Hope Sundered

“How’re you feeling?” Ekard asked as he approached Keila. She sat perched on a large rock outside of camp, facing west. Endless countryside surrounded Chastin’s survivors. The miles passed with no gauge of distance. Despair had become a constant companion.

Ekard placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. Keila didn’t respond right away, trying to reign her thoughts back into the privacy of her mind before interacting with the living again. Moments later she turned and offered a weak smile. “I’m fine. I was just—”

“Come now, you don’t have to put on the brave mask of leadership for me. It’s just the two of us here, and I know you’re hurting. We all are. Grieving is a natural part of healing, but you have to let it happen. If you hold it in, it’ll consume you.”

“I don’t want to let it go.”

The words sounded strange, but were refreshing in their honesty. Ekard was her only peer now. She’d known him her entire life. They’d always been familiar acquaintances, but now fate had made them kindred companions.

“I understand,” he replied without judgment. “You’re afraid if you do, your father’s memory will be lost, and his sacrifice will have meant nothing.”

Her eyes met his and a chill coursed her spine. Her father had been her strength and security her entire life. And Lark, the next stage of her life, a future of untold joy and endless possibilities. She opened her mouth to speak but failed to utter a sound.

“I watched both of my parents die that night,” Ekard admitted, a slight tremor noticeable in his quiet voice. “I’ll never forget them, or how they stood their ground while we loaded the boats. Everyone here lives on because they helped hold the line long enough for us to escape. Letting go of the pain isn’t the same as letting go of the memory, and if you don’t find a way to separate them, the pain will haunt you forever.”

His unexpected wisdom surprised her. It was an awkward comfort, but also nice to speak with one who understood the depth of her pain.

Ekard continued. “Your father was perhaps the greatest hero of all. He warned us from the beginning and held to his convictions despite others doubting him. He helped everyone regain their wits and remain focused when the Azrahterans poured in. If you wish to honor his memory, talk about him often, and do so with pride.”

It was the nicest thing anyone could’ve ever said about her father, which made it the most painful to hear. Keila collapsed into his arms, releasing everything she'd been holding back in a torrent of weeping and tears. He remained motionless as he held her, allowing her to fully play out her suffering. They didn’t move for several long moments.

Once the tender moment dismissed itself, Keila sat upright and wiped her eyes, brushing back her matted copper mane. Her expression offered wordless gratitude for his empathy, to which he merely nodded and returned the smile.

“We found water,” he said. “It’s why I came looking for you in the first place.” The gentle prairie breeze whispered past. A lock of Keila’s hair slid down across her cheek. Ekard reached to brush it back, but she turned her head and looked away. He pulled back and threw his gaze to the ground.

“That’s welcome news indeed,” she replied between sniffles, relieved to change the subject. She appreciated the opportunity to express her feelings but Ekard’s sympathy was a hand with which to steady herself in the moment, nothing more.

These were confusing times, and she couldn’t afford to complicate matters. Ekard was familiar, comfortable, but he wasn’t Lark, and allowing even the slightest gesture to be interpreted as interest could result in a terrible misunderstanding. She needed to tread carefully.

Survival was all that mattered, she reiterated in her mind. It was time for the scared little girl to fade away and allow the confident woman to take her place and lead her father’s people onward. “Make sure everyone drinks until they’re satisfied,” she said. “Then fill anything that’ll hold it. We move out at sunrise.”