Chapter Twenty - Vim - A Log and A Hen

     Lomi sat quietly, staring up at the large moon.

The sky was clear, and the chilly winter air was being kept at bay by the campfire before us. There was only a light wind, and we were far enough from the road that Lomi was able to sit without her hat on. Her large ears were casting shadows on her face since she was facing away from the campfire. It gave her a forlorn look, even though she seemed happy.

"Mother used to say the moon was where we came from," Lomi said softly.

"Explains all the lumps on your head," I said.

Lomi's ears twitched, as if she heard something in the distance. Although she glanced at me with a glare, she did so with a smile.

"Think it's true?" she asked, choosing to ignore my joke.

"Hm. Many say such things. Or that we're from another world, or realm. But who knows? If we are there's no way to prove it, nor return, so it doesn't matter," I said.

Lomi sighed, and I knew that was because she hadn't liked my answer. Rather, she hadn't really wanted a real answer at all.

She had simply wanted to talk of tales and legends.

Children liked such things.

The fire popped, and her attention went to it instead. One bright glow to another.

While she studied the fire, I studied the log she sat on. It was old, dried out, and free of bugs... but there was an odd shape to it. Had it been carried here? There were no trees anywhere around us, not for some distance, and the wood looked out of place.

Maybe it had fallen off a cart... but we were a ways from the road, and there was no river here. Usually travelers stuck close to the path, or only left it to camp near a water source.

"How far have we traveled?" Lomi then asked.

"From your home? Two months. We've traveled through three nations, eight towns, a dozen rivers, a great lake, and over two mountain passes. Many leagues. A feat worth being proud over, as one so young as yourself," I said to her.

"I should be proud?" she asked.

I nodded. "You should. Traveling is dangerous. And I don't just mean that because of our circumstances. There are wildlife, bandits, slavers, diseases, natural disasters like mudslides and floods... getting lost in the forests. There are many ways to get hurt or die while traveling. Especially alone," I said.

"I'm not alone though?"

"True. But all the same, you should be proud. Most of our kind doesn't travel like this. They hate it. It's why so many of us have problems," I said.

"Like my family," she whispered.

Opening my mouth to speak, to agree, I realized I had once again brought up a sad memory for her.

"It's okay," she said, smiling softly.

I nodded, but knew it wasn't. It never would be.

"One day you'll look back on this trip... you may not remember all of it, but there will be moments. Most I guide, even decades later, remember things that I don't. Things I said. Things we did. Moments. You will too," I said.

Lomi's eyes were steady, but I didn't see any sadness within them.

"I miss my parents," she then said.

"I'm sure you do," I said.

She sighed and nodded, and didn't seem to become any sadder... she wasn't about to cry and sob, but rather was simply making a statement.

"You always will," I added gently.

Lomi glanced at me, and pondered my words for a moment. Then she nodded. "I'm sure."

"But eventually, you'll have children of your own. You'll have friends. Family. Time will pass. Then one day I'll show up again and you can tell your children and all those around you how mean I was to you as we traveled," I said.

The young girl finally looked her age as she giggled, her smile growing large as she nodded. "I will!"

I nodded alongside her laughter, and hoped the day would indeed come.

It rarely did lately, so it'd be nice if it would.

"A long time ago I helped a large hen. I don't mean one of us, but an actual hen. The chicken was... well, about as big as those trees over there," I said with a point to a part of the nearby forest.

"A hen?" she asked, intrigued.

"Yeah. She could speak. In your terms she was probably what you'd consider an ancestor. Before we all became... well, more human," I said, and wondered if I should even mention something like that to her or not.

"And?" she asked, growing interested. She scooted along the log a little, to be a tad bit closer to I who sat on the ground near her.

"Every few years she laid eggs. Giant ones. About as big as you. Sometimes they hatched. My route at the time hadn't been as big as the one I do now, so I came around more often than not. So usually I'd show up only a few months after they hatched. There was always a few. Sometimes one, sometimes five, baby chickens to meet," I said.

"The eggs were as big as me?" she asked, leaning forward.

I nodded. "Sure were. When I usually came around they were already bigger than you. Sometimes even my size. It didn't take long for them to grow at all. Anyway, their mother loved to use me as a scare tactic. She told them how mean I was. How I'd cook them up and eat them if they didn't behave," I said.

Lomi blinked for a moment, then broke out into a huge grin. "So they were scared of you!" she understood quickly.

Smiling, I nodded. For a brief moment I re-lived the many memories of watching all the little chicks run away from me, bawking and screaming in terror. "They were. They'd run and hide under her wings, and wouldn't come back out until I left," I said.

"Hehe, you deserve it!" she said.

"Probably. It always made my visit there an enjoyable one... an odd one, but fun all the same," I said.

"What happened when they got older? Did they stop being scared of you?" she asked, standing up off the log.

Watching her step towards me, excited to hear the rest, I realized once again I made a small mistake.

"I'm not sure Lomi. They never lived long," I said gently.

Lomi hesitated, and I knew I was going to have to explain. If anything so it wouldn't trouble her forever.

"She lived near a larger creature. One that demanded sacrifice..." For a moment I hesitated, but knew better than to let my sensibilities stop the truth. "Food," I added plainly.

For a long moment Lomi stared at me, and I watched her quickly understand. I watched her happy, joyous smile, slowly die. A long, heartbreaking death.

The young fox stepped back, and nearly missed the log as she sat back down. Her shoulders slumped, and she suddenly looked weary. As if our journey so far had been far, far, harder on her than it had been.

As she slumped there, I noticed again how odd the log was. So out of place here, in this grass field. Surrounded by forest, yet not a single tree nearby.

How had it come to be?

"She... she sacrificed her children?" she asked softly.

"She did. She had to, to survive. The world back then was a little... different than the one today. Just as bad. Just as hard. Yet... different all the same," I said.

"You... you didn't help her? Why didn't you kill the thing eating her babies?" she asked.

I blinked, and wondered how someone so young was so quick on the uptake. Maybe this trip was maturing her faster than she should be.

"I wanted to. She'd not let me. If I had killed the creature, she and many others would have suffered. That beast, as evil as it were, protected them against an even greater evil. And... although I am the Societies protector now, I hadn't always been. At that time I was more of an observer. A watcher. Enemy to many... A friend to a few," I explained.

Her eyes narrowed, and I wondered if she could wrap her young head around my meaning. Could she really understand that sometimes, lesser evil was necessary? Especially when the ones I wanted to help, refused it?

"What happened to her? The mother hen?" she then asked.

"Died not too long ago. If it's any comfort, she eventually did raise many children. To their full potential. As the world changed, so did its rules, allowing me to eventually help in a way," I said.

"Are any alive today?" she asked, her sad face uplifting a little at the news.

"Yes. A single bloodline remains. She's not as big as her mother, she's a little bigger than me. She is what the humans call a guardian deity. She watches over a human village, her and her family, far to the east. They're not a part of the Society, though... although not a human, she's also not like us. She's more animal than not," I said.

"I see. They're far away? I can't meet them?" she asked.

"Too far. It'd take a year or so to get you there, and then another back. Too dangerous," I said.

"Hm..." she nodded, but had a small smile. It seemed I had somehow kept her heart from breaking.

Good job, me.

I shifted a little, and brought myself closer to the log. To lean back against it, using it as a backrest to rest an arm on. Lomi glanced at me with a small glare as I caused it to shift against my weight.

"The point of the story was to tell you how amusing it is to tease your children, using me," I said.

She huffed and shook her head. Her ears danced a little as they did, telling me she was holding back a laugh. "Maybe I can convince them to bite you on sight," she said.

Smiling, I nodded. Yes that would be alright too.

While I rested against the log I ran my hand along it. The dried wood reminded me of driftwood. In fact, it felt, looked, and smelled like it.

Yet we were many days from the nearest ocean.

And a few days from the lake we had just left.

A river was nearby, but it was more a stream than anything else...

It was just a log... why did I always worry about things that had no relevance?

Forcing my attention away from the log, I glanced at the campfire. It wasn't distracting enough, so I looked back up at the bright moon. It was now hidden by a small layer of clouds.

"When I'm gone, will you tell others about me too, Vim?" Lomi asked.

The bright moon went a little more hazy, and not because more clouds appeared.

"Yes. I will," I said.

"Don't let them know I cried so much," she said softly.

I smiled and nodded. "I'll tell them how brave you are Lomi. And that is no lie. I told you... I don't need to lie," I said.

"Hm. Though my story isn't over yet, is it?" she asked.

"That's true. Who knows? Maybe you'll do something crazy, and I'll have to protect something or someone else from you," I said.

Lomi giggled, as if such an idea was so ridiculous even her childish mind couldn't fathom it.

She didn't giggle long, and I noticed that after some time... I found it quiet.

The moon held my attention in the silence for a moment... but only a moment. My eyes then found a nearby patch of clouds. They were dark enough that even the bright moonlight couldn't pierce them.

My attention didn't last long there either.

Finding my eyes back at the young fox, I found her staring at me. She had a faint smile, but hidden behind it was sorrow. Sadness.

At least it wasn't accusing hatred.

"It's okay," I said to her.

She nodded. "Yep."

Glancing back at the sky, as the clouds slowly revealed the moon in full view again, Lomi and I went to sitting in silence.

Better such silence than the screams.

"Did you ever eat one of her babies?" she then asked, breaking the silence and forcing me to wish for screams after all.