#bombiix.writes

[bombiix]

Her.

Boothill. Winter was approaching. tw : angst. 2.7k words. NOT a x reader fic!

Winter approached. Wood had to be chopped, house had to be warm, cold had to be kept outside. It was a routine, a simple one he used to follow every years. His long and thin fingers wrapped around the handle of the axe, the polished metal slashing through the deep pine wood, he was preparing himself for winter. Despite the bright sun up in the sky, sun rays sliding across his body, tanning his skin, he could not allow himself to be late. Sweats dripped along his forehead as warmth weighted on his shoulders, his bare arms felt heavier while they rose in the sky to pierce through the wood as heavily as they felt. Few birds sung their arrival to their family, others sung for food and some flew away as the axe chopped through the wood one more time. Ears up in the sky, tilting towards the man loud enough to disturb nature, horses puffed air in curiosity. Disturbance was a big word as they returned to graze, grinding and chewing grass. Tails swinging in the air to chase flies away, their skin twitching at any contact. Sliding a hand on his forehead, he sighed heavily. While he was the only one able to do this job, it was still a tiring one. The sun didn’t help as he felt crushed under it, any movement becoming an extra effort. But the wood had to be chopped, not only for him, but for her. A man of promises keeps his promises, winter would be warm. He rose his arms up in the sky one more time before throwing them down, the metal crashing in the trunk supporting the log of wood. Although it was a beautiful sight for his wife, it became an agony for him. Listening to his body, he started to pack up the cut wood. He knew the crushing sun wouldn’t last for long, he was used to those abrupt change of climate. He learned and had to adapt himself and his cabin, for him. But also for her. Rubbing his hands together, in loud claps, he sighed. Finally, he finished and he could go back inside and enjoy some free time. Hurriedly, he went in the cabin. He made many promises, many that he certainly forgot, but spending time with her was one he would never forget.

She was there. He couldn’t help but feel relieved. A wolf toy in her hand, she made it play with her owl plush. Raising the wolf front paws in the air, to make him stand on his hind legs, a timid howl would leave her mouth.

“Baby, you wanna call wolves?” He said, as calmly as he could, fearful he would scare her. She turned around quickly, leaving her toys to run into his arms. A bright smile appeared on her round face, a laugh escaping her lips. “Do you think we could?” She lifted her head towards him, hope filling her eyes. He took a second, admiring her face. How barbaric of him it would be, to say no. His lips tilted in a smile, his hands sliding in her soft hair. After all, calling a few wolves in the night in the safety of their cabin wouldn’t cause problems. She never had the chance to hear them yet, it was the moment.

“Sure, don’t fall asleep.” She laughed, quickly responding, “Never!”, loud enough to startle birds around the cabin. As quickly as she answered, she went back to her activities. He observed her for anew second before turning to the small wooden kitchen. The wooded floor creaked under his feet, the sole of his boots scraping along the wood. It was a small kitchen with enough cabinets to store food. Few pans were hanging and casseroles were pilled together, all copper. A basket filled with vegetables, such as carrots, tomatoes, onions; vegetables which came from their garden, rested on the kitchen counter. Putting a casserole filled with water on the plates, he lighted up the gas. He took a knife and sat down onto a chair, which squeaked under his weight. Quietly, he peeled potatoes. The knife cut down the skin, his thumb pressed down on the potato and the skin lifted up as the blade slid under it. The scratching of the blade against the potatoes’ skin felt loud, the skin being peeled off buzzed in his ears. He tilted his head up, silence filling his head.

“Where’s mama?” He asked, her absence becoming deafening to him.

“She went to pick mushrooms, papa.” His little girl responded, looking up at him. He put down the knife a moment, his eyes scrutinizing her. He smiled in response, nodding his head. Mushroom stew might not be the best dish but it was the best he could do. A few potatoes, herbs, fresh mushrooms and the dish would be exquisite. He didn’t have the culinary standards of a star chef but the smile of his daughter was enough of a reward. He wanted her to have a belly full of good meat and vegetables. His own belly groaned, hungry like a lion. He didn’t realize that he was late for diner, her wife or his baby used to call him when it was the case. Everyone seemed busy today. Water boiled in the casserole he filled with potatoes, avoiding splashing his hands with the simmering water. A harder task than it was supposed to be, water landing on his hand. He hissed, shaking his hand far from the casserole.

“Are you okay, papa?” His little girl asked, turning to him. He nodded again, cooling his hand under the stream of water in the sink.

“Yeah, papa just burnt his hand a bit.” He sighed. He looked at her. “Y’know how clumsy he can be.” He smiled at her, earning a laugh from her. She hoisted herself on her legs, sore from the playtime on the floor causing her to wobble. It wasn’t rare for her to lose balance, she always had a hard time walking on her legs. It was the reason why her father never liked her leaving the house alone. It took her a few clumsy steps to reach a small cabinet that she opened. Another few clumsy steps to reach her dad to which she handed him the bandages. Her father’s eyes observed her hands, as if she was the one who hurt herself, before thanking her. Sitting down on the squeaking chair, he reached out his hand to her. “You wanna help pa’?” She nodded in response. Holding the bandages in her small hands, she gently unwrapped it around his hand. Soft, quiet, she made sure to not hurt him more than he already was. But pain was already gone when he looked at her. In a world where she was alive, no pain could touch him. Quiet words were exchanged, guiding her to carefully wrap his hand. He looked at his bandaged hand, not hurting as much as he thought it would. Perhaps burn wounds became a habit as he tended to burn his fingers when he filled the fireplace with logs of wood.

Night settled in as the sun rested behind horizon. Bird’s melody quieted down for crickets and cicadas to take their turn in the song. Last sun’s rays pierced through pines before disappearing in the darkness of the night. Purple painted over pink hues the sun left on the sky, blue slowly fading his way over it. Despite the crushing darkness of the night, it could never erase the pink his eyes were seeing. A pink faded with orange, as if the day never wanted to stop. The sun was too stubborn to let the moon take place. Perhaps, it was him, who never wanted the day to stop. Time flew by, too fast for him. Days were too short for him to enjoy his time with his daughter. Despite those short days, every morning was a blessing as he was greeted by her face, her smile, her eyes. Despite those quick days, every morning were the same. A routine he settled, for their own good.

Winter was coming, wood had to be chopped, the cabin warmed up and the cold kept outside.

Warmth weighted on him as he slashed his axe through the wood. Horses went grazing farther away, playing and running around. Despite the crushing sun, they were ecstatic. Birds chirped and flew away with each wood’s log being slit in pieces. Sweats dripped along his forehead, muscled arms flexing with each movements. Cutting woods was always a chores, one his wife appreciated as he always did it without his top on. Rare became their intimate moments since their daughter came in their life. He thought about his wife, who left for mushrooms. She would be coming back, for a nice mushroom stew he would prepare. A bit of vegetables, of meat and herbs, and it would be perfect for his daughter. Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t hear little steps behind him.

“Papa?” He jolted, turning his head towards her. A quiet sigh relaxed his shoulders as he placed the axe on the trunk.

“Don’t scare me like that little one.” He whispered, passing his arm on his forehead to wipe sweats away.

“We didn’t call the wolves.” She retorted, quickly. He looked at her, frowning his brows. He felt confused, hands placed on his hips. He tilted his head on the side, as questioning her. He breathed heavily as the heat weighted on him.

“You fell asleep, papa.”

He looked at her an instant. Pinching his lips, he looked down. How dumb he was. A man of promises who couldn’t keep his promises. He wanted to argue, to tell her they did. He was sure of it but how a father could doubt his daughter’s words? Admitting his defeat, his fault, he knelt down to her height. He gently took her hands in his, hers disappearing in his large hands. She felt soft, as smooth as silk, a tad cold. Placing tender kisses above her hands, he looked up at her.

“I’m sorry.” Was all he could reply. He felt guilty and couldn’t bring himself to give her a new promise he couldn’t keep. Excusing himself was all he could do. Perhaps they needed more time together. He decided to abandon chopping woods for her, leading her to the house. He tried his best to be the father she deserved, he was learning as much as her and listened to her needs to fulfill her child’s heart. They were growing together. Walking towards the cabin, he led her to the house. She felt hesitant, wanting to walk longer in the garden but she finally gave in. Following her father’s steps was always a safer choice than wandering alone, with her uncoordinated feet.

Entering the house, he had a shiver. He felt cold despite little flames dancing in the fireplace. He sat down next to the fireplace, the sunshine passing through the windows. She sat next to him, holding her toys in her hands. She went back to it, howling with her wolf toy raising its paws in the air. He couldn’t believe she was satisfied with such simple games. A kid like him needed to run, scream and jump everywhere. He was a “little terror”; adults loved to give him nicknames. Perhaps her clumsy feet didn’t help her, he thought. Turning his gaze to the fire, he thought about the next day. He would take her with him and bring her on his horse.

An uncomfortable silence filled him. He frowned as he turned his head to his daughter.

“Where’s mama?”

His daughter raised her head towards him.

“Who’s mama?”

Silence filled the room, as he stared at her.

“What?”

“She went to pick mushrooms, papa.” She smiled at him before playing with her toys again. He didn’t respond as he stared at her. He shook his head, thinking his ears were playing games with him. Or his daughter probably was, kids often says weird stuff after all, he told himself. A sigh left his mouth, his shoulders falling as he relaxed. He couldn’t help but feel his ears buzzing, disturbing the peacefulness of his silence. It probably was due from the heat outside. Hoisting himself on his feet, he walked to the kitchen. Not a long walk as the cabin was pretty small. It had a second floor for a few beds; it was more of an attic. Quietly, as to not disrupt his daughter’s playtime, he put down a pan on the gas, followed by a casserole. He couldn’t help but shiver again, his eyes staring outside the window. How weird, how cold he felt even with the scorching sun outside. Shrugging it off, accusing it on the cabin’s humidity, he sat down on the small table to peel potatoes.

His eyes felt heavy, his hands having a hard time following his movements. He certainly needed some rest, close to his girl. Void filled his head as humming gently flew to his ears. He fought his fatigue, keeping on peeling those potatoes as if it was his last mission. He couldn’t help but listen to this sweet melody, lips ajar. It felt like a voice coming from another world, echoing in his head. He yielded, his heavy eyelids closing.

He found himself cutting wood again. We were already tomorrow? He asked himself, frowning. He didn’t realize how quick time went by. Days became shorter, mornings became rougher. He kept his routine, despite the guilt of not spending time with his daughter. He shook his head in discord with his own mind. He placed the axe down, sitting on the trunk. Perhaps he should go see her, it seemed like forever since he didn’t see her.

“Papa?” He got startled, turning his head to his girl. Hands behind her back, she smiled at him. Her hair seemed even brighter, the sun shining along her hair. He couldn’t help a smile, admiring the little girl who was his daughter. It felt weird, how he didn’t feel his heart beat in happiness, but knew better how grateful he was for the world to give him such a pretty daughter. He would fight men and gods for her.

“Yea, darling?” He bowed his head on the side, to have a better view of her as the sun was blinding him.

“I keep calling for you.”

Silence settled, as their eyes met. A smile twisted his lips, his head shaking in disapproval.

“Wha’ do you mean?” He puffed, putting down his hat. He was met with silence as she looked at him. Silence filled him, filled his mind, lips ajar. His gaze never left hers as he couldn’t even move his brows in a frown. A nervous laugh left his mouth, as if she admitted to have an imaginary friend. He lifted himself from the trunk, quiet steps approaching her. He felt it, his heart beating against his rib cage. It was painful, agonizingly fast. He could feel it in his wrists, his ears, his throat. It was beating everywhere in his body, his blood rushing in his veins. His knees met the floor, icy cold. He reached for her face, his eyes meeting hers.

“Papa.”

He heard it.

Winter was there, his knees buried deep in the snow. Woods was chopped, packed up near the cabin.

Winter was there and it was overwhelmingly hot. Heat weighed down on his body, knees buried deep in the snow. He couldn’t find the strength to stand up, he didn’t have the strength to scream.

Winter was there and her cries were faded in the roaring growls of the fire, her torment silenced by the cruelty of those flames.

He couldn’t bring himself to look at her suffering. He didn’t have the courage to see how lonely she is. He thought about her small hands reaching for the sky, asking for her father. He imagined her cries, desperately calling for her father. He realized how lonely she must have been, consumed by those barbaric flames who didn’t have pity for a small soul such as her. Those mornings were only lies, those days never existed because the sun never rested down; he landed a finger to the house he would curse.

He realized how his mind played him, giving him hopes of living with her. Those days never happened.

Left alone, in front of those blinding flames, he heard them. Wolves howled their despair, trying to reach her ears, never would she be able to hear them with her father.

“She’s gone.”