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Luz had become used to the sight of unsettling and monstrous things in her time on The Boiling Isles. Literal demons, abominations, and grotesque beasts, she had seen what goes bump in the night. But those horrors and sights had become routine, but now she was looking at something that upset her more than any of those things, and it was perhaps one of the most natural and ordinary things.
Grief, visceral, palpable, and raw. Unfettered and unrestrained, and it broke her heart to see what was happening, even if she didn’t know exactly what was going on. But the breathy sob and gasps coming from the crumpled figure in front of her told her it wasn’t good. She could hear frantic sounds of scratching and scraping between weak and desperate grunts of effort; she walked closer to the figure.
“...Hunter...are you okay?” she asked in a calm and worried tone, unsure of what else to say. When she had decided to go for a walk in the Forest, just trying to clear her mind and think about everything that had transpired with her mother, this was just about the last thing she had expected to see. But she realized as she thought this, he’d hadn’t responded to her. He had even seemed to notice she was there.
“Hunter?” she asked again, this time reaching out to gently touch his shoulder, the moment her hand touched him, he jumped, well, more flinched away from the contact as he turned to look at her, and she was so shocked by his appearance she nearly recoiled. The light was low, but she could see him clearly now.
His golden mask and cloak were nowhere to be seen. His vest and trousers were scuffed and worn as though he’d been running through the forest for hours. White-blond hair was dark with preparation and plastered to his forehead, and his face was covered in dirt and grime, with clear streaks cutting through on his cheeks...tears she realized as she looked into his wide overbright, and wild eyes.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice laced with concern. She was not concerned for the fact that The Golden Guard was particularly in the backyard of The Owl House, but for the clearly broken and distraught boy kneeling in the dirt in front of her.
His eye met hers for an instant before beginning to flit around, occasionally finding hers again before darting away. He didn’t speak; he just slumped down and drew his hands to his chest.
“...what’s wrong?” she asked softly and swore she saw a slight tremble in his shoulders, but at last, he spoke. His voice was hoarse and soft barely above a whisper.
“He won’t look here, won’t find me, not before...I’ll have time enough…” he rambled more to himself than to her.
“What are you-” Luz began to ask, but he cut her off.
“He doesn’t care about this place anymore; he has what he needs. It’s perfect!” he cried manically, his head snapping up and looking her dead in the eye with a broad grin that looks painfully forced plastered on his face.
“Perfect for what?” Luz asked, confused and a little scared by this sudden and startling change in behavior. She noticed his eye look down before snapping back to meet hers.
“It’s better this way; he was right. He’s always right. Really it was for the best,” he prattled on, his jester-like grin growing bigger as new and fresh tears began to cut new paths in the grime on his cheeks, and that only made Luz more concerned.
“Hunter?” she whispered, crouching down in front of him.
“It’s better, it’s safer…” he muttered, sounding almost as though he were talking to the air; his eyes seemed to be unfocused as if staring at something a thousand miles away.
Slowly reaching out, she gingerly took one of his gloved hands in both of hers, only she discovered they weren’t gloved. She’d been so distracted by his eyes and behavior she hadn’t noticed the dark brown covering on his palms and fingers wasn’t leather; it was dirt, dirt, and…
“Blood?!” she whispered in shock, looking up at him, worry etched on her; his eyes were looking off in the distance, at something only he could see, his horrible grin now gone. But the tears were still flowing free, and he didn’t even seem to notice.
Turning his hand gently over in hers, she examined it. The dirt had pressed itself into every crevice, making the lines of his palm, his fingerprints, and scars were clearly visible even in the dim light. His nails were caked in blood mixed with mud, still bleeding, and they were practically worn down to nothing; a few had even seemed to broken off entirely and appeared to weep more blood out as she stared at them in horror.
“What have you been doing?” she asked incredulously.
“Digging…” he murmured as he slowly turned his head to face her.
“Why are you digging? Why are you digging here?” she asked, now equal parts confused and worried. Amity had told her about him trying to bury himself right before their fight, something she still hadn’t forgiven him for, but right now, something was seriously wrong with him, and she couldn’t bring herself to be angry at this moment. She’d give him a piece of her mind that was a given, but now was not the right time.
“He won’t look here...and…” he muttered the final part so quietly, each word sounding like it was taking a monumental effort to say.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out who the “he” Hunter kept referring to was. But why was he hiding from Belos? What had happened? That was when she noticed he was holding something clutched to his chest in his other hand, this one bleeding even more profusely. The blood was running in branching streams down his forearm and soaking into his vest. She reached out and gently placed her hand on his clenched fist.
This tiny action seemed to snap Hunter out of whatever strange stupor he’d been in. A look of surprise and terror spread across his face, his eyes going wide, almost as if he’d hadn’t really been seeing her before now. Frantically he half sprung to his feet before clumsily falling back. He ripped his one hand from Luz’s loose grip and bringing it to wrap around his clenched fist. Seeming to cradled whatever he was holding, before pulling his knees up to his chest, his breathing before frantic and labored.
Stunned by the sudden and explosive reaction, she just stood there for a moment and listened to his shuddering and frantic breaths. Occasionally she’d hear a slight whistle from the air rushing between the gap in front teeth. At any other time, she may have laughed or even teased him, all in good nature, of course. But right now, she wasn’t sure she found anything in the world less funny. So she just stood there and watched him in this sorry state as. His breathing was occasionally interrupted by what sounded like half-stifled sobs that almost sounded like growls, almost as if he didn’t even know how to cry properly.
“What’s wrong?” she tried again gently, slowly walking over to him and crouching next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder, feeling the shudder and quake of the sobs he was not able to vocalize.
He didn’t answer her, just shook his head, buried his face in his knee, wrapped his arms around his legs, and pulled them closer. His fist still clenched tightly.
Looking down at the bleeding hand, she tenderly took it in her own. This time he didn’t jump or pull away. Tenderly cupping it, she drew it close and looked down at it. The air seemed to become heavier, and she was immediately filled with dread and foreboding. Regardless she began to pry his fingers back gingerly. They seemed stiff, almost like curled iron, as if he’d been gripping whatever he was holding for hours and whatever it was clearing, making him bleed. After a moment of gentle prying, she was finally able to get his hand to open, and for a moment, she didn’t know exactly what she was looking at. Then it hit her, and her blood ran cold, and her throat felt tight.
“...oh no,” she whispered, her voice cracking. It wasn’t enough; it was the wrong thing to say. THE WRONG THING! But she couldn’t think of anything else, she wanted to say how sorry she was, to try and comfort him, but words seemed cheap, unsuitable, worthless.
“It’s better this way,” he croaked out between dry sobs and suppressed cries, not raising his head to look at her.
“You don’t believe that,” she said sounding horrified for an instant before she heard him speak again.
“Of course I do,” he responded or at least tried to as his voice cracked and wept openly as he started to slowly close his hand again, but was stopped when Luz gently placed her hand over his.
“Wait,” she said softly as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a handkerchief and gingerly wrapped it around what he was holding, folding it up neatly, or as neatly as she could before setting it gently on the ground.
Pulling a sheet with a custom combined glyph etched on it, producing a tiny burst of water and she did her best to wash the dirt and blood from his hands. Trying her best to be gentle she managed to get most of the dirt and bits of stone off his hands and out of his cuts. She couldn’t do anything about the injuries themselves or the missing nails, and she silently wished she carried a first aid kit so she could at least wrap them.
“There, that’s better,” she said more to herself than him before raising her eyes, intending to ask him what had happened but hesitated when she saw the look on Hunter’s face. He seemed to be utterly stupified by what Luz was doing. So the pair sat there in silence for a moment before Luz broke.
“What happened?” she asked softly.
He looked at her for a while, seemingly lost, different emotions seeming to flit across his face for an instant, changing between rage, sorrow, confusion and the horrible manic false happiness. Before finally his face crumpled and the corners of his mouth twitched as he tried in vain to keep it from bending into a frown, but he remained silent.
“Hunter…” she said in a whisper, running a thumb in what she hoped was a soothing manner over the back of his battered hand.
“It’s my fault,” he said, his voice ragged and croaky.
“Who do-” she started but he cut her off.
“I thought he would listen to me, I thought if I could show him he wasn’t dangerous…” muttered but trailed off, but it was enough for Luz to figure out what happened. She didn’t really know what to do, so she did what she could.
“It’s not your fault,” she whispered as she pulled him into a hug.
His body went still for a moment, not really knowing how to react. But after the initial shock, she felt his arms wrap around her as he clung to her. His hand gripped desperately at the back of her shirt and tried to pull her closer, despite the fact their bodies were already flush against one another. Burying his face in her shoulder he began to sob, his body shook after every new breath of air he managed to gulp down. Any sense of restraint Hunter had managed to keep on his grief had vanished and Luz just let him grieve.
She wasn’t sure he’d ever experience anything like this before, something as simple as a hug. She doubted it. So she just moved one hand to gently cradle the back of his head, his hair still damp with sweat, as the other gently rubbed his back.
“It’s not your fault,” she whispered again softly in his ear.
“Yes it is,” he whimpered.
“It’s not,” she tried to console, and he didn’t answer this time, only making sounds of grief.
So the pair just knelt there in the forest, and Luz just let him cry, feeling his tears soak into her shirt. Allowing him to let out what must have been years of pent-up emotions. But eventually, his sobs and cries turned to tiny whimpers and sniffles until he finally pulled away, eyes red and puffy, and a trail of mucus running from his nose which he quickly wiped away with the back of his hand before using his battered palms to rub his tears away. Before looking away his face burning with shame.
She wanted to ask if he felt better but she knew the answer already, and she was sure it would offend him. So instead she just gingerly reached over to her wrapped handkerchief, lifting it with as much care as she could and offering it to him. Confusion mixed with shock shot across his face before he slowly took the package and cradled it to his chest.
“So...why here?” she asked again, trying her best to be delicate. He was silent for a moment before he offered an answer she didn’t expect.
“He liked you, I thought he might...it’d be better if he were near you,” he said in a muttering tone as his grip tightened over what he held.
Hot tears welled up in Luz’s eyes at those words, as the mental image of the tiny bird’s wooden form cracked and broken as she pulled it from Hunter’s hand. But she quickly wiped them away.
He looked at her for a moment before he stood and took the wrapped remains over to the fruits of his endeavor, a hand-dug hole about a foot deep in hard-packed earth. Slowly he dropped down to both knees and just sat there for a while looking into the hole before placing the parcel in the bottom of the small pit and he just stared at it. Luz stood, walked over, and knelt beside him, joining him in his somber vigil.
“Once I do this...that’s it...he’s gone,” he croaked.
“Well...maybe not,” Luz offered, not exactly sure what she meant, but the beginnings of something had begun to take shape in her mind. He just continued to stare into the bottom of the hole. “Here, give me your hand,” she said softly.
He did as she asked, his gaze moving slowly to her. She examined his fingers and was unsurprised to see they had started to bleed freshly again. It was grim, but it would work.
“What are you doing?” he asked blankly.
“Just let me guide you,” she said firmly, though still kindly, and his hand seemed to relax.
Taking great care she folded all but his index finger in. The nail on this finger had been completely torn off and was bleeding profusely again. Carefully and gently she took his hand in both of her and lowered it to the surface of the handkerchief. Its once pristine surface was muttered with small smears of blood where Hunter had held it, but there was a relatively clear surface for what she wanted to do.
“Just relax, it’s okay, it’ll be okay Hunter,” she said soothingly as she felt him seize up.
It took a minute but he finally relaxed and she was able to guide his finger as she traced a well-practiced glyph. The lines weren’t perfect, and form was a little shaky from Hunter’s trembling hand, but it would work, she was sure of it.
“There,” she said confidently, her voice wasn’t shaking, was it?
“There...what?” he asked, confused.
She didn’t answer, she just took a small handful of dirt and looked at him questioningly, asking for permission. He didn’t nod or make any gesture to confirm anything, he just scooped up some dirt in his own hands before delicately placing it over the makeshift burial shroud. Luz took it as permission and began to help him fill in the hole, occasionally glazing over at the young man. Fresh tears were streaming down his face, this time they were accompanied by silence.
The next few minutes seemed to take hours, but before long their task was done and they just stared. He didn’t ask what the point of her glyph was, he didn’t say anything for a while, They just knelt there in silence before he spoke.
“There’s never enough dirt,” he muttered.
“What?” Luz asked, utterly confused.
“Every time something is buried, it always seems like there’s never enough dirt to fill the hole back in, it always seems hollow. Like something is missing, something is gone, lost, irretrievable,” he mumbled darkly.
“Maybe not,” she said again, this time sounding more certain as she took both his hands on hers. Turning his palms down she pressed them in the freshly filled grave.
There was a moment, an instant, Luz was worried it wouldn’t work. But then they both felt a small tremble and the sense of a surge of wild magic. The earth seemed to radiate warmth as they took their hands away. Hunter’s look of confusion shifted to awe as a small sprout pushed its way through the earth and stood there, small, but strong, seeming to radiate a minute magic aura in the dying light.
“The earth will remember him,” she told him softly.
He looked up at her, wanting to say something, to say “Thank You,” but the words never reached his lips. His throat seemed to constrict, and speaking seemed to have become difficult as a range of emotions seemed to flash across his face, as had already happened a few times that evening, but words seemed to fail him, but she had a feeling she thought she knew what he wanted to say.
“You’re welcome,” she said softly as she moved from a kneeling to a seated position, her arms draped over her knees.
He stared at her before shifting his gaze to his hands and he followed suit and sat next to her, just glaring at his palms. He clenched his hands into fists as he hissed in rage and pain before violently smashing them into his forehead over and over again as if trying to physically push the grief from his skull.
Luz grabbed his wrists, but he fought against her, at least for a moment before his arms went slack and their eyes locked. His form slumped and he began to silently cry again, now that his task was complete and couldn’t distract himself.
“It’ll be okay…” she offered, it sounded hollow to her ears, but she couldn’t think of any better words to offer. She wanted to say more, to say something that would help, but there wasn’t anything. So she just pulled him into a sideways hug, wrapping her arm around him and letting his head fall onto her shoulder as he buried his face in his hands and wept.
Hot tears burned Luz’s cheek as the reality of what had happened finally set in. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t real. It was. The world could be cruel, and there was no fixing this. So she just sat there and tried to offer the comfort she could to a soldier who was little more than a broken child. A little boy who had just buried what was probably the only friend he had in the world.
“I’m so, so sorry,” she whispered into his hair, her voice cracking. It was all she could do, it was all there was.