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“Does what just happened not bother you?” I asked the Wind as we walked.
“Death and violence are natural,” they said.
“Weren’t you scared?”
“No, there was no reason to be scared.”
“You weren’t scared of dying? Or being taken prisoner?”
“It is not yet my time. And the Wind will always be free.”
“Do you feel anything? I mean truly, do you feel anything? Or is there just nothing in there?”
Their face was still expressionless as I asked. I pushed them. Hard. They stumbled and almost fell over. “Doesn’t it bother you when I push you? What if I start yelling in your face? Do you not feel anything? Answer me! Say something real!”
“The Wind does have certain senses and feelings, yes,” they stated.
I pushed them to the ground and stood over them. “Enough with these indirect, meaningless answers. We almost just died, and that doesn’t even seem to register with you. Are you stupid? I almost died, and you didn’t help me at all. You just stood by and did nothing. Nothing. I killed two of them and you did nothing!”
“I am the Wind, not the conscience. What would you have me do? You are the one who struck them down.”
I stared at them, incredulous. Seething. “You know what? I don’t need you. My journey was far more enjoyable before you decided to “guide” me. You already told me the way to Ekhidon, so why are you still here? Do you not have other matters to attend to? I shall continue my journey alone.”
“That would be unwise, Dedovor. Though if it is what you wish, then I shall leave you alone, until we meet again.”
“We will not meet again. I promise you that.”
I left them lying there in the dirt, and trudged on alone. I had been glad to be rid of their company. Being left alone with my thoughts was far better than trying to converse with them. I certainly did not get lost as often. The journey had been difficult, though. I had to stop frequently to rest and change the bandages I’d wrapped around my wounds. Thankfully they had not festered, but the pain was difficult to suffer through. I had also been finding sleep troublesome, with the constant worry of the moon elves tracking me down and finishing me off always lurking at the back of my mind.
Without my horse, it took me another few days to reach the end of the steppe, and I was relieved when I finally did. I could now see the swamp ahead of me. The next part of my journey: the Songless Mire. At least, it seemed like the swamp. The area was so foggy that it was hard to tell, but it certainly smelled like a bog was nearby. And the ground had started to become more soggy and foul. I made my way through the mud and fog until finally I could definitively say I was within the swamp.
It was a disgusting and murky place. It smelled of rotted fish and excrement, a miasma so strong I wrapped cloth around my face to block the stench. The fog was impenetrable and oppressive, with no strong light ever permeating it, which made it impossible to tell whether or not it was ever really day or night. The trees were dark and twisted, with thick vines growing along them that were deceptively weak. Many times I had tried to grab onto them when I threatened to sink into the mud of the bog, only to have them snap almost instantaneously. As such, my clothes now smelled of rotting fish and excrement. I had gotten used to the smell after my first few days there. At least, I had gotten used to the constant headache it caused. At times, as I waded through the sludge of the place, my thoughts strayed to the Wind. Of their inaction despite their immense power. Of the two elves… But then I would start sinking again, or I would trip over something, or I’d have to take a break to retch from the pungent air. And I would be able to suppress the thoughts again, and forget, even just for a moment. The place was so terribly, eerily quiet. I did not hear any wildlife. I did not see any wildlife. No wind ever blew through the place. No fly ever buzzed. No wave ever rippled across the surface of the foetid waters. It was as though the whole place was a dead, forgotten hole and I was the only sign of life, plodding through a never-ending sea of decay. And so my thoughts strayed back to those elves…
My wounds had now begun to suppurate. My bandages had sometimes come loose when I had fallen into the mud. Sometimes, I had been forced to swim through the bog’s mephitic waters. I forget how long it had been by this time. But at some point, I had climbed into one of the wicked trees and laid down upon one of its larger branches. Just for a quick rest, I had thought. But I had grown feverish from the infection. My days in the tree were spent half in nonsensical dreams and half spewing my insides out onto the mud below. Surely I would die here, I had thought. Perhaps it was right, that I should die, after taking the lives of two others. So I resigned myself to my fate. I would vomit myself to death, and no one would ever remember who I was, and certainly no one would know of my shameful last moments. I would rot away like everything else in the mire. That was, until my final dream in the tree. At least, I had thought it was a dream.