The Road Less Travelled

The wagon shook and rattled lazily, the wood old but sturdy, toughing through the harsh cold wind of winter. The one horse, pulling in place of two, trod on respectfully and without much burden. The wagon’s weight had been lessened since it’s last stop, and the horse, even without companion, trudged on with the grace of all heavy work horse breeds. Seemingly lazy, but the strength of the animals was evident in their size, and their durability seemed nearly endless.
The cold wind from the north blew with much greater strength however, with a bite that stung much worse than any wolf or bear. Occasionally the wind would blow so fiercely that the passengers of the wagon would fear of it toppling over. In which cases, all four of them would lean to the side starting to lean upwards, and things would be good again. Thus, the troubles of riding through the great plains. But the passengers had already had their fill of the precarious and shadowy forests that seemed so abundant.
Bellum sat in the driver’s perch in the front of the wagon, alongside his brother, Crayt, who was of equal size and only a few years older. Bellum’s arms and legs were tightly bound in a thick assortment of quilts and furs that they had managed to scavenge, trade for, or buy over the years. Crayt sat in a similar set of wrappings, but his hands were only loosely wrapped in case he would need to grab for the reins. Bellum looked over his brother feeling as though he were looking in a mirror, but the image having a slightly narrower face, and looking another direction.
The perch in which they sat seemed almost too small for them, the brothers were not so incredibly large that it caused issue, concern, or even wariness from others. But the size of the two was easily recognizable from a short enough distance, and had saved them from a few drunken conflicts over the span of their short lives. As well as earned them a few well needed jobs while they were on their travels, the stoutness of them making them fine farm hands or even as bouncers for taverns in the more significant towns.
A cup or bowl tinkered and then crashed down in the back of the wagon, Bellum turned his head only for him to stop and return to the position that had been most comfortable for the last few days, only to find that he could no longer match that perfect angle again.
“Oh darn,” a woman’s voice whispered tiredly, “there that damned kettle again.”
Bellum and Crayt glanced at each other, their cheeks too cold to move much without exceptional effort and pain, but there was laughter in their eyes.
“Why, I hope you hadn’t poured us another batch of coffee on the floor Zaye,” Crayt said, the laughter not fading.
“S’alright boys, there wasn’t anything in there this time!” Zaye said back more cheerily.
“That’s good, I’d rather go thirsty than lick that coffee off these old boards again. I had splinters between my teeth for days.” Bellum said to her, a shiver in his voice.
“Don’t go bringing that up now, I’m still waiting for the taste of these damn boards to be off your breath!” Zaye said back to Bellum, a conversation in which neither one could see the other.
Bellum shook his head, smiling in the cold, the pain only partially making him regret it, “you weren’t complaining about the taste of my breath this morning at breakfast.” Crayt uttered a short chuckle.
“I had to kiss you to see if it were gone yet. And trust me, it wasn’t.”
“What about that second one?” Bellum replied smiling freely now, not caring about the pain in his cheeks, or the cold seeping into the cracks in his lips. Zaye hesitated with her retort for too long, and the three of them began to laugh, the first time in a long while.
Slowly the laughter faded, two brothers looked forward, the laughter in their eyes disappearing, and the girl in the back continued to shift around the wagon, unseen, and only slightly heard. With that the silence returned, only to be interrupted by the sound of horse hooves on dirt, and the creaking of the wagon.
The silence was not entirely welcome to Bellum, but he figured that there were far worse things to have to hear, many of which he had already suffered through. The sound of hidden monsters in a dark wood, sobs from the ones that he loved, or a silence completely uninterrupted, no breath, no breath, nothing. Bellum stared ahead, his eyes trailing over the terrain of the country, he admired that even during such a deadly chill, the landscape still laid free of snowfall. Bellum admired the beauty of it all, the simplicity of the road, and the vast expanses that created the barrier.
Sometimes the barrier had faded off into the wide and expansive fields, fields that only ended when you could see no further, others the barrier was more pronounced with tall vegetation, and the twisting curling trees that made home in the forests of their beautiful country. Bellum was sure that, despite the cold, the hunger, and the soreness in his bones, life was alright.
Life went on much like the road did, on and on. Crisscrossing through thick patches of woods. Woods with trees that are still surviving from the Second Era. The road coerced itself over and through streams, creeks, and eventually touches the Mighty Red River, the border between their country and High Moor. It continued over the vast fields, thick with imperial grasses, rare Corsian weeds, and through nasty bundles of Trust Thorns.
The road was long, and it was dangerous. Creatures crawled behind the trees, lingering amongst the shadows. When the weather was warm, and the deer a surplus, wolves prowled the prairies with sharp and hungry eyes. And Bellum never knew when a hidden Sharptooth hid, her kittens prowling nearby with empty stomachs, and sharp claws. Or if the cave, discreetly tucked away in the forest, just barely out of sight, was home to a bear, with claws like daggers, and eyes as deep as the Sea of Souls.
The road was indeed long, and exceptionally dangerous, Bellum repeated in his thoughts. For Bellum though, the road was home. Every day since he and Crayt lost their home they had been walking this road together. There would be a fork in the road here, or the road might stop completely some places, but they trudged onward. Something told Bellum that he was supposed to be on this road, and that his destiny lay somewhere ahead.
Something told him his future lay onward, the voice in the back of his minds sometimes whispered it to him, other times the voice screamed it at him. There had been many days that he found himself wanting to turn around, to stop walking, to settle down in the nearest town or village and call it home. He could live out the rest of days in peace and fortune, without the burden of running down or foraging for food, or making a bed from the softest vegetation he could find around him, or fighting off animals who viewed him and his brother as their next feast. Bellum continued onward, not listening.
But sometimes there was another voice. A quitter voice that could only be heard in complete silence, and even then, it would seem muffled by the grey matter that is his brain. It was a light mumble, a whisper lighter than a breeze, that would continue echoing around the cavity of space that were Bellum’s thoughts on the quietest and darkest of days. The voice, sad and tired, would make him look at his sword with new found interest. Would make him wonder much too precariously to the mouth of dark and ominous cave. Or to sit and wait for the Sharptooth and her cups to finally catch up, and show no resistance as they tore him to pieces. Or wander into the darkness of an occupied cave, close enough to the heavy breathing of a bear. Or perhaps it was a giant, trapped in a long-collapsed cavern, wedged between the earth for a millennium, waiting, or maybe it was an ogre with warts for flesh, rotting flesh sagging from its bones, scratches not healing. Or perhaps it could be any of the monstrosities that lurked in the depths of Molak’s tomb, monsters that would enjoy peeling skin from muscle, make a man stare inside at his own moving parts, rip him from limb by limb while he watched in silent terror, unable to save himself. Perhaps the voice whispered, perhaps.
It was then that Bellum would think of Zaye, his beautiful wife, Crayt his tough brother. Bellum would think of his son, all of whom travel with him, every day step by silent step. Except for his lucky son, who does not have to endure the blisters that come with thousands of steps, nor does his son have to withstand the blasting wind or the rain, all because he has not yet been born. He gets to enjoy the luxuries of his mother’s womb, though be it a little cramped from time to time. His son gets to sit back and be lulled by the voices of his mother, father, and uncle, who sometimes, on rare occasions, even decide to sing. Bellum’s son sits unbothered while he becomes a constant obstruction for his mother to endure more and more each day.
Bellum admired his wife, while she sits in the back of the wagon, searching and sorting the good that lay jumbled and unorganized, she never complained about their son, she never cursed at him, and even more startling she continued on the road, without hesitation or remorse. She followed Bellum, and would follow him to the very ends of the earth if that was where his destiny lay, because she knew that it was her destiny to be with him.
Bellum’s chest burned hot with each and every realization of this simple fact. His steps would be longer, he muscles stronger, and the urgency for him to get where he was going would become apparent in his gait. He was going somewhere, and they all knew it, because it was where all four of their futures were.
Bellum knew how hard this journey was for them all. He and Crayt had walked many roads, fought a few fights, and suffered many a cold night together before the appearance of Zaye. The bond between brothers is not easily broken, and ever since Bellum had been born Crayt had looked over him, and when they were the only ones on that road, no family or friends to speak of, they each earned themselves a fair share of debt to one another. But Bellum knew that because of their travels, Crayt was far more capable of travel than Zaye. Her travels continued to get more and more difficult as her pregnancy became more severe.
Sitting in that cold and rickety wagon, Bellum’s mind began to wander, as it usually did when hearing a voice was rare, and the sights were becoming dull. Bellum thought back to first time he had ever seen Zaye. Bellum and Crayt had already been on the road for some time, strolling along, the freshly warm sun beating down on them with newfound energy from the freezing season only a month before.
She had been standing, alone, tending to the growing stalks of corn, still young, and only reaching to her stomach and breast at the highest points. She was busy working as they walked by, not paying attention to the strangers as they walked by.
“That’s a mighty pretty girl,” Bellum had whispered absent mindedly. Crayt glanced over, following his brother’s gaze to the girl in the field, who was now looking back at them.
“Yeah, I reckon she is,” he said uninterestedly. Crayt had been complaining the last two weeks about his feet hurting, and did not consider this random beauty more important than his wellbeing, although he could since a tone in his brother’s voice he hadn’t heard in a while, if ever.
But Bellum did not agree with his brother. And when their eyes had locked over the distance that separated them, as he noticed her lips curl into a smile, he knew he wanted to see those eyes, and that smile again.
That night as the two brothers camped, Bellum decisively made his first move.

“Brother, we should stay in this town for a while,” Bellum said to Crayt, who was laying down around the fire. Though the days were hot, the nights still grew exceptionally cold, blowing the same cold wind that had ravaged the world only months before. “We could you know, there’s plenty of water, the woods are crawling with deer,” Bellum motioned to the meat hanging above the flames. “We could find some work around town, get some new gear, I know you’ve been needing another pair of sandals. And worse comes to worse just up the road there’s that farm. “
Crayt began to laugh, then propped himself up on his elbows so he could look at his brother. “We both know you don’t have any interest in the water in that stream, the deer in the woods, the jobs in that town, or any of the vegetables growing on that farm. But there is something on that farm that you are interested in, isn’t there?”
Bellum did not say anything, but a smile spread across his face, a part of him thankful that the shadows hid any details of his embarrassment on his face. “You have me on this one, brother. I fear you know me too well.”
“How long are you wanting to stay brother?” Crayt asked.
“I’m not sure, I don’t really know,” he said when Crayt stared at him. “A few nights, maybe, or perhaps a week or two… maybe longer,” he trailed off, staring at the fire instead of his brother.
“Maybe longer you say?” Bellum looked up at his brother.
Both brothers smiled at each other, after a moment Crayt laid back down and covered his face with an old hat. “I don’t see anything wrong with hanging our hats around here for a while longer.” He jolted up to look at his brother one last time before he drifted off into the realm of sleep. “Just don’t be going and getting yourself hurt, ya hear?” Crayt winked at his brother, then laid back down. “If you’re willing to take a break from this journey to find your destiny, I am as well.”
“This isn’t me taking a break from finding my destiny, this is my destiny.” Bellum said, lowering himself into the mattress he threw together only hours before. He stared up at the stars until sleep took him.
______________________________________________________________________

The next day Zaye walked out to the field that she had been standing in before. She held a small book in her hands. The cover was torn and falling apart, the papers hung loosely from the spine. The ink was faded, and in some places almost unreadable. She was wearing the beautiful sundress that her father had brought to her only a week before on his return trip from the town. As he always did when spring came.
The sound of her feet in the dirt pleased her. She loved nature, and the feel of the earth underfoot. Her family was not rich enough to consider themselves royalty, or even nobles. But she had only had to work on the farm very little herself, and found herself staying in the house, cooking and cleaning up after her father and brothers.
She ran her fingers over the bright green stalks of corn, enjoying the contrast of the cool leaves to the heat of the air. She looked over to the road, and all the sudden a pang in her chest stopped her in her tracks.
She pulled her book up and opened it to the tassel she had using as a book mark for a while now. She did not bother to sit as she read the page, but instead stood among the fields of green still alone. It was her handwriting.
-I saw a man today. I have never seen such a man. He walked by as I was taking one of my walks. There were two men, but one of them looked at me, and when our eyes met I just couldn’t help myself but think. I can’t stop thinking about his eyes. I smiled at him I think, and he smiled back. I never see people smile when they walk past the farm, but HE smiled, I still feel warm inside.
Reading her own words made her feel a little ridiculous, she couldn’t help but think how silly she must sound, how childish. She had grown out of such fantasy dreams, and she knew it. She was a woman of sixteen, and there was no way she was going to let some dirty stranger that walked by her take up so much of her time.
Zaye continued to walk through the fields, admiring the rigid structure of it all. Corn grew here, the earliest growth of squash there, and not a single weed anywhere. Every now and again she would pause in her travels and dig her toes into the dirt, deep into the cold and wet that was so far off from the hot air. And sometimes she would find herself thinking of the man who had walked by her the day before.
“I am not a little girl anymore, I am not going to keep thinking about this random guy,” she said to herself, aware of how alone she really was.
But his eyes…
“No,” she told herself, “No. A lot of guys walk past the farm, and nothing about them was special, he was just another traveler, just like all the others.
But HE smiled, I still feel warm inside.
Then, young Zaye, for no reason that she could understand started to cry. The tears were warm and stung her cheeks as they ran. She began to run. Her long hair blew in the wind as she ran, her tears fell onto her beautiful sundress, staining the yellow cloth a darker shade.
Zaye did not try to run anywhere, but after a while the shapes and sounds of her surroundings became familiar again, even through the blur of her tears and running. She was standing under a tall tree, so thick she and her father couldn’t wrap their arms around it. She found herself where she always ran when things troubled her, or she encountered something she did not understand. The place of her mother’s eternal rest. She looked up at the mighty trees strong and entangled branches. The leaves were bright green, and the flowers that decorated the mighty tree were in full bloom.
Zaye stood there a moment, feeling the same awe that she always felt when she arrived at the tree, the tears now only trickling down her soft cheeks. The stains on her dress had already evaporated and disappeared altogether. But the calm did not last, and soon she found herself sitting under the tree, not caring about anything smudging her dress. At this moment, she did not care about much at all.
But she still, through the tears, tried to manage the thoughts that raced through her mind.
“Why are you crying? What is wrong with you?” she asked herself, but she already knew the answer to her questions. She may be young, but she knew herself, and she knew what she was crying about. Her chest began to huff and heave, her breathe coming in short gasps. The tears began to pour as she acknowledged her realization.
“I don’t even know his name. I’m never going to see him again. I don’t even know his name.” she managed to groan through her sobs.
“My name? It’s Bellum.”
Zaye looked up quickly, startled, and straight into the same eyes that she had seen in every one of her dreams the night before.

The months after Bellum convinced Crayt to stay in the small town of Ordia were slow and peaceful. Bellum returned to Zaye every day from then on. The meetings continued, a secret that Zaye kept from her father and brothers. Bellum was fine with the family being in the dark, though he and Crayt were far larger than her family, and most definitely more skilled in combat due to their travels, he considered it would be better safe than sorry. Bellum also considered that he did not want to fight with Zaye’s family, he would never hurt her in such a way.
Bellum and Crayt found small jobs around the town, and worked on Zaye’s father’s farm from time to time even. Picking vegetables, tending to weeds, running off wolves, and repairs to homes and equipment were the majority of the work they found. Though the jobs were tedious and now and then a waste of their skill, it earned them some coin with which they resupplied themselves with the necessities of travel and camp.
The two even earned themselves a small shack on one of their employer’s property. It was very small, especially for the two of them, but it kept them warm when the cold winds started to return.
Their jobs allowed them to furnish it properly, enough to make it seem more like a home. The brothers spent very little time in the shack, with their time being spent outdoors, working, or with Zaye. Even Crayt was discovering some of the women fold that resided in the town, who found him considerably amusing, and admired his size and strength. The wiry muscle underneath both their skins was much different than that of the farmers that the townsfolk were accustomed to. And it earned Crayt many a warm night outside of their shack.
Over the months the brothers were also capable of getting a little more than muscle on their bones, and even managed to hold a majority of the weight over the winter, which was a first for them since they were children. Even Zaye began to grow a little rounder herself, though Bellum never noticed.
Everything was going good for Bellum, months flew by with little worry or concern. It was a long time before Bellum started to feel the pull of the road again. A call of the unknown future that awaited him, and for a month his heart began to pull his body in two directions. One for the beautiful farm girl, and the other for the road that led far away from the town and the farm. Far from the warm and safe home that he and Crayt had built for themselves. And he began to wonder what was going to happen.
One night, the first day of the new season of spring, he was forced his hand.
“WHERE, BY THE GODS, IS HE?” the shout echoed over the freshly growing stalks of corn, the new bursts of beans and earliest stages of squash and cabbages. “WHEN I FIND HIM, HE IS A DEAD MAN I SAY!”
Crayt could hear the shouts nearby as he scavenged what vegetables he could from the farm, and collected them in the bags that he and Bellum had packed the night before. As the group of shouting men stampeded towards the small shack on the other side of town, Bellum stood on the same farm, Zaye’s hands in his.
“Why do you have to leave Bellum? We have everything we could ever need here. My father can learn to love you, maybe nearly as much as I do. They would let us be together if I just asked.” Bellum stared deep into her eyes, as the shouts and lights of torches faded into the distance of the road. East, he thought. He stared and couldn’t get over how beautiful she was, even then, with one side hidden in the darkness that the light of her lantern could not pierce, the tide of the border rising and falling as the lantern swung gently in her shaking hand and the growing wind. A storm was approaching.
They stood in front of her house, empty now with her father and brothers on a manhunt. How they had discovered the secret Bellum did not know, nor did he care. Bellum took the lantern from her and hung it on a small hook jutting out from a nearby post, an ancient relic in of itself from some long-ago fence. While doing so he tore his gaze from her beauty, taking this opportunity to carefully plan out what exactly he was going to say.
“It is not your family that is driving me away, I don’t know how to explain it to you, but there is something out there,” he motioned towards the road, his gaze not leaving hers. “I have a greater destiny than to be a simple farmhand. I know that it’s a god blessed truth, I can feel it, under my skin, in the meat of me, in my bones.”
“I don’t understand! Why would you want to leave me? I thought you loved me as much as I love you! Am I not good enough?” she started to become more and more frantic, her words coming out in gasps, “Bellum I love you!” Bellum noticed tears running down her perfect cheeks. She began to look down shamefully. “Bellum I-”
Bellum reached out, stopping her from looking anywhere else but in his eyes.
His eyes…
With his thumb, he wiped a fresh tear from her cheek, and stared into her eyes, they were deep and dark with emotion. There was a sadness within those pools that Bellum had never seen before. Seeing such pain and fear in her eyes could bring the gods to tears, and just then the earth was faded into a downpour of rain. The storm arrived. Heavy spring rain, with an instantaneous symphony of lightning and thunder to farewell the droplets from the heavens.
Rain drops as large as stones landed onto Bellum’s wide shoulders. The rain flowed into the trails of tears that were on Zaye’s cheeks, soon erasing them completely.
They stared into each other’s eyes for maybe only a second, but to Bellum and Zaye, that one second lasted a lifetime. Bellum pulled her close, his large and callused hands gently holding her soaking shoulders. Close enough so she could hear him over the rain, the lightning, and the thunder.
“I did not come here tonight to bid you my farewells, I am here to ask you to come with me.” silence stood between them for a long time, neither wanting to interrupt it. “I am here to ask you for your hand.” Then from the pocket of his raggedy pants, he pulled a ring of yarn with a few knots tied over one another. The ring of yarn was just a little rounder than a finger, Bellum had tied it by memory.
Bellum would never forget how her blue eyes had pierced through his soul, echoing with confusion as they slowly tilted toward the ring in his hands.
She planted her hands on his chest, both still looking at the ring wide eyed, pushing herself slightly away from him. For the briefest instant Bellum’s heart plummeted. But all doubt was washed away when he looked up from the ring and into her eyes. His doubt was washed away with the cold and heavy rain as a single word escaped her lips.
“Yes.”
As soon as the words left her lips a lightning bolt set her home ablaze. Four horses who had been sheltering in the stables attached to the side of the house galloped out in a frenzy. One of the horses was on fire, screaming in pain. As if unaware, Bellum and Zaye kissed there and then, to the terrified screams of a burning horse, and the sizzle of the rain as it fell on the burning house. Thunder ripped the sky in two, and Bellum, for as long as he lived, would believe it was the applause of the gods.
Crayt emerged from the darkness of a nearby group of corn stalks, and into the light of the flames. He held the three bags that he and Bellum had packed the night before over one shoulder, and a bag of vegetables over the other. He had travelled to a few more farms and stashes of food while his brother and Zaye had their conversation. And he was covered nearly up to his chest in fresh mud. He watched as his younger brother, and his new sister-in-law kissed between him and the burning home, only seeing their silhouettes, a grin on his face. Crayt laid the bags down and started off to gather the three horses that survived the fire before the mob showed up.
“I’m with child Bellum,” she whispered. That night the four of them left that farm, leaving Zaye’s family, friends, and everything she had ever known. All four of them, all for Bellum, all for love.

Bellum sighed, the cold air crashing into the rickety old wagon dragging him away from the warm and fresh air of his memory. For Bellum, thinking was the best release. Releasing him from the grasp of his voices. Release from the aches and pains of the road. Fortunately for Bellum, at the ripe age of nineteen, he had plenty of things to think about, remember, or plan.
He stared off through the cold air. He wiggled his thick body deeper into the quilts and furs that ensnared him, tightening them at the same time.
The ruins of some old house, or perhaps barn, lay on the edge of the road, overgrown with weeds and trees. A post, a relic from some long-ago fence stood lonely, and his mind was rushed back to the house and the fire. From time to time on his travels the voices told him to turn back to Ordia, or some of them curse him for having ever left it in the first place.
A sense of regret hung in his chest, a regret that he would never share with Zaye or Crayt. A regret that he felt that if he should voice, would endanger the entire journey. So, he shut the voices out until they stopped pestering him, but they never quit entirely, and for that he was partially grateful. Though he did not understand why he felt the way he did, and he did not delve any deeper than his own confusion.
He continued to stare out into the vast open fields of seemingly lifeless space. It had been a long time since they had crossed the paths of any other travelers. Most, he figured, were held up in some town…Like Ordia …smart enough not to travel in the cold. They were not so foolish as to be out in this weather, instead they would stay inside, next to their warm furnaces or fireplaces, safe and sound with their families. All their goods traded or still in the processes of being traded.
He imagined them having full bellies, and smiles on their faces. Whereas he still had the scars on his face from the last time he had smiled, and the cold surface of his flesh had ripped itself apart. Whereas he and his family were out here scavenging and starving little by little. Stocked completely up with pots and pans and silverware from across the capitals of the known world, but only with crumbs stains of food.
Plenty of coffee though. Enough to last them even after it spilled, even though it not abundant enough to let the spillage to go unlicked.
Bellum shivered, but smiled, on the inside to avoid more scaring, at the memory. Then he remembered a time once before when things were aplenty for all for all of them, and finally deciding to relive that time once more, his attempt to remove himself from the hunger of the now.

The meat from the first horse had lasted them a lot longer than they had ever expected, Crayt and Bellum had been taught to leave nothing to waste, and luckily for them they had still managed to recover the three other horses that had survived the fire, using them to drag the dead or dying one far enough away from the blazing home, so as they wouldn’t be caught by the mob of curious and disgruntled townsfolk. And, because of the three horses, they had no trouble packing the meat and the stolen vegetables.
They ate like royalty for the first month and a half. After that they managed by hunting whenever they could. Snagging a deer with an arrow here and there was never difficult during the spring and summer time, during the warm seasons the deer binged on the surplus of grasses that blanketed the landscape. A fat deer is a slow deer, and a delicious one at that.
Those months were some of the greatest months of Bellum’s life. He was with the ones that he loved the most, and with child on the way life was good. Food was aplenty and they grew even fatter on the road than they had in Ordia.
They spent the cool mornings walking, the heat of the afternoons in the shade with full bellies, they were not in any rush on their journey, they were simply on the way somewhere, there was no urgency in their pace. And they spend the nights with even more full stomachs, songs in the air, and love in their hearts.
They would swim in the ponds and streams that they would pass, splashing one another playfully while bathing at the same time. As they passed through small towns Crayt and Bellum would offer their assistance in the town’s affairs as bouncers or handymen, earning themselves a profit, and keeping their backs stocked with goods, pans, weapons and clothes being the basics that they searched for above all else.
Those months moved by quickly and in a haze, each day swinging into the next with effortless grace. Crayt and Bellum would tell Zaye stories of their past, myths and legends of their ancestors would be shared over the flame of a campfire, or under the lounging sun. Laughs would be shared, and songs would be sung. To Bellum there was a music in the air that none of them heard, but they all danced to.
But as the cold season started to creep in, the deer became harder and harder to find. The road took them south-east after they left Ordia, while all the deer travelled north. As well as the large packs of wolves that started to roam the prairies, them too looking for the remaining meat. And though the wolves were aplenty for a time, the three of them were not foolish enough to tackle a full pack of wolves, but settled when they could pick off a solitary loner from time to time.
This source of meat, a rare treat during the fall, consisted mainly of old alpha males that were unlucky enough to outlive the timespan of their prime, and the strength that leadership required. The meat was old meat, tough and tasteless.
For the next two months that made up the transition between the warm season and the cold, the managed to scavenge the seasonal foods from farms that dotted the road. But miles and miles were hard on the feet, especially on pregnant feet, for this was before the founding of the wagon. But for the first month of winter, free food was harder to come by, all the farmers had either stored up their crops, locking them away with keys they wore around their necks. Or they managed to sell them off, keeping only what their family needed to survive the cold season, and what was necessary to start the crops when the new year rolled around.
No snow fell, and Bellum believed that summer still lingered among the heavens, the gods wanting their home to stay warm just a little while longer, and inadvertently preventing any snow to fall on the earth below. Meat was a rarity that month. Any creature that foolish enough to show itself, or travel to close to the road, was quickly dispatched, and served. And epic delicacy that would not be overlooked. All the creatures of the world had either dug into their various dens, holes, crevices and cracks, or headed as far north as their legs or wings could carry them.
Even the wolves were rare to come across, most heading north, in search of their prey.

The wind had already picked up the early chills. The trees no longer held the warmth of the sky, making the forests an unwelcoming and lonesome setting. The wind mingled with the smoke of the campfire that they had brought to life only a few hours before.
Though the world was cold, the carcasses of wood that were scavenged from the undergrowth were still bone dry. The fire burned bright and strong, growing fat off the flesh of the trees that surrounded it, ironically protecting it from the wind, a cruel joke on nature. The fire always starving for more.
Bellum, Crayt and Zaye huddled around the fire, also protected from the fierce wind, and starving. A single horse stood far off, nosing through the dead leaves, searching for the surviving greens from their dead and dying brown brethren, and then prying it from the earth to its doom. The trickle of a nearby stream echoed through the trees. Zaye and Bellum lay in each other’s arms, Bellum’s callused fingers trailing over her swollen belly, occasionally mesmerized by her gaping bellybutton.
Staying alert and focused, trying to distinguish each far-off sound, Crayt sat with his back to the flames. Looking away from the fire kept his eyes adjusted to the night, and turning would destroy his night vision, and impair the awareness of his surroundings. Crayt could hear Zaye’s giggles as he stared off into the nearly silent woods.
In the last town they had passed through, the townsfolk had seemed distraught and scared. Apparently, Wolf-Fang had delved even deeper within the western border, and some of his raiding parties had made it all the way to the Red River. Somehow his group had managed to cover a month’s travel in only a week, some even heard that the High Moorian’s were dealing with some scouting parties that had climbed into the mountains. Bellum and Crayt were not so sure of that, and decided amongst themselves that Wolf-Fang would be smart enough not to drag the High Moorian’s into the fight just yet.
But despite the exaggerations of the story as it was passed from person to person, scared people at that, they knew that Wolf-Fang did have a lot of followers, and decided that he was more than capable of causing some trouble for all four of the Great Kingdoms.
Ever since then, the two of them had been extra cautious, taking shifts watching at night, not going off into the woods alone, not walking down roads that seemed too suspicious, and they lingered in the towns that they travelled through for the added protection.
They managed to work and trade in their old bow for a nicer one. The bow was from a traveler that had many exotic antiques from across the known world, and some he claimed from the unknown world. The bow, the traveler promised, was from the shores of Skime, though they figured that it descended from the dunes of the Corsian Empire instead. But regardless it was a fine bow.
They managed also to get their hands on a few, old but reliable swords, that an old general no longer wanted to hold onto. Each brother hung their new blade on his hip, only taking it off to either hone the edge, or to lay down. Even Zaye had to have a small dagger, one that Bellum never planned on her using. But Crayt and Bellum taught her a thing or two so she could defend herself if, gods forbid, it should ever come to that and Bellum or Crayt weren’t around to protect her.
They tried not to tell Zaye too much about Wolf-Fang, his raiding parties or his strengthening presence, so it wouldn’t scare her too badly. she was a strong girl, neither of them would deny her that, but she was young, pregnant, and still new to the world outside of Ordia. And they didn’t want the first year away from home to be filled with more fear than the winter itself already brings.
While she slept soundly at night, Crayt and Bellum would take shifts at night, staring off into the darkness, their backs toward the fire. Keeping their senses sharp, and their swords just as sharp if not more so.
She would ask them during the day, when they would stumble and yawn,
“Why, I thought you guys could handle all of this. Didn’t you do this all before? I’m better at living on the road than either of you, and I’ve only been out here a year! Ha!” she would tease.

Suddenly a massive bump in the road ripped Bellum from his memories, while sending the old wagon into a vicious spasm. The bump was so sudden and violent that it shook Bellum out of the driver’s patio, and Crayt, still holding onto the reigns of a now very frightened horse was pulled down into the cold and solid earth as well.
Bellum, confused and now exposed to the cold turned to the wagon just in time to see it start to tip, pause for a moment at the peak of its arc, and then land with a crash back on its wheels. The frame of the wagon twisted, making Bellum fear that it would snap, but thankfully it did no such thing.
The horse stood as still as a statue, Crayt using the reigns to get back to his feet. Both sets of their quilts and furs lay spread out across the road. They looked at each other, and seemingly at the same time realized that Zaye had been in the back of the wagon the entire time.
Bellum was the first to respond to the thought, and darted towards the back of the wagon. Each step towards the opening made him realize how quiet everything had gotten after the crash. He reached the back and pulled the tarp that had protected his wife from the cold apart.
There, surrounded by the countless knick-knacks, pots and pans, and silverware that had decorated the inside of the wagon, sat Zaye. She looked up at Bellum with wide eyes, but a smile on her face. Relief flooded through Bellum, the emotion nearly knocked the wind from him, and he found himself scrambling inside next to her, trying to catch his breathe.
Crayt stumbled to the back to find Bellum holding say in his arms, looking her over for any sign of injury, finding none.
“What in the name of the Gods was that?!” she tried to scream at Crayt, her scowl turned playful when she laid her eyes on Bellum. “You need to tell that brother of yours to be more careful the next time he sees a BOULDER IN THE ROAD!” she finished.
Bellum and Crayt looked at each other, both then erupted with laughter.
“She’s fine.” Bellum said. She playfully punched his shoulder.
“And it wasn’t a boulder, woman, it was a normal rock, and we’ve run’t over many before. T’ain’t my fault you don’t know how’s to hang them tings up properly.” The shiver in his voice scrambling his speech, and combining with his laughter.
“Then keep your damn eyes open for the next ROCK that gets in the way, you nearly rolled me over,” then looking at Bellum, “I wouldn’t of been so fine then.”
They all stood or sat there, looking from one to another, smiles on their faces, for some time. Eventually they decided that it was about time to continue on their journey. Bellum and Crayt helped Zaye secure the things into their places, so if, gods forbid, it should happen again, the avalanche wouldn’t be so severe.
After a quick brew of coffee, and some recollecting of the events that had just transpired, the brothers bundled themselves up in the front of the wagon, while Zaye secured herself into the bed roll that lay in the back.
The road was silent, with only the breeze keeping the three of them company. And once again Bellum’s mind drifted.

Deep in a large wood, far from the nearest town, Bellum and Zaye lay together atop pieced together bedding that had been created from old blankets, random furs that they had either skinned themselves, or traded for during their travels, and the moss that always seemed to be abundant in the forests, even in weather as cold and dry as this.
Bellum and Zaye looked deep in each other’s eyes, no words were spoken, none needed to be said. The repetition of the word Love was merely unnecessary, they both knew and understood their own feelings, as well as each other’s.
“Promise that you will take care of us,” she said randomly. Her eyes pierced his.
Startled Bellum replied, “Of course I will take care of us.”
“Promise me,” she echoed herself. Bellum looked at her confused.
“I promise that I will take care of us.”
“All of us?” she asked instantly.
“I promise that I will take care of all of us.” He said the confusion replaced with seriousness. “I promise.”
“Good,” she smiled. A smile of innocence that would never be outdone. A smile that radiated trust and love. A smile that placed all of herself, and their child, in his callused hands. “I’m going to get some sleep then. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight my love,” Bellum whispered to her. With the farewell she began to nuzzle her body closer to his, sharing the warmth between them, and left to another world.
As Zaye began to fall asleep, Bellum looked over at his brother, who was staring off into the woods, every now and again Crayt’s gaze would twitch a direction, signaling and attempting to understand the sounds that he heard from the darkness outside their circle of light. Bellum often admired his brother in a similar light to this. There Crayt sat, his body a well-oiled machine, the ripples of muscle could be distinguished through the thick Sharptooth pelt he wore over his back.
Everyone, including Zaye, told Bellum and Crayt that they were nearly identical in every way besides their facial features. But sometimes Bellum questioned whether or not he ever matched up to his brother. Though he could not deny that they stood the same height, and another spurt of growth was in him yet, he never saw himself as holding the same bulk that was his brother’s shoulders.
Bellum admired his brother. He admired Crayt not only for his strength, but for his bravery. He was always ready to protect them, and he never seemed to care that he stayed cold many nights, while Bellum and Zaye stayed warm together. No jealousy, or regret hung on his face when they would flirt and play with each other. Bellum admired his brother for all the trouble he had gone through just because he cared about his younger brother.
Bellum untied the sword from his waist, reached out and laid it between himself and the crackling flames of the fire. And made sure that it stayed within arm’s reach in case of an emergency. Bellum wrapped his arm around his wife, and began to drift into unconsciousness. Crayt continued to stare off into the dark void that surrounded them, his eyes sharp, ears pricked, muscles tense, and waiting.