Wild Desperation

Chapter 4

I remember cautiously walking into camp, expecting a possible beating from my 'mother' for having left, or maybe a confrontation with my father, but neither jumped right out at me. I was surprised when my father came to meet me with a look of sheer relief in his eyes, no hint of anger even as he eyed my bag full of new supplies. "Sang thank goodness you're alright." I remember the shake in his voice that had set me on high alert, asking him what was wrong as fear gripped hold of me. 

Had someone gotten hurt in my absence, injured while I was not here to help? Before my father could even answer a loud piercing wail froze me where I stood. The sound itself was a familiar enough one, a haunting sound of pain and anguish. I had come to learn the hateful sound when I had first started hunting and was not yet good enough to kill my prey swiftly. Another screaming wail had me wincing, the sound so bitter and awful to hear, the sound of life leaving a living thing, the sound of death and dying.

 "Your mother is dying Sang, she's too weak to fight anymore." I remember the bitter thoughts at my fathers words, knowing her weakness had never stopped her before. I also had been expecting this in my own way since after that first winter, the way her body seemed to shrink in on itself over the years that followed. She had wild bursts of violence which was when I got most of the brunt of her attacks, however in the last few months those wild bursts had dimmed and then seemed to quit all together, she hardly ever left her tent unless absolutely necessary which in winter was not often.

 A part of me knew that I should feel bad at the prospect of losing my 'mother' but somehow I couldn't find it in me to care about the woman that had hurt me so many times before. I remember being ashamed of myself at the thoughts that I wouldn't miss her when she died, and yet I had a sorrow in me over the three strangers I had watched killed in front of me just a day before. I only nodded to my father as I took out the items I had collected for Marie and my 'mother', leaving them by the fire before repacking my things and walking away from camp in silence.

 I went to one of my favorite spots, settling down on a rocky overhang that looked out over a large meadow. The grass and wildflowers were starting to grow in quickly with how fast the snow had melted and the temperature rose, I knew it would soon be filled with newborn fawns and all the other young animals around us. I didn't return to camp that night instead I chose to stay in a sturdy tree, wrapped up in my brand new sleeping bag as I drifted off to a fitful sleep. 

For the next few days I only returned to the camp to bring them fresh meat before leaving again, spending more and more time away. I eventually just started to make up my own camp wherever I went, my own fire and all, I seemed more efficient on my own. It was the fourth day on my morning trip to bring fresh meat to their camp that I noticed the heavy silence on my arrival, one look at my fathers face and I knew.

 We buried her that afternoon, I dug the grave with my father while Marie went off by herself as she often did. I did not cry the day she died or any day after, not a single tear was shed for the woman I had known as my 'mother'. I remember trying to convince myself that the reason I wasn't upset was I had become numb to it all after seeing a small child killed, but in my heart I knew. I knew that I was lying to myself, knew that I had wanted the horrid woman to die for longer than I was willing to admit.

 I remember the moment I finally accepted that I was glad she was dead, thinking of all the times I had thought of ending her just like the prey I hunted to feed us all, but was unwilling to act on such thoughts. I remember accepting the fact that my own humanity might be slipping but then realizing had it been anyone else I would have felt the loss to a certain degree at least, from then on I went on with life as normal.