The bag wasn't large, only enough for a few changes of clothes, a pack of hardtack and one water bottle.
Ash tied the drawstring twice, an old habit that wasn't necessary but his hands did it on their own. In the corner of the room, the bed was still as neat as Elira had left it that morning. The pillow on the left side still had a small indent at the center.
Ash didn't look at it again.
His small axe hung at his hip, the rest he left behind. The furniture, the farming tools, all the belongings he had gathered over ten years of living in Pinedale, all of it stayed where it was. He had no use for any of it.
"You don't have to go, son."
Mr. Alton's voice, the village deputy head, came from the bedroom doorway. The old man stood with his hands at his sides, his hunched back looking heavier than usual. "This place is your home, Ash."
Ash turned to face the old man. His expression was neither angry nor sad, only flat like the surface of still water.
"I have to. You saw it yourself." His voice came out without any excess in its tone. "I'm not human anymore, at least not entirely. I don't want to end up devouring you all in the middle of the night when I'm hungry."
Mr. Alton opened his mouth, then closed it again. There were no right words for that situation and both of them knew it.
Ash stepped closer and stopped in front of the old man. "Thank you for taking care of their burial."
Mr. Alton nodded slowly, the corners of his eyes red. "It was her favorite spot, under the big Oak tree. Come back sometime, son."
Ash didn't answer. He nodded once and stepped outside.
The main road of Pinedale was quiet ... but not empty.
People were there, Ash could see them from the corner of his eyes, shadows behind curtains that shifted slightly, heads that appeared then vanished behind piles of straw, bodies pressing behind walls as he passed.
A small child who had been running in the middle of the road went straight inside as his mother pulled him from the doorway, the woman's eyes not leaving Ash until the door closed.
Ash walked at the same pace. Without slowing his steps, without looking toward those windows. He understood, that afternoon they had witnessed something they had never imagined before, and there was no reasonable way to act normal after that.
Pinedale was no longer his home, not because he didn't want it to be, but because a place that made people afraid couldn't be called home by anyone.
At the end of the village road, four people stood waiting.
Wren, Dano and two others stood at distances not too close to each other, their shoulders stiff and their eyes not knowing where to settle. Wren held something in his hand but didn't immediately extend it as Ash approached.
Ash stopped in front of them. No one spoke for several seconds.
Wren was the one who started, his hand reaching forward. In his palm sat a small lighter, the metal already worn at the grip from being held too often. "My father's." His voice was slightly hoarse. "The only thing that has any value to me. Take it."
Ash looked at the lighter, then looked at Wren. "I can't take this."
"I've decided." Wren pushed his hand slightly forward. "Take it."
Ash took it. The metal was cold in his palm, heavier than its size suggested.
Dano stepped forward, pulling a small wine bottle from his pocket, half full with dark brown liquid. "Not a great gift," he said, "but you'll definitely need it later." He held it out without many extra words.
The others followed one by one. A folding knife with a wooden handle cracked at the tip. A piece of bread wrapped in cloth. Small things that had no value in any shop but were pulled from each person's pocket with hands that weren't entirely steady.
Ash received all of it. His hands accepted each item without refusing.
When it was all done, he looked at each of them in turn. Wren with his jaw locked tight. Dano biting his lower lip. The other two whose eyes were already red at the edges.
"Thank you," Ash said, "for everything, not just this." He paused for a moment. "Take care of yourselves. Live long."
He turned and walked.
No one called him back. Ash heard sounds behind him, heavy sighs and suppressed sobbing, but he didn't look back.
He walked toward the mountains to the north, toward a path with no name that led nowhere he knew. His hands were fisted at his sides, Wren's lighter held there, the metal that had been cold earlier starting to feel warm.
Pinedale grew more distant and disappeared around a bend in the road, and Ash didn't look back.
***
The sun was directly overhead when the bustle of Blackridge city at the foot of Mount Atmos reached its peak.
The main road of the city was narrow but packed, merchants with carts jostling alongside pedestrians, the sounds of bargaining mixing with the sound of cart wheels over stone. The air at this altitude was cooler than the flatlands, but among a crowd that size, the temperature felt different.
The bustle was broken by a shout from the direction of a fabric stall on the left side of the road.
"My wallet is gone! Thief! There's a thief!"
***