Children of Night and Snow

14. Scars And Tattoos

Next few days went by in silence. Well, silence from me at least. The group I shared this place with came and went. Each of them attending to different tasks, anywhere from hunting and cooking to going to the market, cleaning or fixing broken stuff around the house.

My second day here Demi showed me around this place. Where everything was, how the household was run. There wasn't really much. The main living area really only consisted of the fireplace, small bookshelf, the couch I have been stuck on due to my injury for most of the days and a lot and lot of fur which helped to keep the heat in the room. Kitchen had another fireplace, where the meals were made. A small fridge and freezer. And a small table with one shelf full of dishes. Bathroom had no hot running water so whoever wanted to take a shower had to boil their water manually and then either use a strange tin bathtub, or fill the boiler leading to a shower and they shower fast before the hot water ran out.

There was also a second half floor. It was again decorated with fur all over and also a skylight just above. It's where they all slept. Together, side by side. Everynight, they would board up all the windows before extinguishing all the fire. Then they would take the ladder to crawl upstairs, where they lied on those layers of fur, sharing body heat through the night. And then there was the basement. The place with the big metal door that led back into the tunnels below the city. Basement of this house was it's most equipped place. It was their workout space. Monkey bars, weights, anything that could be useful in enhancing their physical skills, it was there. And they spent a lot of time there too. I observed them all quietly, fascinated by the life they led. Demi and Devan may have been the only siblings, but all five of them treated each other like a family. There was also a level of intimacy I wasn't used to. They trusted each other completely.

My injury was slowly getting better. I could walk on my own now, even take a shower and use the bathroom without Demi or Lucia's help. Nolan also brought me some antibiotics to help combat the infection. Soon my leg was going to be good to go. There would be a scar left, I knew as much. Silver left scars. It was just another memento to add to those on my neck, wrists and ankles where chains once were. But I was too busy trying to survive and come to terms with everything else to care anymore. Seeing myself in the mirror, my scars were maybe ugly, but hardly my biggest issue. I looked like I was on death's doorstep. My eyes were sunken, I lost so much weight my ribs were showing. My hair lost its shine. I looked pale and sickly.

"You know, Nolan could tattoo over them. The scars. If you wanted to that is," Lucia suggested when she caught me staring at my neck in the mirror. I said nothing at first. I never considered hiding them in any way but through clothing. Mom hated tattoos which meant I never really considered getting one. It felt like going against her wishes to even consider it. But she wasn't here now. Nobody was. I was on my own and no one could make those decisions for me anymore. Or give me advice.

"Nolan can tattoo?" I finally replied, somehow unable to imagine him being able to work a tattoo gun despite knowing by now, that he was practically covered in tattoos himself.

"Yeah, he is a pro. I haven't seen a design he couldn't do," Lucia replied. "Think about it," she finished the conversation and left the room. I followed right after, fully intending to see if there was something to eat in the fridge. I felt guilty. These people took me in and so far I contributed absolutely nothing to the group. Yes, it was all too good to be true, but that didn't mean I didn't want to still thank them somehow.

"I see you're getting better," I heard Devan way before I saw him, his words causing me to jump in fright. All of these people, despite being practically giants compared to me, were incredibly silent and agile. I admired it just as much as it scared me, because the more I saw of their skills, the more convinced I was that the moment I outlive my purpose, I won't be able to escape. I swallowed hard as I turned to him and nodded hesitantly.

"Good, we need to start doing something about... this. And soon," he said, pointing at the whole of me with what I could only describe as a mix of disgust and uncertainty. Great, they were doubting I was useful already and I didn't even get to admit just how utterly useless I really was just yet. I did my best to not show him, or any of them for the matter, what was going on in my head. They seemed to want to speak to me at times, but when I offered next to no response to any questions they had, they just gave up. At least for now.

My experience down in the tunnels taught me not to tell anyone anything and I was sticking to it. Even if their kindness sometimes made it so easy to just want to talk, to tell my story, I couldn't. There were simply too many things, too many variables I didn't know to risk it. And then, with small interactions like the one with Devan, it reminded me that I wasn't their friend. I was a stranger in this group. I had no idea who these people really were other than their names. I didn't know their culture, how they came to know each other, what exactly they did for a living that they needed a thief to begin with. I didn't know why they all chose to live together like this. Hell, I didn't even know where we were right now.

Feeling conscious about myself, I chose to skip my meal trip and limped towards the small bookshelf instead. I didn't have a chance to properly look at those books yet and I was hoping that there was at least one book that could help me understand this place a little better. I scanned the titles on the three small shelves, trying to find anything interesting until my sight fell on a collection of fairy tales. Bingo! If there was a good starting point for learning about any culture, it was the stories they told their children before bed at night. Their fears, their life lessons, their hopes and dreams were all part of the first stories little pups hear and comprehend. Just like the rebel Alexander, who led my people to the Summerlands to find a better life. I wondered if he was in these stories too? Was he the villain for them? Did they remember him at all?

I made my way back onto the couch and began reading. I could feel Connor's eyes on me, but he said nothing and so I pretended like nothing was happening. I figured if reading a children's book was bad, they would have stopped me by now. The title page read 'The tales of the North' and beneath was, in neat handwriting a message 'To help you always find your way should you get lost. With love, M.' I wondered who the book belonged to. And who was M. But somehow, after reading that message, it felt like a very personal question to ask, so I didn't. Maybe it was Connor's and that's why he was burning holes in my back just seconds ago. Still, the book wasn't just a book now. It was something someone in this house cherished very much. And I needed to keep that in mind as I handled these pages with extra care.