When Given a Lemon

Part 11

Not to mention the things that attacked are still out there and therefore I doubt there'd be much left to retrieve by now, I mentally added, though I kept my mouth shut; remembering a certain mouthgag the last time I argued with superiors. I prayed they'd at least give us something proper to put him in to carry him back!

I also pray that a miracle will happen where I won't be expected to help handle any of it, because touching any of that sounds like a terrible idea. The thought alone makes bile rise in my throat.

I'm given a long, slightly curved sword in addition to my usual weapon that I'm told is good with cutting away branches and brush that might get in the way of our path. I don't remember encountering too much of a problem the last time we came down this way, but we were wading through heavy snow –still are– so I spent more time looking down than up. Holding it out to me, it's somewhat tarnished and full of knicks and scratches, but it looks strong and sharp. Seeing how useful it might be I shrug and slide into my belt.

There are only three other soldiers sent out with us when I personally think we should have at least three times that. Especially after seeing the size of the teeth on that big corpse. They gave a whole new meaning to the word fang. In addition to Merryl, Lemon, and I, we are joined by the lieutenant with his bow and two others who are more heavily armed than we are and look like they might actually be familiar with using said weapons in combat. I can't say that about me, and don't know for certain but I have a feeling it's similar for my two companions. Neither Merryl nor Lemon look particularly like the fighting type, but then a lot of people think I am when I'm not so who's to say for sure.

We set off at a brisk pace that reduces me to a puddle of dripping sweat in no time. I wonder if it will ever get better or if my body will always react this way because despite how much I've been made to run around here and there I feel hot and sweaty almost as soon as we set off again.

Lemon of course makes this look like a spring breeze while walking in the park. They notice me watching them and give me a wink. I have a mind to smother them when we're back in the tent.

This time around the three of us brought extra supplies in case we were to get stranded out in the wild again, which I beseeched all the gods to never let that happen a second time. Once was already too much!

Lemon blathers about nothing as we retrace our steps. I've lost track of what they are saying, surprised the lieutenant hasn't made any comments or yelled at us to shut up. I guess it's the captain's rule to not speak while marching and not necessarily one the lieutenant cares to enforce when he doesn't have to.

Lemon smiles fondly, talking about a large butterfly they had caught on some silly adventure when they were a little kid. It makes me think of when I was small. I don't remember any adventures. I remember my parents, and some of the time we had spent together. I remembered working, helping out our family business as much as a little kid can, but there weren't any adventures, even silly ones, that I could recount.

It takes far too long to wade back through the cold, heavy snow –which now has a layer of frozen crust on it that we have to stomp through thanks to yesterday's mist and last night's low temperature. The journey feels like it takes hours longer than before and I want nothing more than to return to my tent to snuggle back into my bedroll. Even in the shimmering daylight, it feels colder today than it was the night we spent out in the wild without proper gear. My toes are burning from the chill even within my heavy boots and my face has long ago gone numb even with my sock-scarf.

“It's ‘cause we got used to bein cozy by the fire,” Merryl said as we pushed through the snow.

“You think so?” I puffed. It had been cozier and I could see how that might make today feel colder, but would that affect my memories of the night we had slept out here? That I wasn't too sure about.

The lieutenant speaks quietly to one of the other soldiers a handful of steps behind us, likely trying to drown out some of the noise Lemon is incessantly producing. Our superior officers haven't said a single thing to Lemon, Merryl, or I since we left this morning. It almost felt like we were two unrelated groups that by chance were traveling close together; most likely because we were too slow and they were too fast. I wondered if the others thought of themselves as separate from us as well. The fact that we were being ignored, however, came to an end when the lieutenant whistled me over.

“Take that blade out, the trees up ahead are over burdened with snow. See how low they hang?” I turned to look. They did look like they were weighed down quite a bit, but they were still fairly high up. “Here,” he cut my thoughts off, “hold it like this and swing in an arc this way, overhead.”

I mimicked what he showed me, feeling a little foolish but knowing better than to disobey. I've avoided carrying extra packs and being gagged with dirty socks since the march up the mountain and that's because I had made a special effort to never talk back or argue with any of the officers, no matter what they asked of me. If only I could train Lemon to behave.

I couldn't hold in the chuckle at the thought of Lemon being trained like a dog.

“What?” The lieutenant asked.

“Nothing sir, I'll get to work right away, sir!” I ran ahead, swinging the blade overhead, cutting the limbs as he had requested in an outward arc, away from me and the path. From this angle they fell to the edge, the snow collapsing on top of them. Very little fell on me, making the work easier than I had expected. Still an hour down the track I was winded and my arms were seriously starting to ache, even with stopping every so often for Merryl to double check our direction.

“You're doing great, soldier.” The lieutenant called up to me at one point, then thoughtfully added, “when we get back to camp, make sure to clear away all the paths closest to us so that we don't have any injuries under miniavanches, alright?”

“Yes, sir!” I made sure to not turn around so he couldn't see what I really thought of that idea.

When we finally got close to the spot we had left the body, Merryl suddenly shot their fisted arm into the air, stilling everyone in silence. Beyond, a low din can be heard.

Crunching, lapping, and a deep gurgling groan.

For the briefest of seconds I think the body we've come to recover is alive and moaning, but the image of the corpse revisits my mind and I realize that's impossible. Someone –or something– is here, but the soldier is still very much dead. Merryl carefully proceeds with near silent movement, stepping quietly around a fallen tree trunk to peer beyond at the source of the sound, freezing the moment they are in view.

That's not a good sign.

He doesn't backtrack, hide, or throw any hand signals so I carefully wade up next to him. My movements are not as graceful or quiet but my attempt was genuine. The lieutenant is still several steps behind us but is closing the distance quickly, alerted something is wrong.