"I have seen your heart."
There they were.
Thousands of enemies stood before him, a massive huddled mob that threatened to surge forward at any moment.
He didn’t give them the chance.
His lips peeled back, and he let out a yell as he charged down into the mob, snow spraying in every direction behind him. He could practically taste the victory between each frigid breath that slammed into the back of his throat.
He drew his axe without stopping, something he had practiced for weeks. His back feet launched him into the air, and he swung. There came a mighty crack, followed by the sound of splintering wood, as his axe sunk deep into the trunk of the tree.
Laughing in victorious exhilaration, he moved to swing again.
Instead of the axe, he was sent flipping through the air, and landing with a less than dignified
poof in the pile of snow at the roots of his second target.
He got to his feet, disoriented, and stumbled back. Glancing around in confusion, he caught sight of his axe, still sticking out of the tree where it had landed.
Growling his frustration, he gritted his teeth and kicked the tree as hard as he possibly could. He only succeeded in rattling the pine needles, which made them hiss and scrape, almost as if the tree was laughing at him.
“Hey! Shut up!” he shouted, glaring up at the swaying branches over his head.
Perhaps the wind had picked up. The branches rattled on, joined by their cousins in neighbouring trees.
He rolled his eyes and sat down with a huff. “You can stop now!”
“Is there any particular reason you’re shouting at the trees?”
Startled, he nearly stumbled back into the mound of snow as he leapt back to his feet to look behind him. Fitch had been so silent in approaching, it was as if the wind had carried him over.
His leader regarded him silently for a long moment, face resting in its signature state of calmness with the tiniest hint of a smirk that no one was ever really sure was really there.
“Well? What did the trees do?”
“I was practicing,” he mumbled.
“Practicing chopping down trees?”
Letting out a grumble, he stormed over and grabbed the handle of his axe, trying and failing to pull it from the tree.
Fitch wandered over, taking a seat beside him. There was that maybe-smirk again. It was unclear, but Fitch’s eyes were certainly sparking with amusement. “Fine. What were you practicing?”
He sighed heavily, letting go of the axe again. “Battle.”
“Against the trees.”
“I want to fight for real, Fitch! Alongside you and the others. I want to die honourably. I’m practicing so you’ll
let me.”
“I’m very sorry to tell you this, but unlike trees, our enemies fight back with weapons. And they move.”
“I know that!” he snapped, kicking at a loose twig sticking out of the snow. It sprung back up again, so he stepped on it. “But there’s no other way to show you I can do this without actually battling something! You stopped me from taking on something that could fight back, so… here I am.”
With the gentlest of paws, Fitch reached over and nudged the young warrior’s claws from the twig he had crushed. The sprig uncurled from the snow again, slower this time, but soon it was upright again. “Why is it that you’re so desperate to fight?”
“I told you already, I have to live honourably so I can die honourably. If I don’t, I’ll never go to Valhalla.”
“Let me ask you this question, then. How would you define ‘honourable’?”
His answer was immediate. “Bravery! Never backing down, standing strong!”
“Hm.” Fitch watched a snowflake drift to the ground.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he scoffed, eyes narrowing. Was Fitch listening to him at all?
“It’s curious, that’s all.”
His claws sunk into the snow. “
What is?”
“You. You are so quick to pull out your weapon. Remember when you managed to convince your friends to attack an armed camp of travelers in the middle of the night? I had to come and rescue you.”
He rolled his eyes. “How could I forget?”
“I am not questioning your bravery. But you must remember that there is a very fine line between bravery and foolishness. Charging into a camp outnumbered, even if you think they’re unarmed, is foolish, not brave.”
“I get it, I get it.”
“Do you? We have had this conversation before.”
With another scoff, he shifted a little, lowering his eyes to glare at the ground. The wind threw some loose snow onto his paws.
“Listen to me.” He could feel Fitch’s eyes land on him without having to look up. “You are strong and brave, and there is no doubt in my mind about it. Your mother named you for a firebrand, and you have certainly grown to fit that description.”
Fitch paused for what could have been an eternity, the silence tangible in the nipping air. It was snowing a little heavier now. If he listened hard enough, he could almost hear it, hitting the pine needles, the branches, the tops of snow drifts in the field behind them…
“You are not ready. I have seen your heart.”
“My heart? That’s kind of gross.”
Fitch chose to ignore the comment. “In my time as your leader, I’ve seen who you are. You are focused on the wrong thing. And you have the wrong definition of bravery.”
Fitch waited for him to respond, but no words rose from the lowered head beneath the hunched shoulders.
“Bravery can be remaining strong in the face of adversity,” Fitch continued in his silence, “but it can also mean knowing when to run.”
This caught the boy’s attention. “What…?”
“You must know when a battle has been lost, when you have to swallow your pride and retreat for the sake of the lives of your brothers. You must know when to solve your problems through peaceful means. You must know when a battle isn’t worth it.”
He raised his eyes, then, meeting Fitch’s. The setting sun had brushed its light in his dark blue eyes.
His voice lowered, a far cry from its usual volume. “How do I know if it’s worth it?”
The corners of Fitch’s mouth twitched up. It was more than a smirk, almost big enough to be classified as a smile. “You should only fight for good reason. Ask yourself what you’re fighting for.”
Fitch stood then, and dislodged the axe from the tree in one smooth motion. He deposited it on the ground, before taking off his cloak and draping it over the boy’s shoulders. “The wind is picking up. Come home when you are done fighting the trees.”
With that, Fitch turned to leave, leaving the boy sitting in a state of stunned contemplation. His mouth was still suspiciously tilted up, perhaps even more than before.
“Hey!” He stood again, taking a step after Fitch. His teeth gritted against the wind. “Are you laughing at me?”
“No. You’re finally beginning to learn humility. I’m proud of you, Brandr.”
~~~
username: idyll || round 1 - round 2 - round 3 - round 4 Name: Brandr
Gender: Maletheme song
oekaki posts || 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5
Fitch 
