Walf's Adventure

Chapter 3: Grief

       Walf raced through the damaged streets of Orion. He knew where he was going. The place he never should have left. The place where he was born and where his parents had died. Walf was going home.
       “Where are you going Walf?” said a voice, “You should go back. Talk to Jos and Logen. They’ll listen.”
       It took Walf a second to realize who was speaking.
       “You’re wrong, Dale.” Walf said, pulling the sword from it’s sheath, “They don’t understand. And neither do you!”
       Walf hurled the rusty saber into a near by alley and started running again. He knew that Dale could follow him but he didn’t think it likely. The sight of a sword floating down the street would draw too much attention. Still, Dale had more to say before Walf was out of ear shot and the voice returned once more before fading out.
       “Come back Walf. You need to talk.”
       But Walf didn’t stop. Not until he reached the pile of rubble that was once his home. Soon he was standing in the exact same place where he used to help his father prepare the meat for sale every day. His father wasn’t there anymore. Nor was his mother. Their bodies had been taken away and buried, like so many others found dead in the city. But Walf didn’t know this. All he knew was that they were gone, and that he would never see them again.
       Now, as Walf scanned the crumbled ruins of the once unmarred butcher shop, he found himself thinking, once more about his parents. Walf’s mother and father...they had been great parents. Loving, caring, the best a boy could ask for.
       And Walf had taken them for granted. He always was a boy with his head in the clouds. Dreaming of grand adventures and ignoring the people that cared about him the most. The people that he cared about.
       Walf had never stopped to wonder how his little escapade might have affected his mom and dad. Why, he hadn’t given a thought to how they would feel. Waking up one day to find that their son, who they cared so much for, was gone. Without even a note or an evident reason. Just up and gone. And how should they feel? How would anyone feel in their case?
       It didn’t take Walf long to realize how unthoughtful his actions had been. Even as he knelt there, observing the ruin around him, he could hardly believe he had been so uncaring and apathetic. When was the last time he had told his parents how much he loved them? He did. Walf really did love his parents, but now...now they were gone, and Walf couldn’t tell them.
       Why…? Walf thought to himself, Why do you have to lose something before you really come to appreciate it?
       Suddenly there was a voice behind him. “Are you ready to come back now, Walf?”
       Turning, Walf saw Logen standing there.
       “Yes,” Walf sighed, “Yes, I am.”

       Dale, encased in Reno’s sword, did not bother to follow the greif-stricken Walf. Instead he let the sword tumble to the ground and into the gutter. Dale remained there for hours, brooding, emotions washing through him like a flood. First anger, then remorse, then deep sadness filled him. He pitied the boy Walf, the hopeful, dreamy boy who was so much Dale when he had been at the fresh, care-free age of twelve. Walf was almost a mirror-image of Dale, up to the fact that both of their parents had been killed when they were young. Dale turned his pity from Walf to himself. His parents’ deaths were the reason he had turned to pacifism. He had turned agaisnt all violence, and what had that got him? Eternal agony, encased inside a sword forever, forced to know that Shainya would...
       Dale’s thoughts were interrupted. A street urchin, probably and orphan like Walf, wandered up and eyed the sword.
       “A pretty thing…” said the girl, “Sommant might gives bread for it…”
       She picked it up scurried off. Little did she know who rested inside.

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