A Second Wind: Book One, A Legacy Found

Epilogue: Red Wounds Fade Into White Scars

The sputtering of the truck engine slowly died down as the machine came to a halt. Neavel turned the keys and shut off the vehicle, before stepping out. His old boots scraping up the cold soil as he stood and walked towards the now empty fields. Autumn harvest ended weeks ago, leaving the once thriving crop fields barren. Only vacant rows of dry brown dirt, and a few beige stalks with crumpled leaves scattered around remained. Soon, the coming winter would blanket it in a coat of white, allowing the fields to sleep until the time for spring planting came once again.

He took a deep breath, the crisp air filling his lungs. The feeling of a chilling mild burn swelling in his chest. The breath came out as a sigh. It was peaceful here. He tried to commit this moment to memory, as he was concerned that peace wasn't going to last much longer.

"I hope I'm not interrupting."

Neavel jumped, whirling around towards where the semi-familiar voice came. Leaning against the side of his truck behind him stood the young lady with the teleportation powers. He hadn't seen her since she took him home. The raccoon let out a sigh of relief, remembering why he was here so long after the fields lost their use. She had called him to talk.

"Naw, don't worry about it too much," Neavel said.

The girl nodded, "I thank you for coming. Considering what happened last time our paths crossed, I honestly thought that you would want get far away from all this."

Neavel took note of her tone, serious and mature. It didn't match the mouth it came out of. She looked far too young to talk like that. In fact, she looked too young in general to be doing the things he witnessed that night. She could blend in well in the dark, shadows hiding every one of her features, but in the daylight, it was painfully obvious. She her black and violet fur was full and shiny, fresh like the girl was on the cusp of her adulthood but not there just yet. The manner of which her quills were styled remined Neavel of how his own daughters wanted their fur done when playing pretend. There was only the slightest hint of baby fat on her cheeks, it almost wasn't noticeable, but it was there. The only thing on her that looked aged was her eyes, they looked so hollowed and so aged. Like her voice they didn't match the rest of her.

"Well, believe it or not missy," Neavel started, "I do have some questions if you don't mind."

"That's understandable," She stood up, and walked to stand at his side, "What do you want to know?"

"Wait...I can just ask you? You'll tell me anything I want to know? Just like that?"

"With in reason."

There was a pause between them.

"People aren't as safe as they think, are they?" Neavel finally asked.

"In what regards?"

"In the government regards. King scourge isn't actually protecting us, is he? Your parents aren't with him obviously."

"It's hard to take a side when you're sleeping six feet underground, but I know they would never side with the hedgehog that put them there."

Neavel froze at that. Sure, no one had seen a member of the league in years, but he hadn't thought it was because they were...murdered. The old raccoon had believed what everyone else had. That the league went into hiding to raise their families in peace, waiting to be called back into battle to defend the world once more. However, it appeared that the truth was in fact a much darker fate.