Geoffrey intuitively leaned against Cerwin's chest, his eyes lingering on the trees' foliage. A wave of red, yellow, and orange had swept over the forest, painting the whole valley in vibrant colors.
Autumn is already well on its way. The change in season hadn't been something abrupt, yet Geoffrey seemed to only now realize that summer was over. Somehow, his mind was still trapped on that fateful day when a storm thundered upon the earth, and his comrades disappeared beneath a mountain of dirt. How foolish. Time doesn't stop for anyone—not for the witches, and certainly not for my unit.
A sudden movement snapped him out of his thoughts; Cerwin had jumped off the mountain top, agilely sliding down the steep slope with his feet barely touching the ground, almost as if he were levitating.
The first time they went down the mountain in this manner, Geoffrey almost died of a heart attack. But over the days, it had grown mundane, for they went down the mountain almost every morning to catch some fish. It was a part of their routine, and being bridal-carried had become an everyday occurrence to the point where he couldn't comprehend why his past self had been so reluctant at first. There was no shame in being carried by another man in a bridal-carry.
Not like Geoffrey could go down the mountain any other way, to begin with. Even if he was now better, the bruises and cuts long healed, and could walk on his own, the path down to the river was too dangerous for a human to travel, unless they knew how to fly or had a death wish. Geoffrey's dry cough also hadn't disappeared yet, and fatigue still plagued him. Too much physical exertion always ended with him bent in two, holding onto his knees as he tried to catch his breath.
So, Cerwin's arms it was.
"It's sunny today," Cerwin commented, and Geoffrey nodded.
The weather had been oddly mild over the past few weeks. The temperature wasn't chilly despite winter being just around the corner, and Geoffrey didn't need to drag the blanket of fur with him during their trips outside. Not yet, at least.
"Do you think we will be able to catch something decent today?" Geoffrey asked in a teasing tone, lifting his eyes to look at the mountain spirit's face. He was wearing that scowl again.
"If you don't touch the fishing net, maybe we will catch something today," Cerwin grunted, pinching Geoffrey's thigh when he started to laugh, for it was no laughing matter. "Just sit tight on the riverside and don't touch anything, will you? Unless you want to have to make do with apples and persimmons this noon again."
Raising his hands in defeat, Geoffrey didn't comment. Whenever he tried to help Cerwin catch some fish, they always returned to his dwelling empty-handed. It was better to sit in a corner, breathe in the fresh air of the forest, and watch from afar.
That was what Geoffrey would do this time, too, especially since he didn't know how much longer the good weather would last.
Once winter settled and the river froze, fishing would become increasingly difficult. Ice fishing wasn't impossible, but there wouldn't be many fish left in the river, as they would have migrated to another body of water more appropriate to pass the cold months of the year. If they wanted to keep fishing, Geoffrey knew they would need to hike further up the valley to the lake, but the hike itself would take half a day, and there was no guarantee they would catch anything.
In his opinion, it wasn't worth the hassle.
Cerwin seemed to have reached the same conclusion and had started to prepare in consequence, storing food like cereals and dried fruits in his dwelling. He didn't ask for Geoffrey's thought on the matter, hinting that he already knew he'd pass the winter with him. They'd been together for over three months, and never once did the mountain spirit ask him when he was planning to leave. Perhaps he knew Geoffrey had nowhere left to go back.
I know it's shameless of me, but I don't want to leave just yet. Again, the thought haunted him, as it often did when he sat on the pebbled shore and watched Cerwin hunt fish. With a makeshift net in hand, the mountain spirit ventured in the river, his hair floating on the clear water like spilled ink.As long as he doesn't ask me to leave, I'll stay. Living with him is comfortable.
Here, there were no self-serving superiors, barbaric orders, and witch hunts. If he returned to the barracks and the higher-ups didn't outright sentence him to death for deserting, then he'd have to go through that hell again.
He'd rather not. He much preferred this simple life with the mountain spirit, where days unfold with quietude.
According to Cerwin, I'm still in convalescence, anyway.
An amused smile tugged at Geoffrey's lips. If there was one thing he had learned about the mountain spirit, it was that he worried like a mother hen. It took everything to convince him to bring him on his fishing trips, too. Playing the card of his mental health ultimately did the trick, but even then, Cerwin had been reluctant.
Admittedly, his worries weren't all that unfounded. Compared to a spirit, humans were frail creatures. Sometimes, it took barely anything for them to die. Geoffrey had seen it happen often. One morning, a friend was in peak health; the next day, his heart had stopped beating.
"Geoffrey," a sigh resounded, "what are you staring at?"
"Your back?" Geofrey blinked, only now realizing he had been intently staring at the mountain spirit. "Or maybe your behind? I'm not sure where your tail is exactly."
"You still haven't given up?"
"Nope!"
Pretending not to notice Cerwin's roll of eyes, Geoffrey's smile deepened. Despite living together for so long, he still hadn't seen that famous deer tail. He had managed to catch a glimpse of the tip once, in between two strands of brown hair, but it was only a glimpse. It couldn't compare to the whole thing. Whenever he thought of it, his fingers felt itchy. How soft was a deer tail again…?
Instinctively, Geoffrey squinted, trying to see through Cerwin's hair, but to no avail. The locks of hair were too thick.
Just as he was about to shift his attention to the forest, something glinted under the sun and caught his eye. A frown creased his brow, his stomach suddenly twisting into knots. He gulped but forced himself to stand up and tiptoed his way to a clump of rocks, the pebbles squeaking under his feet.
The water gently splashed against the riverbank, gathering in the center of the piled rocks. Some floating plants clustered around, telling him that the object had been there for a while, and he hadn't noticed it until now.
The closer Geoffrey got, the more knots formed in his stomach.
His throat seemed to clench when the object finally came into view.
Crouching, Geoffrey took the flask out of the water, wiping off the dirt on it, and slowly turned it around. Even if he expected to see that inscription engraved into its back, it still felt like someone punched him in the gut.
To my father, who protects us from evil. Love, Katty.
Richardson had always loved to brag about his daughter. He might have had a few morally questionable habits, but there was no doubting he adored his baby girl, and his daughter also adored him. Unfortunately, she had died a few years back from a disease that had swept through the town, and the flask was a memento Richardson had kept close to him.
There hadn't been a single day Geoffrey hadn't seen him without it.
"Is something the matter?" Cerwin's voice traveled to his ears, and Geoffrey lifted his gaze to meet his. It was impossible to discern any emotion whatsoever in these pitch-black eyes, but he didn't need to. The mountain spirit's worry was always apparent in his grumpy voice.
"It's nothing. I just found something that belonged to an old comrade."
Geoffrey shook the flask to illustrate his point.
"I see." Cerwin nodded. He seemed to hesitate for a second before adding, "What do you want to do with it?"
"I'm not sure." Geoffrey sighed, pausing to organize his thoughts as he stared at the flask, his thumb caressing the inscription.
Sorrow clung to his heart. Richardson had treasured this flask like nothing else in this world, and he hadn't even been allowed to be buried with it. Geoffrey had no idea how it ended up in the river, carried up to this part of the riverbank. All he knew was that it was in his hand now, and it was the sole memento he had left of his old comrades. The rest had long been buried under meters of dirt and debris, alongside his friends' corpses.
"Anyway." Geoffrey smiled, lowering his eyes to the mountain spirit's hands. He was holding onto two plump trashing fish. "Looks like you were successful today."
"Of course I was." Cerwin snorted. "Gut them out and wash them. I'd like to return not too late and continue to crochet your winter clothing. The good weather won't always last."
The reminder drew a wry chuckle out of Geoffrey as he got up and slipped the flask into his belt. He grabbed the fish and handled the preparation. He might not have been a good fisher or hunter, but it didn't mean he wasn't a good butcher. A moment later, he'd killed the struggling fish and was gutting them, washing their insides in the river.
Meanwhile, Cerwin went to the forest edge to gather edible mushrooms and such, not once glancing over his shoulders at the gory sight.
***
"I still find it impressive," Geoffrey said, munching on his dinner as he watched Cerwin crochet a cardigan for him. He had seen the process from beginning to end, how Cerwin gathered the wool from wild goats, how he weaved it into balls, and now how he crocheted clothing. The dress he had was too light to brave the winter months, so the mountain spirit had decided to make him something warmer.
"It's not exactly what I'd call impressive," Cerwin grunted a few words in response, his eyes locked onto his work. "It's easy to do once you know how to do it. I'm sure even you can do it, and that's despite your clumsy fingers."
"Uh-huh."
Although unconvinced, Geoffrey decided not to push the matter, or he feared Cerwin would stuff the balls of wool and the crochets in his hands and demand that he try. So instead, he swallowed the last bite of his dinner, and started working on his own task: processing dry grains and cereals to store them. If moisture were to get trapped, and mold got a hold of the storage room, then everything could get spoiled, and he wouldn't have much to eat until spring, for he doubted Cerwin had it in him to hunt nearby animals.
In the worst-case scenario, they could always steal some food from the mining settlement, such as bread and the like. Maybe some alcohol, too.
Speaking of the mining settlement, these noisy neighbors of theirs had been detonating explosives as of late, making the whole mountain range shake every few days. The first time it happened, Geoffrey's heart leaped to his throat as he thought the cave would collapse on them. It was nerve-wracking whenever the rock floor under him started to vibrate as if a dozen horses were stomping the ground, and dust fell from the ceiling and the walls.
It's been a while since the last blast. It was a simple constatation, but the moment Geoffrey thought of it, a blaring sound echoed, almost as if to mock him.
"I wonder how many more holes they're going to blast into the mountain." Geoffrey winced, the dust hovering in the air eliciting another coughing fit.
Deep down, he already knew the answer. They would keep blasting the mountain until they had drained it of all its valuable resources. Humans, at least those he knew, had always been like this, taking everything and leaving nothing behind.
The deforested land popped into his mind. As weeks passed, more and more trees had been cut down, leaving a gaping hole of desolate ground behind. Every day, Geoffrey witnessed the clearing getting bigger, swallowing a bit more of the beautiful scenery.
It's truly rotting away. How regretful.
"Oh, right, Cerwin, did you—"
Geoffrey stopped mid-sentence, the words stuck in his throat.
The bowl of dry grains fell onto the ground, its contents spilling everywhere, but he couldn't care less. His eyes grew wide as he looked at the mountain spirit, whose hand covered his mouth. It couldn't hide much, however, as dark blood dripped down his chin and through his fingers. Cerwin didn't appear distressed and even looked unbothered, yet Geoffrey knew something was horribly wrong.
"C-Cerwin…?"
"Sorry, it looks like some blood fell onto the cardigan." He clicked his tongue, a look of annoyance flashing through his face. "I'll go wash it before it stains the wool. I'm almost done with it, too."
"Who cares about the cardigan!" Geoffrey yelled as he sprang onto his feet, scrambling over to the mountain spirit. The dark blood was still dripping down, and now that Cerwin had pushed the cardigan aside not to soil it any more than he already had, it was his white dress that got dirtied. Spots of black appeared on it, almost like ink. "W-what's happening?!"
"Nothing."
"Nothing…?" Incredulity flashed across his eyes, and maybe a hint of hurt, too. "Nothing, you say!"
Even if Geoffrey didn't intend to shout, he instinctively raised his voice when Cerwin tried to brush the matter aside, going as far as to avert his eyes and pretend to be deaf. Mountain spirit or not, no living being threw up blood without reason, and it usually wasn't for a good one. They had shared the same living space for three months, and it had never happened before. Or if it had, Cerwin didn't let him see, most likely hiding in another room. Geoffrey wouldn't be surprised if that were the case.
"S-show me."
"It's fine, don't worry so much."
"Show me."
Although his voice was firm, Geoffrey's hand trembled as he grabbed Cerwin's and lowered it. Then, half a face covered in dark blood appeared. Not only was he throwing up blood, but he also had a massive nosebleed. Shocked, Geoffrey was at a loss as to what to do. It wasn't like Cerwin was human, and he had no clue whatsoever about what was happening to his body.
A silence fell between them as they stared into each other's eyes. It soon became apparent that Cerwin had no intention to speak up, so Geoffrey did the only thing he could do, and that was to plead. He knew the mountain spirit was weak to his begging. It had worked wonders in the past few months, and it should work wonders today, too.
"…Please, tell me, what's wrong?"
His lips stretched taut, Cerwin didn't answer, but Geoffrey waited. He hadn't been rebuked, so there was a chance Cerwin would ultimately give him a response, and indeed, he did.
"Geoffrey, what am I again?"
"Huh?" The question took him aback, and Geoffrey had to pause before tentatively replying, "A mountain spirit?"
Cerwin responded by cocking an eyebrow, not explaining further. He didn't need to, as Geoffrey slowly connected the dots in his mind.
A mountain spirit, the spirit of this mountain.
A mountain that humans were blasting for its gold.
A mountain that humans were deforesting for its wood.
As realization dawned upon him, Geoffrey felt sick to his stomach.
For the first time in months, he prayed to be wrong. He wanted to be wrong. If it meant Cerwin would live, then he wanted to be wrong every time—in the past, in the present, and in the future, too.