Guys...

Forgive me. This chapter was really hard for me to write. I'm still practicing my skills not only as an author, but also as a human. I haven't quite experienced true tragedy, so writing about it makes me feel like a huge poser. I'm sorry if this chapter is garbage, and I didn't portray things so well. But at least I can say that I tried.

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The journey back home for Ylvir was far more long and treacherous than the journey from. He may have had the same map and compass as before, but he did not have the temperate weather, nor the same adventurous spirit. This time there was ice and snow to trudge through, and his own shame to bear.

When Ylvir managed to get through the icy swamp, Dandy fell ill. She would not take his food and he could not start a fire to warm her. He tried to hold her close, hoping and praying she would get better, whispering to her repeatedly that everything would be alright while she continued to shake and tremble.

She cooed once to him, and in that coo she told him to be at peace. Her trembling stopped after that. Ylvir would have to continue his journey without her.

His steps were feeble and small as he waded through the snow of the now barren plains, holding Dandy's body aloft, tears freezing in his already frosted fur. It was such a contrast from the last time he came through, that his tears fell even more fervently, large and warm for only a second before the winter air froze them.

When he came to the edge of the forest, its floor more open and soft, he buried her. He knelt at the small mound that made her grave for a great length, maybe days. He could not stop thinking of how it was his fault that she was dead now.

He remembered watching her hatching. It had been such a novelty to see new life born, though she wasn't quite as adorable that day as the next. She had been so small, so innocent. And quite soft, much like himself. He remembered helping to raise her and the other chicks with their mother, feeding them, playing with them, having their own little adventures.

But she had taken to him more than the others. He sobbed a small chuckle when he recalled how she had followed him more than she followed her mother. He could hardly remember a time at the farm when she wasn't shadowing him. Sometimes he would even try to shoo her off, but she never listened, always following and doing as she wished. Somewhere along the road, he wasn't sure where, she had turned from being his charge to being his keeper.

She had traveled with him when no one else would. She had comforted him when he needed comfort, encouraged him when he was so full of doubt, and pecked sense into him when no one else would. She was the most loyal friend he had ever known, even when he tried to discourage her. And now she was gone forever, simply because he could not return the favor to her when she needed it the most.

His tears dropped to the soil she lay beneath until they would drop no more.

With a shaky breath, he pulled his whistle from his pocket and began to play a tribute to the loyal hen. He played it sweetly, apologetically, and then peacefully.

Ylvir finally stood, the snow that had piled on him slipping off, and he moved on.

He had thought he felt lonely the last time when he traversed through the woods. It was nothing compared to now. Now he was truly all alone. It was so terribly painful and cold in a way that had nothing to do with winter. He might as well get used to it now, though. After seeing his parents, this is how it would always be.

It went on like that for so long, the wind and snow and his own mind battling him at every turn, but he pressed on. He pressed on until he came through the forest's edge to a familiar clearing--one he had called home his whole life.

He thought he would have been happy to see it, but he wasn't. Perhaps it was because he was still mourning his loss, or perhaps or was because he couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. It was his home, but it wasn't. Something had changed--something important.

He stepped numbly through the snow, approaching the small cottage. When he came to the door, he didn't walk through and invite himself as he normally would have. Something held him back, so he hesitantly knocked instead, his fist thudding dully against the door.

It swung inward, and instantly he knew what was wrong.

Immediately, a growl took him over, his lips curling in a snarl. He should have recognized him by his scent even before he opened the door, but their first encounter seemed so long ago now.

Before him stood the fancy man with the whip from that fateful night at the festival, only he didn't look so fancy, nor did he have a whip. Instead, he bore a look of shock.

"Ylvir!"

Ylvir's red gaze lifted from the man to see his mother inside, sitting in her chair.

Ylvir knew instantly that his mother was not well. Her face was pale and drawn, and it looked as though she had aged decades since his absence. Her look of admonishment turned to one of pain as she brought a thin, frail hand to her mouth and began a fit of bone-rattling coughs.

Ylvir pushed the man aside and rushed to his mother, kneeling at her side and reaching a hand out to her tentatively.

"Mum..."

When she stopped, her eyes were full of unshed tears and she fell back into her chair weakly. She looked at him slowly and gave him a tired smile, reaching a hand to stroke the fur of his face.

"Oh Ylvir, my sweet boy," she murmured. "How you have grown. You're so big and strong now, I hardly recognized you."

"Mum," Ylvir repeated, his gravelly voice breaking. "What happened?"

Her smile faded and she looked away, her tears finally leaving her hollow blue eyes.

"Ylvir," she spoke hoarsely. "H-he's...gone. He's gone!"

She started shaking and trembling with silent sobs, worrying Ylvir further. "Mum? Who's gone?"

"R-reul," she barely choked out before her sobs overtook her again. "My dear husband. I always t-told him he worked too h-hard, and now he's gone!"

The world crumbled around Ylvir. His father? He was gone? As in...

Ylvir thought he had exhausted his tears after Dandy's passing, but he had been so wrong. The salty fluid fell hotly from his eyes, but for his mother he refrained from sobbing in the same manner. It was clear that her husband's death had taken a toll on her. He did not need to add in his own pain to hers.

"I-if only he had j-just held on a bit longer," she cried, then looked directly at him. "Then he would have s-seen you now, seen how much y-you've grown. He loved you s-so much, you know. I th-thank my lucky stars that Strivsky was here to h-help. Had he not been, I fear I may have d-died before now as well."

Her sobs gave way to wretched coughing. Ylvir's heart wrenched at the sound as well as the words she uttered. He felt so helpless, just as he was with Dandy. He wanted so desperately to heal her, but he could not. When her coughing started to subside, he almost began to ask her the many questions running rampant through his head when a hand came between them, holding a cup.

"Here Aloris," the man said smoothly as she took the cup with trembling fingers. "Drink this. It'll help you feel better."

Ylvir almost growled again until he saw his mother give the man a smile. "Thank you, Strivsky. You're too kind."

He returned the smile. "My pleasure."

Ylvir sensed something was amiss. He did not possess an ounce of trust for the man, but seeing his mother smile at him with her own trust made him hesitate.

She drank greedily from the cup, but her fingers trembled so greatly, Ylvir reached out and helped her, holding the cup for her. Her eyes thanked him as she continued to drink.

When there was nothing left, Ylvir drew the cup away, looking to his mother in sadness. He should have come sooner. His delay had not only lost him a dear friend, but his father as well. Perhaps even his mother.

Guilt and sorrow racked through him as his mother started up her coughing again with new fervor. It was as though the drink had only made it worse.

The drink...

Horror pulsed through Ylvir's veins, seeping into his bones as his mother reached out and gripped his arm with what remained of her strength, her coughs now spewing blood into her lap as she curled into herself in her seat.

"Mum! Mum," he called out to her helplessly.

She gave one last look into his eyes, and it struck him how similar the look was to the one Dandy gave him before her last coo.

"I," she choked, no longer having strength even to cough, simply strangling on her own breath and the blood in her throat. "I--love you."

Ylvir sobbed, holding onto her as though his grip would keep her soul there. "Mum, please!"

Please, stay!

He felt her smile amongst his feathers and fur, then heard her last whispered words so clearly like she wasn't dying at all, but whispering another silly secret to him like she had so long ago.

"Don't forget your promise."

It was like he could feel her spirit leave her body. She was suddenly lighter, empty. He held her limp body, sobbing and shaking his head.

"No, no, no," he kept muttering, his coarse voice becoming coarser with grief as he buried his face in her hair, cradling her in his arms as she had done for him so many times, like he wished she could do now. "Please, mum. Come back. Please. I need you."

"How touching. You really are just a pup, aren't you?"

Ylvir froze. Slowly, he lifted his head from his mother, taking in the smirking form of the man before him.

"That will make this so much easier."