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He was getting old.
Leon had told himself this many times before, but this time the reality sank in.
He stared into the setting sun as he rode his cart out of town, the heavy bag of coins at his hip clinking gently as he rocked with the cart. Everything was hurting, and it wasn’t the type of dull ache one could ignore. The pain settled into every bone and muscle, setting his nerves alight with it however slight his movement might be. .
“I should find an apothecary.” he says, glancing down at the whip. The whip says nothing back.
He had tried to make a life for himself after defeating Walter. He returned to his hometown a hero, the Church granting permission to kill the monsters on his land and plenty of woman to take the now open place as his fiance. One of them, Clara he thinks her name was, came the closest. She had been so kind and understanding of his personal plight, gave him the time and space he needed when he asked. They had even kissed, holding hands and dancing like a couple should.
But it felt so empty, so matter how hard he tried to tell himself he was in love in just didn’t feel right.
So the night before their wedding, he wrote a letter with shaking hand apologizing for his sudden and unannounced departure, leaving his lands and fortune to Clara, taking his weapons out of storage and fleeing on his horse. He probably could have,
should have
handled it better than that.
He had scolded himself everyday since then, his own mind screaming at him, asking why he wasn’t able to be happy with what he had. He didn’t have an answer for himself.
“I think a few more miles and I’ll set up camp.” he sighed, rubbing at his tired eyes. The whip said nothing back.
Rinaldo had told him Sara was gone. Her soul, sealed within the braided leather of the whip, was not sentient. He told him not to grieve for her, for she contributed to something greater than herself and he should be proud of her legacy.
Rinaldo was dead. Leon wondered if he was shaking his head at him from above.
Pulling his horse to a halt, he stepped off the cart and tied the reins to a sturdy tree. The horse snorted as Leon petted its snout, shutting its eyes contently. He walked to the back of the cart, grabbing his bedroll and unfurling it onto the ground. He untied the bag of coins from his belt and placed them in a chest. A lock of hair fell in front of his face. If he squinted long enough he could see strands of stark white between faded gold.
Time was running out to find Mathias.
The vampire, once a man Leon would have trusted with his life, always seemed to be one step ahead. It was like he was dangling the promise of confrontation in front of Leon’s face, like a child leading a kitten with a length of string.
After collecting a bundle of twigs he lights a fire, a small one, but it’s enough. As he stares into the flames there’s another type of pain, one that he’s tried so long to ignore. An electric tightness in his chest, like his ribs are buzzing with uneasiness, the pit in his stomach that radiates an icy chill, yet the way his nerves burn makes him feel like he’s burning all at the same time.
“I don’t know what to do.” he confesses to the whip, “If I fail, I have nothing... No legacy, no heir, not even a home to return to. Please, you’d know what to do. Tell me.”
The whip says nothing back.
He can’t take this awful silence any longer, the way it leaves him feeling so horribly empty, like he’s a husk of a man he once was.
“Sara, please …” he pleads, “Please, I need you, I need you more than you could ever know. Even though you’re here by my side, I… I miss you.” his voice trembles, hot tears cascading down his cheek, “Your voice, your touch, your smile, I miss it. Please, just say something! Give me a sign that you’re still there! That you love me too! That everything will be okay!” he sobs, “ Please… ”
The whip says nothing back.