"How did you know me?" I asked again, my eyes narrowing as I scrutinized the man before me. His expression was calm, his movements deliberate as he approached.
"Harold already informed us about you," he said, his voice steady, betraying no emotion. "What are you doing here?"
I tensed, my fingers curling into fists at my sides. Before I could respond, a familiar voice rang out from behind him. "You don't need to keep your guard up with him."
I turned swiftly, relief and confusion mixing in my chest as I saw my master. "Master? What are you doing here? How did you know I was here?"
"Because of him," Master replied, pointing to a figure sprinting toward us. His hair was a fiery red, his eyes sharp and cunning like a fox's. My heart lurched. It was Red.
The world seemed to blur as I stood there, frozen. Then, without thinking, I found myself running toward him. Tears blurred my vision as I threw my arms around him, holding him tight. "Thank you… Thank you for being alive," I whispered, my voice trembling. The guilt that had been gnawing at me since that fateful night bubbled to the surface, spilling out with my words.
Red hugged me back briefly before gently breaking the embrace. His eyes, warm despite the sharpness of their shape, met mine. "All the kids are alive," he said softly, a small smile on his lips. "Some of the adults made it too."
Hearing those words, my legs gave out, and I crumpled to the ground. It felt as though a heavy thorn lodged in my throat had been removed, leaving me gasping with relief. The weight of responsibility and fear that I had carried for so long lightened, if only slightly.
Red knelt beside me until I composed myself. Together, we walked toward the new Red Fox lair, my master and the man who had first addressed me, Sheriff Donovan, trailing close behind. As we moved, Sheriff Donovan began his interrogation, his sharp eyes studying me.
"What were you doing there?" His voice was firm, demanding, but not unkind.
I hesitated, unwilling to reveal the full truth. "I ran away," I said, my gaze fixed on the path ahead. "I felt suffocated at Harold's house. I just stumbled upon that burned house."
Sheriff Donovan's eyes narrowed slightly as he assessed my words. His appearance was ordinary at first glance—blonde hair, blue eyes, and the build of a man in his mid-thirties. But the way he carried himself spoke of rigorous training and discipline. There was something more to him than just being a simple human.
When we arrived at the lair, the children greeted me with wide smiles and laughter. Their joy was infectious, their innocence untouched by the chaos that had befallen us. For a moment, it was easy to forget the fear, the danger. I smiled back, warmth blooming in my chest.
Eventually, I found my way to Elder Ravenclaw's tent, the weight of my journey settling on me once more. I took a deep breath before stepping inside, ready to face whatever awaited me next.
We all gathered around a small wooden table that doubled as their dining and living space. The room was cozy, with worn chairs that had seen better days and a soft, warm light from a single lamp casting long shadows across the walls. Elder Ravenclaw carefully placed steaming mugs of coffee in front of each of us, the rich, earthy aroma filling the room.
"After the war," Elder Ravenclaw began, settling into his seat, his hands wrapped tightly around his cup, "a week passed before Harold came to us, bringing Sheriff Donovan along."
My master, seated beside me, leaned forward, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. "I was ready to fight him then," he admitted, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "But he had a different purpose that day."
Elder Ravenclaw nodded, his eyes darkening with memory. "Harold offered us a chance to rebuild, to find a way to live in peace and end the conflict. Though he didn't apologize for the lives lost during the war, which I can understand... there's no making amends for that kind of loss." His voice tightened as he spoke, his knuckles whitening as he gripped his cup.
The weight of his words hung in the air, pressing down on all of us. The silence was broken by Red, who suddenly stood and bowed low before me. "Thank you," he said earnestly, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for ending the war."
"No!" I exclaimed, leaping to my feet and grabbing his shoulders to pull him upright. "Don't bow to me. I didn't do anything!" My voice cracked, a mix of guilt and frustration surging through me. How could he thank me when I felt I had failed so many?
Red looked at me with steady eyes, but before he could respond, Sheriff Donovan set his coffee down with a soft clink. "You did more than enough," he said, his voice calm but firm. His blue eyes locked onto mine as he continued, "Being a leader doesn't mean you have to do everything on your own. It means standing with your people, listening to them. What you did—standing up for Harold—was the support he needed."
His words settled over me, filling the void of doubt that had been gnawing at my heart. I sank back into my chair, my mind racing with everything that had happened, everything I had carried with me.
We sat in reflective silence, sipping our coffee. The conversation moved in quieter tones after that, touching on the future, on hope, on what needed to be rebuilt. Once the coffee was gone, I spent time teaching the children again, their eager faces a welcome distraction from the weight of the past.
When the time came to leave, I felt a bittersweet ache in my chest. I bid goodbye to Red, Sheriff Donovan, and my master, each farewell tinged with a sense of finality and a promise of return.
"Take care," my master said, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. I nodded, feeling the warmth of his touch linger as I stepped back onto the path that led me to where it all began.
As I made my way down the winding path toward the small dock where my boat was moored, the gentle lapping of the water against the wooden posts reached my ears. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting the sky in shades of orange and pink, the fading light reflecting off the surface of the lake in shimmering ripples.
Ahead, I noticed a familiar figure standing near the boat, his silhouette outlined against the vibrant backdrop. Dale. He stood with his hands in his pockets, a casual stance that belied the concern etched on his face.
"Everyone's looking for you," he said the moment his eyes met mine, his voice carrying over the soft sounds of the water.
I paused for a moment, taking in the worry in his tone, the way his brow furrowed slightly. A pang of guilt stirred in my chest, knowing I had worried them all by disappearing without a word. I mustered a faint smile, hoping to ease his concern, even if just a little.
"Sorry," I murmured as I stepped closer, the wooden boards of the dock creaking beneath my feet. I could feel the weight of his gaze, the unspoken questions hanging in the air between us.
Without another word, we boarded the boat. The soft thud of our footsteps on the deck echoed in the quiet of the evening. I took my place at the helm, my fingers finding their familiar grip on the controls. Dale settled into a seat near the bow, his eyes still fixed on me.
As we drifted away from the dock, the tension in my chest began to ease, replaced by the soothing rhythm of the boat cutting through the water. The silence between us was comfortable, a shared understanding that no words were needed for now. But I knew, eventually, the questions would come.
For now, though, I let the peace of the moment wash over me, the horizon stretching out ahead like a promise of new beginnings.