Food and Shelter

"FRORENHOLM HAS FALLEN!"

A simple short sentence, and yet, it had made such an impact. Almost as if a wave of understanding had come across us, we were pulled out of our drunken stupor.

Frorenholm was a city quite close to where we were right now. The thought of it having fallen, was unimaginable.

"Who was it?", one of us called out. "A rival country, rebellion?".

"Werewolves".

I flinched at the words.

"Werewolves, hah- hahahahah, so you were joking, don't scare us like-"

"It's true, I swear. You can ask some of the refugees-".

"It's true", an ancient looking man, dragged himself past the messenger in front of us. "Werewolves, beasts who hadn't been seen for hundreds of years"

"Get your eyes checked grandpa, this ain't a laughing matter".

"You think I'm joking? Seeing the men, women, children, falling right before my very eyes, the flames in their eyes dying out as they cried for help?", the old man's body shook, his face constricted. "My daughter is dead, and I could do nothing! Nothing...".

Scott's grip tightened around his sword.

Utter silence dominated the room, the once bustling atmosphere now gone as if it were never there in the first place.

"How many refugees?".

"14 of us, mostly women and children".

"What can I do?", Girtha stood up from behind her counter, her eyes determined.

"Food, shelter, anything, please we beg of you".

"Please, bring them here, I'll have some bread and soup ready".

"Thank you".

The 2 of them walked back, their backs arched. I could feel the pain they were going through.

Scott started following them, and so did I. Not one sentence was spoken, the entire time.

Issola decided to stay back to help Girtha and the others.

A short while later, we found ourselves surrounded by injured men, women and children. The scene looked pitiful. The light in their eyes having lost its glow.

"Old man!", a man called out. "You need rest, why did you sneak behind Paul when I was tending to the others?"

It seemed that one of them still had a will to fight, inside of him.

"I thought they might not listen, had I not gone with him".

Well he wasn't wrong.

"Ugh, ok come here, I'll wrap another cloth around your arm, seeing how much blood has soaked into this one".

"Thank you again", he smiled as he sat beside the man.

The man looked kind. Though he was covered in bruises, he looked to be helping the others more than himself. Scott and I seemed to blend in with the surroundings, as his entire focus was cast on the old man.

"Do you need some help", I asked, trying to do the best I could in the moment. I couldn't let him take on all the work.

"Oh, thank you. If you could bring that ointment here, that would be wonderful", he smiled, pointing to a small canister by a leather bag. The green concoction reminding me of Issola.

"What's your name, boy?", the old man asked.

"Ford".

"I'm Sam", called out the guy tending to his wound.

"So did you live in Frorenholm?", I asked Sam.

Though looking at his deep frown, I quickly took back my words, "It's really ok, you don't need to tell me, if you don't want to".

"No no, um... well. I wanted to become a knight, so that's why I was living there. I had left my home to pursue my dream".

"Really? Wasn't it terrifying? Setting out all alone".

Only after wrapping the cloth, had he finally answered my question.

"Oh yes, of course it was... I might as well have been shaking", he laughed. "That was until I came across a certain individual. At the time, I wondered why a man was just lying down in a forest filled with monsters"

...

"In hindsight, I should've known. He had come to die. I sometimes wonder whether or not our encounter was a good thing. Alas he shared some of his demons, so did I. And soon the two of us grew closer as we talked. Turns out, we even had the same passion. And so we trained, ate and slept in each other's company. He was... the best friend I had ever had".

"Was?", I inquired further, even though it was rude.

"Ummm, no! No, he uhh, he's still on his way. He'll probably be here any second. He uhm, promised... krgh", he bit his lip, as his face scrunched and knee shook. Tears formed in his eyes. He tried to fight them but couldn't find the strength.

The soft dirt ground turned wet.

"I know I shouldn't be crying, I know it isn't what a knight would do. But why, why couldn't I just have been stronger", his words came between quick breaths, his voice losing its strength.

"What was his name?".

"Ben Gordam".

To think he had lost someone that close to him, and still had the will to help others. A sense of respect etched itself deep inside my soul, for him. He was truly working hard for these people who had lost everything, when the same had happened to him.

The old man pat Sam's back, while I continued to listen. We all had lost someone precious to us. Sometimes I still had nightmares of that day. I just hope he can find the strength to push forward.

The flame within my heart grew brighter as I found my pity turn to anger. Why did people have to suffer like this. Why couldn't we just live happily without the fear of dying from some monster. If only the werewolves had never existed.

Scott seemed to share my sentiment, his brows furrowed.

Charging off, I was surprised by his sudden burst of energy.

"Pack your bags, we're heading to Frorenholm".

- - - - -

Heavy steps, we found ourselves climbing up and past a tall mountain. To think the refugees had walked here so far from home.

Cold winds blew turning my limbs numb.

Finally we reached the other side. My view cast on the valley below. What would have been a once beautiful sight, was more horrifying than anything.

"That's Frorenholm?".