Chapter 30 — Bites And Doubts
Only two hours had passed since the small group had set up camp on the rocky hill, and yet the cold was already becoming more biting — forcing Enalid to cover herself with a blanket in addition to her coat.
The girl's fingers had turned red from the cold, and the fire — feeble and almost non-existent — did little to warm her, so every movement began to feel like torture.
Noticing this, Silas approached and sat down beside her.
"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked.
The little girl hovered her hands over the fire to warm them up a little and looked at Silas with a small smile that radiated a warmth that he never thought to see again after the atrocities he had witnessed.
"Y-Yes. I've never really experienced such a cold start to winter... but I'm fine."
Silas was surprised to hear this. But upon reflection, Enalid's answer made sense.
She had lived in a village, isolated at the bottom of a misty valley, certainly, but where there were houses and therefore surely fireplaces to keep warm.
But there was a small inconsistency in this deduction.
A question, even.
If the village had been under the succubus's mental control, and no one could therefore light a fire... who was responsible for doing so, and thus preventing Enalid from freezing to death?
Thinking about it and with what he now knew, Silas had an idea of the answer. But it remained only a supposition...
...which was quickly confirmed by the person concerned.
"In the village, I was always locked up in the little house at the end of the western hamlet, except when visitors came to the area and I had to trap them. And every time the cold started to set in, one of the women from the village would come with food and light a fire..."
The girl looked up at the sky — where a purple-hued canvas was being painted and the white moon was beginning to peek out — and let out a sigh that clearly conveyed her melancholy. She continued:
"...Now that I think about it, it must have been... all her doing."
Silas remained silent for a moment, his teal-blue eyes fixed on the little girl.
He removed his leather gloves and raised a hand to stroke Enalid's dark hair. This gesture startled the girl.
"You're a brave girl." He said, without really knowing why.
Enalid looked at him with surprise, then smiled.
"Thank you." She replied, a small flush of joy spreading across her face.
Silas handed her his gloves, which she put on, but they were obviously too big for her small hands — giving Enalid a comical appearance, with the coat and gloves much too large for her small body.
But at least she was no longer freezing.
That was an improvement.
Once satisfied, the young man got up and went to tend to the horses.
He was joined by Mimi, who had been watching the scene from where she stood.
"You're still thinking about it, aren't you?" the maid said simply.
Silas looked away, then exhaled, letting a wisp of white mist escape from his lips.
"It must have been hard for her to live like that." The young nobleman finally replied.
He turned his gaze back to his maid and added:
"She lived, only the gods know for how long, without knowing she had parents. And when she finally found her mother, we took her away from her... I feel like we're monsters."
Mireille remained silent for a few seconds. Then she gently patted her master on the back.
"What you are feeling right now is the weight of your guilt and the responsibility of your choice. Try to always remember that when you make a decision."
Then she placed a bucket of wet grass near the horses, who reluctantly dipped their noses into it.
Then she left him.
***
The next morning, they were supposed to stay a few more hours before breaking camp and continuing their journey.
But a small setback arose.
They had not yet left the hill when the attack came.
It was neither spectacular nor heralded by a dramatic rumbling.
Just a sharp noise.
A crack nearby. Then a hoarse breath.
Silas turned his head at the same moment the beast leapt out from between the rocks.
A rock wolf — thin, ash grey, its fur bristling with cold and hunger. Its eyes gleamed with a hard, almost desperate light — approached.
"Mimi—" the young man barely had time to say.
The wolf charged. But it all happened too fast.
Silas unsheathed his short sword with a movement that was too broad, too stiff... too clumsy.
His foot slipped on the cold stone. And he stumbled, as the world suddenly spun out of balance.
As a result of his fall, he struck at thin air.
The beast took advantage of this and quickly slipped under his guard. And it snapped its jaws.
A searing pain exploded in the young boy's left arm.
He cried out — a short, shameful, surprised sound — and crawled backwards.
"Master Silas!"
Mireille, not far away, reacted immediately.
The maid's movement was sharp and precise. A controlled trajectory.
The blade of her dagger whistled through the air and found the wolf's throat before Silas even understood what was happening.
The beast collapsed with a muffled groan, dark blood spilling onto the cold, dirty stone.
Silence fell.
Brutal. Heavy. Total.
Silas stood frozen, his arm pressed tightly against him. The pain throbbed, burning, real. Not life-threatening. But definitely there.
Fortunately, the handle of his coat had slightly cushioned the pressure of the jaws. For this, Silas could thank his old nanny, who had always insisted on padding the fabric of his coats to protect him from the cold.
Who would have thought that this old lady's small gesture would save his arm, in a way?
Enalid rushed over, pale.
"Are you... Are you all right?" she asked, a veil of terror floating over her face.
He nodded reflexively, but his gaze remained fixed on the ground.
Mireille approached, already inspecting the wound — the sleeve lifted.
"It's just a bite. Not very deep."
Then she added more quietly, almost in a whisper:
"...But you panicked. It could have been fatal."
Silas clenched his teeth.
She wasn't saying that to hurt him. Just because it was true.
***
A little later, away from the camp, Mireille was still cleaning the wound with precise movements. Silas looked away, his shoulders slumped.
"I thought..." he finally whispered.
She looked up at him, but didn't answer right away.
"...I thought I was better than that."
The silence lingered for a few seconds.
"Why?" Mireille asked simply.
Silas swallowed.
"Because I survived until now, because you guided me..."
He gave a short, bitter laugh.
"...Because we faced a demon. Because I stood tall while everything was falling apart. Because I told myself that... maybe I was changing."
He looked down at his bandaged arm.
'And yet, faced with a simple hungry beast, I panicked.'
Mireille tied the bandage, then took a step back.
"You're not weak because you were afraid."
She paused.
"You're... tired. And burdened."
Silas frowned, confused by her response.
"Burdened? By what?"
"With what you've seen so far. With what you've understood, too. And above all... with what you haven't yet accepted."
He remained silent.
The maid looked away.
"Since we left the manor, you've never really had time to process anything. Each trial has replaced the last. You're moving forward... I'm forcing you to move forward... but your mind is still behind." She continued, a slight crack in her voice.
Silas felt something shatter softly in his chest.
"No. It's not your fault. It's just..."
The young nobleman exhaled and continued, through clenched teeth:
"...I feel like I'm going backwards."
Mireille looked at him for a long time.
"No. You... are losing your illusions, and your innocence."
She fixed her icy blue-grey eyes on her master's and continued, her voice almost muffled:
"And it always hurts... Believe me, I know what I'm talking about."
Silas looked at his servant with unease... no..., with a kind of guilt mixed with empathy, the source of which he couldn't identify.
'Ah yes, that's right... She saw the horrors of war.' He thought.
Nevertheless, his frustration was still there, tugging at his heart to the point that he could physically feel the emotional pain.
He took a deep breath, the cold air burning his lungs.
"So, can you tell me... why do I feel like I'm becoming useless?" he said as he looked down, his eyes lingering on the cold, hard ground.
Mireille remained silent for a second, then shook her head.
"I think it's because you confuse strength with invulnerability."
Silas looked up.
"You're still learning. And learning means falling. Making mistakes. Bleeding sometimes... At least, that's what someone once told me." Added Mimi.
A silence fell.
In the distance, Enalid smiled and hummed softly as she tried to feed the fire.
Silas looked at his hands. Shaking. Real.
"You know... I'm afraid I'll never really live up to expectations. That was the case when I was at the manor, and it's even more so since we started this journey."
Mireille placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
"Welcome to the real world, Master Silas. Everybody feels that way." She said with a smile.
He, too, smiled faintly, despite himself.