A Village of Beginnings
"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Return to the earth and be free, for death is but another beginning. May Mother Anturia watch over you."
—A prayer to Mother Anturia for the dead
Ein woke at early dawn. He sat groggily for a while, listening to the quiet breathing of Evaine beside him, ignoring the stiffness creeping into the hollow of his neck where her head lay. It took a while longer for him to remember he wasn't supposed to be asleep, and when he pulled his hand away from hers she let out a quiet groan and began to stir.
He remained perfectly still as she shifted into a more comfortable position, and it wasn't until her breathing evened that he dared move.
Ein rose to his feet and made a quick check on Evaine's mother and father, noting the tinge of color creeping back into their cheeks. Nodding to himself, he left the room, tip-toeing. Hopefully he would make it back before Evaine woke, and she would be none the wiser.
After a modest breakfast from the innkeeper and a knowing wink which he ignored, he set out to the Tamelyn farmstead. Smoke rose from the chimneys of Felhaven as fireplaces burned to life and villagers woke up to tend to their daily chores. Some of them waved to Ein as he passed them by.
He reached the farm in what felt like no time at all. However, he wasn't alone.
"Bran," he exclaimed. And then, with a more respectful tone, "Master Sutherland."
Bran and his father Sanson stood in the middle of the pen, working away at the sheep corpses. They'd sheared the bloodstained fleece already and were hacking away at the bodies with an assortment of knives and cleavers. A wagon stood beside the fence on the road, laden with several sacks of what Ein assumed were tools and cuts of meat, and tethered to it laid a brown mare pawing idly at the ground.
"Ein," Bran nodded. "How's Evaine? I would visit, but we can't leave these corpses out for much longer. It was hard enough finding the time to come today."
"You left them out for the whole of yesterday?" Ein asked. He approached one of the sheep carcasses, fighting down the uneasiness in his stomach. Soon enough, part of that corpse would be on his plate. He hoped the flies hadn't gotten around to laying their eggs yet.
"The village was in an uproar," Bran sighed. "We spent the entire day scouring the countryside for the attackers. Didn't find anything, of course."
Bran stood up and wiped his sleeve across his forehead. He was a sandy-haired youth with a splattering of freckles across his red skin, just as tall and thin as his father. Ein remembered a time when young Bran had been the shortest of the three and Evaine had towered a full head above them both. Back then their worries had consisted of getting home before dark, following rabbits to their holes and finding the tallest trees to climb in the woods. How the times had changed.
"Evaine's doing fine," Ein answered. "The Master and Mistress look to be in better shape as well. Hopefully they'll be awake later today."
"That's good to hear," Bran said. He turned to where his father was on the other side of the pen and furrowed his brow. "Of all the times for disaster to strike, it had to be now. I hope they'll be able to enjoy the festival tomorrow."
"Get back to work," Sanson called out from across the field, startling them both. The tension left Bran's shoulders and he bent down to the corpse, cleaver raised. With a firm chop, he severed one of the hind legs and pulled it from the main body.
"Sorry," Ein said. "Anyway, have you seen Einar around?"
Bran nodded, cleaning off the tendons from the cut. "Yeah. He's dead. I pulled his body to the side since I figured you'd probably want to bury him." He pointed to the edge of the pen. "Didn't touch him or anything. Evaine would kill me if I carved him up like the other animals."
"Thank the gods." Ein exhaled.
"She doesn't know he's dead yet, does she?"
Ein shoved his hands into his pockets as Bran wrapped the leg into a flap of leather. "I think she suspects it. But don't tell her; just say we didn't find his body. I'll go and bury him now."
"Got it."
Ein left him then, trudging over to the remains of the hound with heavy steps. His breath caught in his throat and he closed his eyes for a moment. Einar's jaw was still locked into a snarl, eyes open in fierce determination, staring down whatever it was that had killed him. It had been dark and Ein had been tired the night before, but under the stark daylight the scene was exposed in all its savagery.
He gently closed the hound's eyes.
"Mother Anturia watch over you," he murmured.
He bundled the body into his arms, careful not to let any of the insides spill out, and found a place beneath a pine well away from the edge of the farm. Bran and his father were small dots in the distance, moving back and forth between the sheep carcasses and their wagon. Neither of them paid him any heed.
The first spadeful was the easiest. The soft snow quickly gave way to packed ice and then firm, frozen soil, and it soon became a strenuous task. He fell into a steady rhythm, working up a sweat before long. It was a mindless exercise, one he didn't dislike at all. He didn't want to think. The past few days had given him enough to think about, with the upcoming Flower Dance and the whole issue of who he would take to be his bride, as well as the attack on the Tamelyn farm.
When he was done, he took a moment to admire his handiwork before gently lowering Einar's body into the grave. A knot of sadness grew in his stomach, followed by anger and frustration. Things wouldn't quite be the same without the wolfhound.
The screeching of a crow startled Ein out of his thoughts. He quickly began packing the earth back into the hole. Evaine would be up soon, and it was as safe a bet as any that she'd come back to her farm—if not to look for him, then to salvage what little she could. He wanted the job to be finished by then. Hopefully, a light sprinkling of snow would have covered the patch of dirt he'd dug up.
Bran and his father had just about finished when Ein returned to the farm and left the spade in the shed. Bran was panting with exertion, even more red-faced than usual. Sanson finished securing their wares at the back of the wagon, feeding the old mare a turnip.
"All finished?" Bran asked.
Ein nodded.
"Just in time too, it looks like." Bran nodded in the direction of the road.
"We've got some visitors."