A warm winter's choice
Story by Kael Duranus on SoFurry
Imported from SF2 with no description.
Alrighty, so I do apologize for not having this done earlier. I was stuck on wording the last bit properly for a long while. Anyway, here we go, the second chapter of the set. I hope you enjoy it.
As always,comments are appreciated and requested.
Continued from 'Peace in Memory'...
Seeing Toran relax his grip on the hilt of his knife, Artie uncocked the pistol he held and returned it to the holster at his hip. Digging into his saddle bags, the older scout took out a white cloth, and, standing so the hills hid him from the view from the west, waved the cloth above his head. Even in the weak light of the sliver of moon above them, the cloth shone bright enough to be seen by the column of cavalry riding towards them and the mass of horsemen turned from the trail, heading for the spot where the pair had camped. When they were getting close, a familiar voice called out loud enough to be heard above the thundering hooves.
“Column, Halt!!" Toran's father called from his position at the head of the formation, the mounted soldiers immediately slowing to an orderly stop as the company commanders relayed the order back along the line. After a few moment's pause, his father continued in a quieter voice, issuing orders to the two officers that rode behind him. “Order your battalions to dismount. We will rest here for a half hour; no lights and keep your men quiet. Pass the word for the company commanders." When the colonel had returned the salute of the two majors, the man dismounted himself, coming over to where the two scouts stood waiting. When they saluted as well, he waved it off. “As you were, both of you. Graydon told me some of what you found in the clearing, but I want to hear it from you, Toran."
“Yes sir." Toran replied, unable to miss the slight, cold note that tinged his father's words when he spoke to him. That note had been in his voice since his mother's funeral and it would probably be there for the rest of their lives. Taking a deep breath and shrugging it off, he told everything he could remember of the scene in the clearing, and laid out the reasons why it had obviously been a setup, offering the hybrid items he had stowed in his gear as evidence. His father listened with close attention, nodding slowly as if something had been confirmed in his head when Toran finished speaking. For a moment, the Colonel was silent, one hand cupping his chin, his pointer finger tapping thoughtfully, looking as if he was fitting together pieces in his head, then, after a long moment, he spoke.
“Weisman, I want you to gear up and range out ahead of the trail a ways with Graydon. Its clear enough now that you should be able to follow it even on this dark of a night. Be subtle about it though, and if the trail changes direction, I want you to ride back immediately and tell me." As the other scout nodded and immediately began packing his gear, the Colonel motioned for Toran to come with him. “I have another job for you Toran, but you need to hear this first." Nodding hesitantly, Toran followed his father as he turned to the gathering of men with officer insignia on the shoulders of their uniform tunics that waited at a respectful distance behind them. “Alright, here is the situation." When the officers had knelt, the colonel un-shuttered the covered lantern that one of the Majors had brought, letting out a crescent of light from the candle within it. Taking a map from a case he carried, the colonel unrolled it so they could all see it.
“As everyone is aware by now, these strange raids have been increasing up and down the territories in the last couple months." The man tapped the Xs marking the locations in turn as he continued, making his point clear. “They have hit the north, then the south, then the middle of our patrol area, then back to the north and south again. They are like nothing we have ever seen before, so a couple weeks back, I dispatched couriers to the brigades bordering our area. They came back just after I sent out our scouts to track this latest bunch." Pausing a moment, the Colonel pulled a folded sheet of paper out the satchel and consulted it before continuing. “The other commanders agree that the thinking behind the tactics doesn't match that of our neighbors to the west. Which is why I am inclined to agree with our best scout's opinion that the hybrids are not responsible for this. So, taken apart, the attacks in all three brigade areas are odd, but not necessarily damning. But with this last set, whoever this is finally showed their hand. The three most recent attacks in our area occurred within minutes of eight other attacks to the north and south of us. No bandits have that kind of timing, or the resources and manpower to pull it off."
“Bandits, Hell... If that isn't military timing, then I'm a horse." One of the captains commented, a few of the others nodding agreement. Toran recognized all of the agreeing officers to be ones who were also veterans of the Torius military, men who had moved out to the territories when they left the service. That they all agreed was more than a little troubling to Toran. It had never occurred to the young scout that the group they were tracking was anything other than the sort of people the Rangers were used to dealing with. But even that possibility didn't quite fit with the other pieces that he had discovered. In his heart, no matter what the others might say, he felt certain that there was something else going on here.
“Could the enemy have gotten forces this far west?" One of the Majors asked, looking pensive. “You know, open up a second front? Divide and conquer sort of thing?"
“Perhaps." Toran's father said, then shook his head. “But why the ruse of the trader wagon then, and why the scattered raids and not a concerted invasion? Nothing about this makes sense," He finally commented, but there was something in his gaze, a haunted expression, that made Toran sure he wasn't telling everything, but it was not the time or the place to call him on it. “But regardless, we have to be ready for a major fight. If it is Torius' enemies, than we are all that stands in the way of them running rough shod all over the territories and into Torius itself. And if its not... Well, we still have the best shot of ending this once and for all." A murmur of agreement passed around the circle and the colonel paused again before continuing.
“Now, there is only one place in our area where a large body of men could hide and pull off these attacks in this pattern." Tapping a place only a mile or two from the border of the hybrid lands, where the first two mountains of the range sat close together, the Colonel indicated where he meant and Toran was the first to nod in agreement. The place was a cleft in the middle of a ridge that the territorial residents called Axehead Pass. The gap was barely a quarter mile wide, but it opened up on the other end into a flat bowl wide enough for a camp, and quite secure from the outside. What was more, the spring runoff pooled in that valley before meandering out towards the sea, providing a precious source of water for anyone camping there, even in a dry year like this one. “And, if this trail we have followed stays on its course, it is likely that that is right where it is headed." Flipping open a pocket watch, Toran's father glanced at the time, then reshuttered the lantern and rolled up the map. “Brief your men, and make sure they are ready for a fight, we move out in ten minutes." When the officers nodded and started to move off, the colonel turned to Toran, motioning him to follow as he walked a few strides away from the column. The pair stood silent together for a few moments, looking out northward, then Toran spoke.
“Sir, there is something you didn't say to the officers." Toran stated and his father let out a slow breath.
“You are right, there is." He confirmed, then fell silent for a few more moments. Toran could almost feel the tension in his father, a feeling of pressure and expectation, as if it was a dam about to burst, then finally, the older man spoke. “Toran, all the news we have heard from the front in the East says that the invaders are having a hard enough time matching the Torius forces as it is. I seriously doubt that they could spare the men to open up a second front so far away. I think you are right; I think that there is something else going on here; I just hope to God I am wrong as to what it is." Toran didn't reply, shocked at his father's tone as he tucked the map into the satchel he carried. It was dark, troubled, and more than a little worried. He had never spoken so frankly to Toran before, and that more than anything worried him.
“Father, what is it?" Toran asked, hoping the informal tone he used would get the colonel talking. For a moment, it looked like it might work, but the officer finally shook his head, giving a slight resigned sigh.
“I can't tell you that. Not yet. If I'm wrong, then the war has come to the territories, and we are going to be in for it. If I'm right, then we are in far worse trouble. In any case, I need you to do something for me." Gesturing off in the direction the pair were staring, the officer continued. “Turnman's boys should be a little ways north of us somewhere, tracking another lead. You can find them faster than any of my couriers and I have a terrible feeling we are going to need them. I want you to bring them to the mouth of the pass as fast as you can. We will try and wait for you there, but if we have to move before you get to us, I know I can trust you to follow us quick enough." Toran nodded his understanding of the orders, then felt his eyes go wide when his father took off the map satchel and handed it to him. “Take this with you, and whatever you do, don't let it out of your sight, Scout." The satchel contained all the maps that belonged to the Ranger brigade, an invaluable resource, containing details of outpost locations, where they stored their supplies, even where all the wells were located; literally everything that the Rangers knew that outsiders wouldn't. If an enemy were to get their hands on it…
“Yes sir." Toran whispered and his father nodded, then clapped him on the shoulder and turned back to the column, the scout clearly having been dismissed. Hurrying to his saddle, Toran rolled up his bed roll and tied it in place before settling it on his stallion's back, tightening the girth strap to hold it. Even as he swung himself up into the saddle, Toran patted his horse's neck, getting it trotting out away from the camping place, parallel to the mountains, riding northward in the dark. Former Marshall Bill Turnman, now a Major in the Rangers, commanded a small but very special unit within the brigade. Made up of less than a hundred men, Turnman's unit was a group of mounted sharpshooters, the best marksman in the brigade.
Unlike regular cavalry, who emphasized skill with the saber and pistol far above ranged marksmanship, carrying close-range carbines and shotguns reluctantly, if they carried them at all, the Rangers carried rifles almost without exception, and knew how to use them. But Turnman's troops were something else, mostly former Marshalls and expert hunters, they had been hand-picked for their particular skill with the weapons. Then, with his father's blessing and support, Turnman had purchased enough ammunition to have his men practice day after day, until they almost never missed, either mounted or on foot, even at ranges that others considered impossible. If his father thought that they were going to need the sharpshooters, then they really were in trouble.
Nudging his painted stallion into a faster pace, trusting his nimble hooves in the dark, Toran looked back over his shoulder. Already, the Rangers were mounting up, forming around their commanders to ride on down the trail and a cold chill ran down Toran's back as his mount crested the hill to the north of the camping place. Riding down the other side and out of sight of the Rangers, Toran felt the powerful urge to kick his horse into a full gallop, but he restrained himself, knowing how stupid that was to do on a such a dark night. Even so, one detail of his father's unexpected conversation stuck in the young scout's mind more than the rest, making his hand drift to the comforting smoothness of the bone handle of the knife. His father had said that he seriously doubted that the enemy that had invaded Torius' eastern shorelands could spare the men to open a second front. But the way he had said it...it was almost like he wanted to say something more. But what? What did his father suspect?
Troubled, Toran cast his mind back, trying to divine what was going unsaid and he found himself at a loss. He couldn't imagine what it was that his father thought, and he found himself musing instead on all of their past encounters, trying to pin down where they had first begun to disagree. As the horse headed down the far slope, the textured bone beneath the red haired scout's hand made him want to smile, even if the expression couldn't fight its way through the evil premonitions he felt. The answer was simple of course. They had never truly understood one another. Truthfully, it had begun the day he had met Senyr, and ever since, their opinions had drifted further and further apart.
At first, Toran had tried to reconcile their beliefs, tried to find a way to get along with his father. But, as he stroked the knife hilt lovingly with his free hand, the smile finally crossed his lips, remembering the day where he had stopped trying, the day where he had finally realized that they would likely never agree. The knife, like the young wolf that had given it to him, was far, far more than anyone knew to him. It was not just the weapon and tool he could always rely on, it was a reminder of that strange day where their paths had irrevocably diverged...
***
“Toran, for the last time, you are not going and that is final!!" Toran's father shouted, loud enough to rattle the window panes. The rancher's loud bellow had been ringing in Toran's room for the last twenty minutes, and at first, he had been cowed by his father's rage, though, true to his character, the man hadn't come close to any sort of violence. He never had, not even the first time this subject had come up, but if the look on his face meant anything, this might be the time where he finally went there. “I don't want to hear another word about it."
After Toran had spent those first three wonderful days with Senyr's people, they had managed similar trips several times, and, though nothing like what had happened the first time had occurred, Toran had grown to truly wish to be back among them when he was away from the tribe. He still couldn't understand how being with the wolves could feel so much more like home than being at the ranch did, especially after so little time. When he had mentioned it to Senyr, the young wolf had blushed, seeming not to know what to say, which was certainly a first. They had spent many hours since then, trying to imagine ways for Toran to spend more time with the wolves. Their ideas had gotten more and more complicated and far-fetched until Senyr had finally joked that next time he came out to the camp, he should just stay. They had both laughed at that idea; tempting though it was, it could only be a fantasy.
If he just up and vanished one day, Toran's father would have gone crazy. Even though, by and large, the human residents of the territory were on relatively good terms with the hybrids, they both knew there was more than enough prejudice in the background of the minds of enough people for such an event to be quite a problem. Even so, the idea was pleasant, and there were days where he really wished he could do it. More realistically, they had started planning for the next best thing; finding ways to spend even more time in each other's company. They had especially tried to figure out a way to get Toran's father on board with their friendship, since this would be a whole lot easier if they didn't have to sneak around, but every idea they had come up with, they knew would never work. But even that distant dream had come crashing down like a rockslide the last time they had been riding back from one of their trips.
They had bid each other goodbye a half day from the ranch house, as they always had, sharing a warm hug, Senyr riding off back west and Toran heading on alone. But he had not gotten more than a quarter mile before his father and a trio of hands had come riding over the hill, the rancher in a towering rage. He said that he knew Toran had been defying him for some time, spending his days with the young wolf instead of learning the ground like he had been claiming, and that he had been watching for him today. The entire ride back to the ranch, his father had ranted at him over it, until Toran finally stopped listening. When they finally stabled the horses, he had sworn that Toran wasn't going to be let out of the house again for the rest of his life, and had stormed off. His father had insisted that one of his hands watch Toran at all times, which had prevented Toran from getting out pretty handily. For all of about a week, that is.
The day that Toran and Senyr had planned to meet up again, Toran had feigned sleep once more, something that he had gotten extremely good at, until the ranch hand watching him nodded off in turn. Then, he had slipped out the already open window, onto the roof of the porch, crept around to the opposite end of the house in silence, and snuck out anyway, the hands none the wiser to his descent down the pillar. When he had told Senyr about the new ban on his travel, the wolf had been shocked and remorseful, but that had just made Toran even more sure about what he was doing. Toran had assured him that he wasn't going to stop coming to spend time with his friend, no matter what his father did. And the next morning, when he had come back to the ranch, his father had been livid, launching into an long, angry speech that, if Toran hadn't known better, he would have sworn his father had rehearsed.
He had thought that he had seen his father angry before, but it looked like he might have finally gone too far this time. But, just when it looked like Toran was in real trouble, the rancher's voice shaking the timbers of the house, his mother had suddenly stepped in. She had interrupted his father's triad without a word and almost forcibly dragged the rancher out of the room. Then, though they had closed the door between them, he had heard her letting his father have it, something that, to the best of his knowledge, she had never done before; in fact, he had never imagined that she was capable of doing such a thing. Finally, she had pointed out that not only wasn't it working to try and force the two friends apart, it was more than cruel to try. Toran had never had the opportunity to have many friends his age, and if he had found one that he valued so much, then trying to keep them apart was only going to cause trouble between Toran and his father. 'Besides,' she had asked, 'what harm was there in their friendship?'
His father had been dead silent for a long few minutes, then Toran's parents had talked in such a quiet tone that he hadn't been able to hear what was said. Finally after almost a half hour, his father had come back in, his face a more normal color than the deep crimson it had been and after a few deep breaths, he had grudgingly apologized for what he said, and for trying to force him and Senyr apart. Further, he had said that, as long as Toran kept him informed as to where he went, he wouldn't try and stop them anymore. That had been such a shocking shift in his father's attitude that he had thought for a while that he was dreaming. It was like a titanic weight had been lifted from his shoulders and he had thanked the rancher profusely. His father had grunted in noncommittal acknowledgment and walked off, clearly done with the whole discussion. Toran had thanked his mother over and over for her help, but she had waved it off as well, saying that she thought it was good for him to have such a close friend. Besides, the whole point of the territories was so that the two peoples would develop good relations, not keep themselves sequestered. When he had told Senyr the good news, the wolf had been so overjoyed he had let out a wild howl of delight, grinning from ear to ear as he tackled Toran once more, the human sharing his exuberant joy. The pair had spent the rest of the summer meeting up as often as they could, almost carefree at last. And then...
Then, autumn had rolled around again, and the pair had reluctantly turned their thoughts to what had happened the year before. They both agreed that four months was entirely too long for them to be apart but they had both been at a loss what to do. Senyr couldn't stay in the plains during the winter, not without his tribe anyway, and Toran's father, though he wasn't interfering anymore, made it perfectly clear he still disapproved of their friendship, so it wasn't like he would be amenable to helping them in the slightest.
Then, one day, when the autumn season was almost gone, Toran had been visiting the wolves in their camp once more, maybe for the last time before they left for the winter, and Foryn and the tribal elders had come up to where the two teens had been working. Toran had been more than a little shocked when they had extended an incredible offer out of the blue. They said that they wanted him to come with them when they left, to spend the winter at their lodges in the mountains. His heart had leapt for the sky once more, and he had instantly accepted. Only after the elders had walked away did he realize just what he had done. His father already resented the time he spent away from the ranch in the company of the hybrids, and that was only a few days at a time. There was no way he would like this. And Toran had been right.
He had brought it up to his parents when they were clearing up after dinner two days ago, when the rancher was in a good mood, sort of edging into the discussion. His mother had been surprised, to say the least, but she at least had appeared to have been considering the idea. His father, on the other hand, had started to go red in the face again, seeming to be swelling like he was going to explode. Finally, through gritted teeth, with his hand clenching up from the effort of holding himself in, he had said that it was out of the question, his tone allowing for no argument. And though Toran had brought it up several times since then, the discussion had gone nowhere.
Toran had tried arguing logically, saying that there was nothing to do in the winter at the ranch, and that his father didn't need him around to help. His father hadn't even responded to that, behaving instead like he hadn't even heard it. Next, Toran had tried bargaining with him, pleading, and finally, just now, outright begging. But his father's answer was always the same. And now, at that final ultimatum, Toran felt something in his heart that he had never expected to feel. Before, defying his father had always made his guts twist in strange and uncomfortable ways, but this time, after making so much progress on this front only to run headlong into a brick wall, he felt nothing. Nothing at all. Not anger, not sadness or even bitterness. Just a calm nothing. He knew instantly that he had made up his mind, and not in the way his father had intended.
“Fine, I won't bring it up again." Toran had said, and his father stopped short, his eyes wide with surprise. He had obviously been prepared for another hour of arguing at least. After a few more moments, his look turned suddenly suspicious once more.
“Am I going to have to keep you to the house again?" His father suddenly asked and Toran shook his head.
“Of course not." He replied, then added silently, not that it would do you any good if you did. “Senyr's tribe is leaving in a few days anyway. Not much point in going out after that. I'm going to meet up with him tomorrow before they go."
“Fine." His father said, seeming mollified. “But I expect you back by sunset."
“Alright." Toran agreed. “I'll just have to say goodbye." To you, father. To hell with what his father thought on the subject. He was going with Senyr and his tribe, with or without his approval...
***
Toran leaned back against the western side of the towering stone, the weak autumn sunlight having lent the smooth sandstone little real warmth. Even now, with the sun passing noon, he didn't feel warm. Of course, that might have more to do with what he was about to do. His mind might have been made up about his choices, but the rest of him still seemed to have some doubts. Even now, his guts were writhing with nervousness, and a concern for the consequences of doing what he was about to do, but far more intense was the sense of expectation and excitement. All in all, it felt cold, his legs going all rubbery, and he couldn't help but fidget. But, at the same time, he was acutely aware of everything going on around him, far more than he ever had felt before.
The rustle of a sage grouse in the brush a short way off, a sound that was so common that he usually tuned it out, sounded strangely present, so much so it was a physical effort not to turn his head and look for the birds. The rough texture of the stone he leaned against made his skin tingle, as if he was feeling every minute grain. The cool breeze flitting through his hair made him shiver, giving him goose bumps, making him hunch slightly, using the rock as a shield. And then, he heard the most welcome sound in the world. Distantly at first, but drawing nearer, he heard hoof beats on the wind, and he finally scanned the hilly plains around him. And there, coming over the nearest hill, was a sight that made his heart start hammering wildly, the excitement of the moment making it impossible to sit still. The familiar form of the tawny wolf seemed surprised to see his friend waiting on the edge of the boulder field, and even more strangely, without a horse at his side, but he grinned anyway, waving in greeting as he nudged his horse into a trot. When he got close enough, the wolf swung himself down onto the ground, eagerly embracing his human friend.
“I didn't expect to see you here." Senyr said when they released one another, and he looked searchingly at his friend's face, sensing something amiss. After a few moments of silence, a frown crossed his lips and he continued. “Your father said no, didn't he?"
“He did." Toran confirmed and his lupine friend's face fell sadly, an expression that lasted only as long as it took to see the look in Toran's eyes.
“Well, that explains why you didn't bring anything with you. I guess we kind of had to expect that." He began, but stopped when he saw an odd half smile appear on Toran's face, like he was keeping a secret. “What?"
“I don't care." Toran said, the grin growing wider as he finally said it, the nervousness going away in an instant. “He said no, and I don't care. I'm coming with you anyway." At Senyr's look of utter surprise, he continued. “If you still want me to, I mean."
“Of course I want you to." Senyr replied, his look half way between wild joy and disbelief. “But, how... I mean, are we just going to..."
“Ride away today?" Toran said, finishing the thought with a nod and putting a hand on his friend's shoulder. “Senyr, you are my best friend. I can't spend another winter without you. If my father was willing to let me go, so much the better, but if not, then so be it. Either way, we are spending the winter together."
“Alright..." the wolf stated, his grin becoming one of mischief. “I don't think the elders are going to have a problem with it. I mean, the Sherok often go abroad to other tribes, even when they are young. Besides, its not like you were going to need to bring much with you anyway."
“Then lets go," Toran said, matching his friend's grin. “I left a letter explaining what I was doing on my pillow. He shouldn't find it until tonight, but I don't want to chance him finding it early and coming after us. I want to be far away before anyone is the wiser."
“Good point." the wolf replied, hopping back up into the saddle and reaching an arm down towards Toran. Taking the wolf's offered help, the human swung up onto the horse's bare back, looping an arm around the young wolf's waist. Tapping the horse on the flank, the wolf urged it back the way he had come. As the boulder field dwindled behind them, Toran cast a last look backward. He could almost see it in his mind's eye, the moment when his father would find him gone. The contented grin he couldn't help spread wider on his lips as he imagined the indignation the man would no doubt feel, at having been duped by his own son. Turning back to face forward, the teenager settled in for the journey, the closeness of his friend's fur finally lending him some warmth.
But, as they rode down the far side of the hill, and he considered their chances of getting away with this, Toran reflected that, in a way, he had told his father the truth. With Senyr's help, he really had learned the land around the ranch, and far more besides, by heart. The two boys knew the best places to camp, thanks to their aimless wanderings in each other's company, and more, knew where would be good to hide. No, even with all the hands to help him, his father couldn't chase them down. Grinning once more, Toran turned his thoughts instead to the coming months, and at last, the cold roiling nervousness went away completely. This was going to be fun...