Who are you, people?" He'd never prided himself about being a man of manners and the boy didn't seem angered by his hostile attitude… which Horace took as a good sign.

"We're not cave-dwellers if that's what you're asking" as quick as a fiddle he had stripped Horace of his second boot, covering his mouth at the sight of his socks. Full of holes they had seen better days and were now revealing his big toes, blue from the freezing rainwater.

"You never seen socks with holes before kid?"

"He's never seen any socks before" the old woman grinned, and Horace noticed even in the dim light that her smile was full of gaps. Her remaining teeth, once white as pearls, were now brown and on the verge of falling. His body recoiled involuntarily, making him stand up to his full height, barely above the boy's. "You must be famished. Come here." Why so you can eat me? Thank you, kindly madam, but I'll pass. Of course, his stomach rumbled making his cheeks burn.

"Peter, give our guest some soup, will ye?" she extended a bowl in Peter's way and the boy grabbed with both hands, passing it into Horace's as he blew off some remaining steam.

The wood was warm and the soup burned his throat – he gulped it down as if it was his last meal, taking no heed of the throb it left in his tongue. It was delicious. Much better than what the Army served anyway.

Four men – tall as oak trees – strutted into the cavern, throwing their soaked luggage on the stone floor. Without uttering a single word, they each filled their bowls and sat down to eat. The elderly woman seemed unfazed as she watched the giants slurp their soup and refilling the bowls twice, each hungrier than his brother. Her smile widened as her eyes twinkled mischievously. She knows these four, Horace realized with a start. Peter took the empty bowls and exited the cavern, despite the storm still raging outside.

One of the four stood up and kissed the woman on the cheek. "T'was a fine soup, Mother. Haven't had one so good since you left Peter in charge of making the food."

"Damn that boy, he forgot to sharpen my axe again" the second stood up and repeated the first's gesture.

The last two were slurping down the rest of their soups, occasionally glancing in his direction. If any of them suddenly decided he was a threat, he would have nowhere to run. Bollocks.

"How were your trips, my sons?" the last two finished and stretched like cats near the fire, ignoring Horace altogether. Well, what do you know? I'm no threat to these giants. They barely notice me.

"Can we trust him?" one of them turned his eyes toward Horace and pointed. One again, impatience got the better of me.

"Stop pointing. He's our guest so he's none of yer concern" she sat down as Peter returned, all bowls washed to perfection. His petite figure contrasted so much with the other's, Horace felt a laugh bubble in his belly. "Come here, both of you" he joined Peter near the fire, thankful for the heat it spread in his bones. The memory of the cold rain started to fade as he suppressed a yawn. Aye, a full belly, and warmth can do that to you. "Why don't you introduce yourself to our guests, children."

One of the giants stood up; Horace had to crane his neck, too see him properly. It wasn't hard to notice his arrogant bearing and his flaring nostrils – which marked him as the eldest of the four - although he didn't expect to find two grey eyes, lessening their sharpness when they met his. Or a voice so soft it reminded him of the one who used to sing him lullabies and tell him stories of valiant knights who died in battles to save maidens fair from icy dragons.

The giant smiled and seemed to shrink before Horace's eyes as he spoke: "I'm the Northern Wind, returning from The Ice Caps where I drowned several walrus hunters. Their spears will harm no more" he sat down, leaving Horace to stare at the next man dumbfounded.

His eyes – the color of blueberries – were staring somewhere far away. His voice, gruff and wistful, filled his ears as he spoke "I'm the Western Wind. My eyes witnessed the death of a buffalo today. Taken by the waterfall, it squirmed at battled against the tides. There was nothing I could have done" he retook his seat with a sigh as his third brother stood up.

With a cat-like smile he spoke, and his words grated Horace's ears "I'm the Southern Wind. I harbored many sandstorms but none as mighty as the one I blew today on a group of travelers. My wind will bleach their bones and my sand will hide their remains until the end of days" Horace's throat constricted at that finishing statement and yet his eyes followed the last giant, curiosity getting the better of him.

The last brother didn't stand up; puffing a pipe, it was hard to tell if he even was conscious of his sibling's tales. His eyelids fluttered open, revealing two jade eyes, with the pupils of a lizard. His voice mimicked the rustling sound of leaves as he whispered: "I'm the smallest of the four, Eastern is my name. Bamboo canes bow before me as I slither through, entering Paradise Garden. Once a hundred years, The Queen allows me to sip from the Golden Flask and sleep at her bosom. She's calling me again."

"Again?" North groaned while rubbing his face with his hairy hands. "The Fairy Queen can wait for you, dear brother. She always has and she always will."

"You just got here. I want to know more about the bamboo canes. You promised" Peter scowled and prodded the fire with a stick. Horace yawned as it dawned on him: the four winds of Heaven analyzed every reaction he made, breaking it down.

"Will you join me?" Eastern's eyes brought Horace back to reality. He was in a cave with four extremely dangerous men. He had to go.

Horace stood up and pretended to stretch to avoid their stares. The storm had subsided, and the sunlight kissed the grass, reflecting off the rainwater which dripped lazily from the trees. His boots were now dry and caked with mud, but he had to leave. His stomach plummeted as he put his boots on, six pairs of eyes following his every move.

"Thank you for your hospitality. But I'm afraid I must be heading home now" West tilted his head and Horace knew they saw through his lie. He forced a smile on his face, fighting to keep his fear hidden. With a deep bow he turned on his heels, adrenaline screaming inside his head. RUN.

"We'll find you, you know" North's soft voice rang in his head and he nodded without turning around. "You can't hide from us. We're the four winds, Mr. Fate. And Death is our Mother."