It’s hard to think of treachery when victory still has you on its wings.     Wings, I thought giddily. Rabbits don’t fly! But my elation whispered to me that maybe they could one day. Fly, rise and drive a double-edged blade into Morbin Blackhawk’s puny heart. It was the thirteenth day since my fellows had rescued me from Garlacks’ camp. The slash across my chest throbbed, threatening to bring a surge of hopelessness with it. But I shook it off.     I was marching toward the King’s tent, head held high, the scratches and gashes from the battle still stinging, blood still crusted on my fur. I was a hero. I was brother to two brave, future warriors and my sister was the most beautiful doe in Natalia. Well, the second most beautiful. Because I had Sween Longtreader waiting for me back home in Ansel’s Hollow.     The thought of how proud she’d be of me, how awed by my courage to stand up to wolves and raptors, how enthralled by my fierce protection of her and all that she loved, all of it gave me the boldness to step across the threshold and bow to my King.     “Captain Garten Longtreader. Please rise, hero-buck.”     I rose, breathing deep the scent of dried sweat and blood that wafted from my skin. “We won, your Majesty! We’ve beaten Garlacks back, King Bright!” My eyes darted around the tent, passing over the dark and brooding Captain Helmer, who still managed to look personally offended by a victory in which he played a great role. “I don’t think they’ll ever recover from it, sir!”      “Yes,” King Jupiter said, his voice gentle and quiet. Too quiet. Too gentle. “You’ve done great work, Captain. Excellent work.”     My heart glowed even further at his bolstering words.     “But I have news, son. Grave news.” The King motioned to a chair nearby. “Please, sit.”     My elation wavered. “But, your Majesty, I don’t want to sit. We have a victory to celebrate and honours to bestow-”     “He said to sit, Bucko,” Helmer said, his voice sounding strangely less growly than usual.     Confused, I sat. “Okay, I’m sitting, my King. What is it you need to tell me?”     The King gave a deep sigh. “I’m afraid there’s no easy way to say this. Your sister, Garten, Vicca Longtreader, has been killed.”     The uncertain smile from moments before froze on my face as my entire body stiffened. I stared at them, my mind blank and grasping to understand the words he had spoken. “What?” I shook my head. “I… I don’t understand.”      I began to shake uncontrollably as he continued on, his face grieved and grey with sorrow. “There was an attack, Garten. To all accounts and descriptions, it seems the wolf Sholne Garlackson encountered two does, one of them your sister, in the forest. Vicca fought him off and inflicted grave injury on the enemy but… lost her life in the struggle.”      Tears began to flow down my face. Worse was the deadness in my heart. Vicca was dead. Killed. Killed, by a wolf whose name was Sholne. Sholne. I knew that name. “No, no, no… No! This can’t be!” I leapt to my feet and knocked the chair behind me to the floor. “It’s a lie!” I growled. “It’s all a lie!”     The King shook his head. “I’m afraid it isn’t, friend. She was buried on your farm five days ago.” He bowed his head. “I’m so, so sorry, Garten.”    I continued to grasp at my thoughts, clutching desperately at each one and then releasing it again, in search of any kind of clarity. Inside, my heart was tearing itself apart. “An-and the other doe? Who was it? Who was walking with her?”      The King hesitated, glancing at Helmer.      Helmer stepped forward. “The doe’s name was Sween. Sween Furrow.”     “Sween,” I whispered. “Is she… is she still alive?”     The dull throb of my heartbeat seemed to last forever before I got an answer. “She’s alive and uninjured. Her life was saved by one Whittle Longtreader. He was practicing in the fields nearby when he heard the doe Sween shouting for help. He managed to fend off Sholne before he could do any more damage. He’s your brother, I believe?” Helmer’s brow raised.     “Mm? Oh, yes, yes. The brother’s my buck. I mean… the buck’s my brother…” I trailed off. Sholne. There was that name again. I pulled at my ears, feeling - no, drowning in - the awful reality that was surfacing. “It was my fault,” I whispered. “All my fault.”     “There, there,” the King said, getting up from his throne to cross to my side. “It was no one’s fault but our enemy’s. There was no warning. There wasn’t even a way for you to prevent what happened.”     Little did he know how poisonous his words were, seeping into my ears and clouding my head. He was wrong. There had been both a warning and a way I could’ve stopped it. But I didn’t. Instead, I played the fool. “The stupid, defiant, fool,” I murmured to myself.     “What was that?” The King put a hand on my shoulder. I shrugged away. The King shared a look with Helmer. “You’ve had a hard day, soldier. Why don’t you go take a rest?”      My mind worked furiously. This was it. This was the cost of defiance, this was the price. This deadness inside, this pain, this utter breaking of my spirit. This was what happened to those who defied him.     The awful, deafening shriek echoed in my ears as the deep gash across my chest gave a painful throb. Morbin Blackhawk. King Garlacks. The two most deadly forces in history were united and they were rising. They could send an assassin to take out a doe on the other side of the great wood within days. More than that, they knew exactly who would hurt me the most.      Fighting was futile. Even if I killed a hundred wolves, there’d be another hundred to kill the rest of my family. And Sween. Tears pricked my eyes. If anything had happened to her…     “Soldier? You can go now.”     I looked up. “No, no, no, I’m fine.”     Helmer raised an eyebrow. “Fine?”    “I… I will be.” I stood a little taller, though everything in me wanted to sag to the floor and sob, sob like I did on that night I met Morbin face-to-face. The memory jarred more hopeless resolve into my heart. “Your Majesty, Lord Captain, we can’t keep going like this. If we had bucks, trained bucks, in every corner of Natalia with their families, these kinds of attacks wouldn’t happen. The wolves have taken a terrible blow today, and the raptors didn’t even attend the battle! Our scouts say they’ve retreated into the High Bleaks.”     The King frowned and rubbed his chin. “What’s your point, Captain Longtreader?”     “My point… My point is that we need to pursue peace, my King. Our beautiful Natalia, our sacred Great Wood, even, has been rent apart by war! It’s time we mend it.”     “The Mended Wood,” the King murmured.     “Yes,” I said, breathlessly. I remember sitting on the porch with Sween. I imagined going home and sitting there again one day, a day when we could be safe, both of us living lives of peace and prosperity as the right-hands of a great King Morbin. No more death. No more going away to war every few years. No more of this suffocating pain inside. “The Mended Wood.”  -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Sorry, it's been so long! But I do plan to finish this. Eventually. 😉 #TheTraitorsLove