Pak

　　I crouch before the waning campfire. My mother`s letter quakes in my hands. The words warble and dance, humming with magic. The more I strain to hear, to see, the less I understand. I can`t focus&

　　Just stop&

　　I tense up, shoulders shrinking into my neck, and tuck the letter back into my pocket.

　　I`ve settled to rest in a town, or what used to be one. This place reeks of death, but I haven`t seen any corpses. The stench seems to come from a deep crack in the earth, a trench of rock and rot, but it`s too deep and too dark to see. The well is all dried up. Ghosts still hoist the pulleys, human men. Empty washing baskets lie overturned on the dried-out bank of a dead river. The ghosts still do the washing, scrubbing clothes against the stone.

　　I know they`re not real... Why do they seem so real?

　　The sky darkens and the wind howls its song through the wasteland, promising another chilly night. The air`s grip on my flesh grows stronger with every passing cycle. Eventually, its bite penetrates my skin, shattering it like ice, or glass, or spiderwebs& I see my breath, wispy white clouds escaping my mouth to become one with the cold. I wish it could be smoke, instead, billowing out of a window - our dormitory window.

　　Burn it&

　　Shadows skitter on the edge of my vision, like a halo of flies. They disperse when I look for them, but they always return, hovering. I swat them away, but they`re not really there. Still, they buzz in my ears, an endless dirge of filth and mourning.

　　"Cabbage&?" I whisper, barely peeking through my eyelashes, rocking back and forth, back and forth. He looks up from across the smoldering campfire, eyes half-closed and full of sleep.

　　"I`m& s-scared&"

　　I sniff and cover my ears, still rocking.

　　"Prrooh?"

　　Pathetic.

　　"Sh-shut up!"

　　The wind hisses, whipping the dirt at my feet, inspiring the fire to dance. I scramble away, taking quick breaths - I`m so scared, I`m so scared-

　　Something tickles my face, snatching me from my useless, writhing mind. Cabbage hovers just in front of me, barely an inch away, sniffing my nose. His whiskers graze my cheek.If you come across this story on Amazon, it`s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

　　"Prrooh?"

　　His voice is so small. I shudder, half-chuckling, and reach out to pet his head. He pushes into my hand and flops onto his side, stretching his wings, feathers twitching. His purr ripples through my fingertips. I forget the shadows, the wind, the fire, the ghosts. I forget for just long enough&

　　What are you doing&?

　　I blink. Was I doing something?

　　You`re freezing to death.

　　Idiot.

　　The wind screams through cracks in the sky. I can`t feel my fingers, my toes. My teeth rattle.

　　What am I&

　　Look out!

　　I turn my head. Wood grain scrapes my cheek. I`m in a wooden box... An abandoned cottage. Right. I remember now.

　　Kill it.

　　"Kill what?"

　　Cabbage spins his head around, eyes wild and wide. I`m not in the cottage anymore - I`m in front of it, gripping the weapon. I have lost some time. My fingers go limp and the weapon falls. It disappears before hitting the ground. Pip.

　　"What&"

　　A warm, metallic smell reaches my nose. I look down. The carcass of a feral dog rests at my feet. Its blood stains my hand. I drop to my knees. Cabbage`s paws make a sick squick as he hops into the red puddle. I heave.

　　"Mrrr," he grumbles, teetering, and shakes out his foot. A droplet flies and hits my arm. I jerk away, doubling over. The sickness flees my stomach, burns my throat, and seeps into the dirt.

　　Skin it.

　　"No&"

　　You have to&

　　I squeeze my eyes shut and summon the knife. My hands begin their work. I float away, watching from somewhere outside my body&

　　The gray elf flays the dog.

　　He lays her skin out to be cured by the sun and turns the sinew into thread.

　　He sustains himself on her meat.

　　He cries, and cries, and cries&

　　 Useless.