章節 37: Chapter 37 A Woodsman’s Burden
Kristian tightened the straps of his knapsack and gazed out at the thick forest before him, stretching to infinity. The trees swayed in the biting wind, their branches clawing at the gray sky. Morning had brought a threat of rain, and he hated rain more than all but one thing in the world. He hated the bone-drenching, hair-clinging, skin-chilling wetness of it. But today, there was no choice.
His parents were bedridden, and his younger brother, Leo, had been coughing through the night again. If there was one thing Kristian despised more than rain, it was seeing his family suffer.
"Stay close," he muttered to his boar, Gristle, who snorted in reply.
Gristle was a stout creature, his bristly brown fur thick enough to defy even the sharpest thorn bushes. He trotted alongside Kristian with surprising grace, his tiny tusks glinting as he nosed at the ground.
Kristian's axe hung heavily from his belt, its handle smooth to his hands. For his age, he wielded it better than most grown men. The muscles he had earned through long hours of chopping, carrying, and hauling were visible across his back as he strode toward the edge of the forest.
"This tree'll do," Kristian muttered, sizing up a towering pine.
He tugged the axe free, its familiar weight comforting in his grip. For a moment, he stood still, his beady blue eyes scanning the bark. Then, with a practiced flick of his wrist, he tossed the axe from hand to hand. The blade gleamed as he spun it—a habit he could not quite suppress, not even when he was alone.
"You think anyone'd believe me if I told them I could chop this down in one swing?" he asked Gristle, the corner of his mouth quirking up.
Gristle snorted, his tail flicking.
"Yeah, didn't think so," Kristian said, sighing. "Would've been nice, though. Less work."
The axe bit into the wood with a satisfying thunk. Kristian worked in silence for a while, the rhythm of chopping steady and sure. But his mind, as always, wandered. He thought of peaches, their juice sticky and sweet, oozing down his chin. He thought of the warmth of summer on his back, the cool splash of water when he dove into the river. He thought of his brother's laughter before sickness stole it away. His hands faltered, and his muscles burned. A sharp tic snapped his head to the side involuntarily. He grunted, annoyed at the interruption, then rolled his neck and returned to chopping. Gristle grunted softly, almost sympathetically, and Kristian shot him a glance.
"You're no help, you know that?" he said, though his tone lacked venom.
Gristle waddled closer, pressing his wet snout against Kristian's leg.
The pine groaned under the force of Kristian's final blow, toppling with a crashing shower of pine needles, and Kristian wiped the sweat from his brow and set to work on stripping the branches and cutting the trunk into manageable logs.
As he worked, his tics returned-sharp, sudden jerks of his neck, or a series of quick blinks that made his eyes water. He gritted his teeth, feeling the familiar frustration well up inside him. His hand twitched, and he nearly dropped the axe.
"Stupid," he muttered under his breath. "Get it together, Kristian."
But he couldn't stay angry for long. Not with Gristle watching him, his black eyes gleaming with what Kristian could only describe as smug patience.
"What're you staring at?" Kristian asked, throwing a branch in Gristle's direction. The boar dodged easily, grunting in amusement.
By the time the pile of logs was stacked neatly in his knapsack, the sky had darkened. The rain was coming—he could smell it in the air. Kristian groaned, slinging the heavy pack over his shoulders.
"Let's go, Gristle. I'm not getting caught in this mess," he said, heading back toward the path.
As they walked, Kristian's mind began to wander again. He thought of his parents, pale and tired, but always smiling when he came home. He thought of Leo, who would most likely want a story in exchange for letting Kristian rest. And he thought of peaches-again.
"You think they've got any peaches left at the market?" he asked Gristle.
The boar snorted.
"Yeah, me neither," Kristian said with a sigh. "But maybe if I finish up early tomorrow, I can sneak down there."
The first drops of rain began to fall just as the cottage came into view, smoke curling lazily from its crooked chimney. Kristian quickened his pace, eager to be rid of the dampness clinging to his skin. Gristle trotted beside him, his bristles barely damp, as if the rain didn't dare touch him.
"Home, sweet home," Kristian muttered, shouldering open the door.
Inside, the fire crackled warmly, and the scent of broth filled the air. Leo looked up from where he sat by the hearth, a blanket draped over his shoulders.
"You're late," the boy said, his voice hoarse but teasing.
Kristian rolled his eyes and set the firewood down with a thud. "You're welcome," he said, grabbing a log and tossing it into the flames.
Gristle nosed at Leo's hand, earning a scratch behind the ears.
As Kristian settled into a chair, the rain pattered against the roof, a steady rhythm that, for once, didn't bother him. He glanced at his family, their faces lit by the fire's glow, and allowed himself a small, satisfied smile.
…
The first light of dawn crept through the window, painting the modest room in shades of gray. Kristian sat on the edge of his bed and pulled his boots on with a deliberate slowness. His muscles, sore from the day's labor, rebelled, but he ignored them.
His reflection stared at him from the cracked mirror on the wall. Above average height for a thirteen-year-old, yet broader, his shoulders already carrying the burden of work meant for men. His hair, a thick mass of coiled black curls, tumbled to his shoulders, damp from the early morning humidity. Small oval shaped blue eyes, tired and empty despite his easy-going hardworking personality along with dark circles around his eyes, peered out from beneath furrowed brows that rarely smoothed. A smudge of dirt still streaked one cheek, but he did nothing to wipe it clean.
"Back at it, huh?" he muttered to himself, tugging on his belt. His axe hung at his side-the weight of it as familiar as his hands.
A faint squeal from the doorway turned him. Gristle, his boar, stood there expectantly, tail flicking.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," Kristian said, standing and stretching. His joints popped loudly, and he winced. "Guess I'm not as young as I used to be."
Gristle snorted, clearly unimpressed.
The rain had started again. It came down in heavy sheets, soaking through Kristian's shirt the moment he stepped outside. He pulled his hood low, but the rain still dripped from the edges, cold against his skin.
"Why can't it ever rain when I'm inside?" he grumbled, kicking a puddle as he trudged down the muddy path.
Gristle trotted alongside him, seemingly unfazed by the weather. The boar's thick bristles repelled the water with ease, leaving him almost dry. Kristian glanced down at his companion, narrowing his eyes.
"Don't suppose you'd share that fur of yours," he said.
Gristle let out a low grunt, his version of a laugh.
Kristian shook his head, muttering under his breath as they entered the forest. The towering trees offered little protection, their leaves dripping steadily onto the already saturated ground. Kristian's boots squelched with each step, and he grimaced.
"Great. Wet feet. My favorite," he said sarcastically. "Nothing like starting the day feeling like you're walking on soggy bread."
Gristle ignored him, nosing at the ground for a scent.
Kristian hefted his axe, scanning the trees for a suitable target. Most of the trunks glistened with rain, their bark darkened and slick. He spotted a sturdy oak, its branches thick with leaves, and nodded to himself.
"This one," he said, his neck jerked slightly a couple times and he made a strange noise before setting his feet and swinging the axe onto his shoulder.
The first blow echoed through the forest, sharp and decisive. Despite the rain, the rhythm of chopping quickly lulled him into focus.
"You ever think about doing some of this, Gristle?" Kristian said between swings. "You've got tusks, don't you? Might as well use 'em."
The boar snorted, pawing at the ground as if to say, That's your job, not mine.
Kristian laughed, the sound rough and brief as it was interrupted by another jerk of his neck and a strange noise escaped his mouth, but he was used to it. "Yeah, figures. You're all about the easy life, huh?"
The oak groaned as it began to fall, and Kristian stepped back, motioning for Gristle to move out of the way. The tree hit the ground with a resounding crash, sending a spray of water and mud into the air.
"Perfect," Kristian said, letting the axe rest on his shoulder. "One down. A dozen more to go."
As he set about stripping the branches, the sudden rustling close by was enough to stay his movements. His grip on the handle of the axe tightened as he turned in that direction.
"Stay close, Gristle," he whispered.
The boar responded immediately, sidling right against him, his ears flickering.
A flash of movement caught Kristian's eye—a deer darting through the underbrush. His stomach growled at the sight, and he felt a pang of regret for leaving his bow behind.
"Could've been stew tonight," he muttered. "Guess you're safe today, buddy."
Gristle let out a low grunt, nudging Kristian's leg as if urging him to continue.
"All right, all right," Kristian said, clearing rain from his face. "Get this over with before I freeze solid out here."
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of chopping, dragging, and stacking, until finally the rain grew lighter. By then Kristian was shaking with exertion, dropping his axe to slump back against the stump of some freshly felled tree, sending his breath fogging into the cool air.
"You ever think about running off, Gristle?" he asked now, much quieter. "Just… finding a nice dry cave somewhere and sleeping for a year?"
The boar nudged his leg again, a comforting gesture.
"Yeah," Kristian said, exhaling. "Didn't think so. Somebody's gotta keep this family going, right?"
The weight of his words settled over him like the damp air, heavy and suffocating. He stared at the trees, their branches swaying softly now that the violence of the storm had passed.
"Come on," he said finally, pushing himself to his feet. "Let's get home. Leo's probably already whining about when dinner'll be ready."
The path home curved through the densest part of the forest, where shadows still clung stubbornly to every available surface, even after the rain had stopped. Kristian's boots squelched with each step, his legs burning under the weight of his knapsack, now heavy with fresh logs.
Gristle trotted beside him, his ears flicking at every sound. Kristian's axe was slung across his back, its blade glinting faintly in the dim light filtering through the trees. His mind wandered as it often did on these long walks, flitting between half-formed thoughts and memories.
He'd always been strong. Stronger than anyone his age, for sure-and, if he were being honest, most of the fully-grown men in the village as well. People used to admire him for it: watching in awe as he hoisted bundles of firewood or carried heavy buckets in one hand. Over time, however, their awed tones turned into hushed whispers.
"Freakish strength," they'd called it. "Unnatural."
Kristian never paid much attention to their muttering; he didn't need their approval or understanding. What mattered was that his family needed him, and he had the strength to help them. That was enough.
Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something off about it. He could swing an axe all day without tiring, swim against the strongest currents, and lift weights that left others struggling. It all felt… effortless.
As effortless as breathing.
He thought of when he was a young boy, before his father took to his bed, before duty had claimed him for its own. He climbed trees as easily as walking, leaped from branch to branch without any sort of hesitation. His parents had marveled at it; his father laughed as he said, "Kristian is a born woodsman."
There were times, though-instant and ill-defined-when it seemed to him that more lay beneath it all.
He looked down at his hands, calloused and dirt-streaked, but steady as always. They didn't shake under strain, nor falter even after hours of work.
What Kristian didn't realize-and couldn't have known-was that his body was doing something extraordinary. Without thought or effort, he was channeling chakra, weaving it into his muscles and tendons with every movement. It was a gift, a skill so deeply ingrained in him that it had become second nature, as natural as thinking or breathing.
He'd never heard the word "chakra" before, didn't know it was the life force flowing through all living things. To him, it was just how his body worked. When he needed strength, it was there. When he needed speed, his legs carried him faster than they should.
His subconscious control over the chakra was perfect-seamless. He used only enough to enhance his strength, steady his balance, keep him moving when exhaustion threatened to set in.
He walked, his mind wandering to the day he first realized something was off. He and Leo were swimming in the river, diving down to the bottom to bring back smooth stones for their mother. The current was hard that day, tugging on him with a power that would have whisked most boys away. Yet Kristian had hardly noticed it.
He'd swum against the flow as if it wasn't there, cutting through the water like a knife. Leo had watched him from the shore, his eyes wide with a mix of awe and fear.
"You're like a fish, Kristian!" his brother had called out, laughing. "Or maybe a bear!"
He had laughed it off at the time, brushing aside the oddity of it. But now, as he trudged through the forest with the weight of the world on his shoulders, he couldn't help but wonder.
"Maybe I really am a freak," he muttered under his breath.
Gristle let out a low grunt, his dark eyes flicking up at Kristian.
"Oh, don't look at me like that," Kristian said, smirking despite himself. "You're the freak, not me. Who else has a pet boar following them around like a dog, huh?"
Gristle snorted, his stubby tail flicking in annoyance.
Kristian shook his head, his curls bouncing with the movement. "Yeah, yeah, I know. You're the normal one. I'm just the kid who doesn't get tired, doesn't need help, doesn't." He trailed off, his smirk fading.
The truth was, he didn't know what he was. He didn't know why he was stronger, faster, tougher than anyone else. He didn't know why the axe felt like an extension of his arm, why the forest seemed to welcome him as if he belonged to it.
All he knew was that he had a family to take care of. And as long as his strength held out, he'd do whatever it took to keep them safe.
The cottage came into view, its crooked chimney and sagging roof a welcome sight despite their disrepair. Kristian adjusted the straps of his knapsack and picked up his pace, eager to shed the weight of the day's labor.
"Almost there," he said more to himself than to Gristle.
The boar grunted, his pace quickening to match Kristian's.
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