The Ones We Lean On

The Sun used to peek around the mountain and onto the small plot I’d built this cabin on, but not anymore. I couldn’t even remember the last time its light had shown anywhere around my home, like it had forgotten I was there. Its neglect allowed in the cold, an unceasing cold that lingered no matter the layers, furs, or fire used to combat it. It siphoned life from everything. Spindles of dead trees and dense brambles of lifeless shrubs surrounded the cabin in a bed of withered spikes, and the ground was brittle and frozen, incapable of producing even sparse grass let alone crops.

The cabin had seen better days. My diligent preparation for their impending arrival forced a lack of upkeep to my once comfortable home. It’s nothing more than a shadow of its former self now, a skeleton of prior happiness. The walls stand weak, decayed and riddled with open pockets of broken boards, and my nightly efforts of packing snow atop the roof are blown off each day. All of this is effort, and I’m slowly losing. They will be back again tonight, just like every night before since the day the Sun abandoned me.

Every day was a delicate balance of rest and preparation. I used the dim, mundane haze to scrounge for food, hack down trees for makeshift patch work on the house, or sleep. The bags under my eyes would tell you that the third option was seldom chosen. I actually can’t remember the last time I slept. There was never enough time in the day to complete two of these tasks let alone three, and I often had to forgo food for making weapons or boarding up the house. God, I’m hungry. I’m tired. I wish they wouldn’t come back again. I just want to rest, just once. Eyes lingered in the fog, but they waited. The night forces the will of the mind on its heels; that’s when they struck.

I’ve often wondered if it would be so bad to let them take me. If I just gave up and let the pain go away, would that be better? What am I defending? The holes on the eastern facing wall of the cabin are too large for a single day's repair. The cold rushed through the lattice walls like an unimpeded wave cutting into me like creeping blades. I wasn’t happy. How could I have been? The light was gone, the cabin continued to fall apart, and each night my friends had to die.

– – –

I came to this mountain to settle and make myself a home. I brought with me the few tools I’d need to craft a small cabin and my three best friends, my dogs Charlie, Pax, and Calla. I built; they played. The lush green grass beneath their paws as they chased squirrels through the winding labyrinth of trees. God, they were happy. Each night we’d all cuddle up beside a small fire and I’d teach them about the constellations above. They never listened but it didn’t matter – it was perfect. One evening in late fall we all sat on the ledge of a nearby cliff and watched the sunset kiss the valley goodnight. That was the last day I smiled.

The following months slowly dimmed and with it my dogs began behaving differently. The first was Pax. He was angry. He started to fight Calla and Charlie for food, snarling at me when I stood up too fast, and even outright lunged at me when I stepped too close to a stick he’d claimed. His features slowly altered over time. Throughout the next few months he’d grown substantially, his shoulders nearly a foot taller than Calla’s. It didn’t make sense, but the larger he grew the worse he became. One evening, as night took the reins from twilight, he latched onto my arm and began thrashing around wildly. It took the combined efforts of me, Calla, and Charlie to free my arm. Pax stood snarling in the lawn in front of the house, my blood dripping from his mouth. My best friend was gone and with him a piece of my soul.

I had no intention of needing to defend myself in these woods. There had never been a need, but now there was. I struggled with the feelings of having made my first weapon specifically for the looming threat of my best friend. Burning eyes of bright, haunting amber glistened along the treeline each night from the time darkness began and until it relented to the Sun’s command. I was afraid. I was sad. The day I had put the last nail into my home – our home – he turned on me.

I began to forget things. Months went by, and boards began to warp from the elements. Small splinters finding their way into our feet and paws had become a regular occurrence, so much so that I’d given up pulling them out of mine and only helped Charlie and Calla whenever they had their own. I could have fixed the boards, but I didn’t. We suffered, and it was my fault. I just couldn’t go out into the woods. I was scared of Pax. He was always there. Waiting.

Charlie was the next to go. His was sudden, at least that’s what I thought. It only occurred to me after he’d gone manic and I had to chase him off with my spear that he hadn’t eaten in a week. None of us had. I’d neglected to go and get food, out of fear, out of exhaustion, out of pain. Calla didn’t help me chase Charlie off. She was very close to him, and once he left, her face lost the little light it had left. I’d never seen a dog frown but she was broken. She now joined me in the depressive slump that was the living room of the slowly dying cabin. We didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, didn’t move, really… just sat. Two sets of amber eyes waited along the treeline now. They were hungry. They wanted what we had and I could never understand why. We were broken.

Months went by and I finally mustered up the courage to get some wood for a fire and to patch a hole in the house that had miraculously appeared, or had it? I remembered a noise from the spot a few nights before – a snarling. But I couldn’t bring myself to move. While I was chopping some nearby trees that had nearly lost all of its leaves I noticed Calla walk up. She was skinny… practically bones. Her eyes were nothing but hurt – a pain I wasn’t even sure I could describe. They stared at me for a long time, and I knew what was about to happen. My Calla, my sweet girl, was leaving. She wasn’t violent, no aggression or hate. She couldn’t bear the loss of her friends or the sight of me. Her malnourished body gingerly approached me and leaned on my leg. She didn’t want to leave, but she had to. It was the only thing she left that she could do. Without a word, she spoke a million words through her eyes, a million apologies, a million hopes and I love you’s. She licked my cheek and passed one final look before slowly walking into the treeline and out of sight.

I’d lost everyone. I was alone.

Every night following Calla’s departure the trio of my now wolves would lay siege to the cabin. They were monstrous and horrifying creatures of snarling hate and hunger. Each time I fought them, I watched the tenuous features of who they once were disappear and it wounded me more than any gash or slice their claws and teeth could create. However, the most painful sight was noticing one of the three wolves standing and watching the other two from a distance, never helping and only watching. Calla. It was almost worse than the attacks themselves, watching someone you love look on and do nothing. After a year of this torture I had come to resent her the most, my Calla. Her wild amber eyes still held the same shape, the same pain as long ago. I didn’t want her pity or her sympathy. I wish she would just attack like the others, not pretend to still care. If she did, then she’d be here with me.

My cabin began feeling the pain from the attacks. When one attacked me, the other went for the cabin walls. Each night I lost a piece of my body and my home. I began to forget what it was like to be a human being, I was nothing more than a shred of a soul fighting for a cause I couldn’t name.

Periodically, new friends would appear. Other dogs I’d see walking through the woods would come and stay with me. During the two years that followed, six others crossed my path: Lenny, Shadow, Happy, Ziggy, Spud, and Willow. It was a coin toss on whether they stayed, at least that’s what I told myself to make it easier before they left. Lenny and Happy both turned on me for similar reasons, both being a varying lack of commitment. I gave them as much as I could but the damage to my body and my house was so intense that I could only afford them so much time. It wasn’t enough and they turned on me the same as Pax and Charlie. Spud and I created such a fierce bond so quickly that it seemed almost too good to be true. In only a few short weeks he’d become a velcro dog at my hip and loved me more than I had in a very long time. He stuck with me until he was wounded and run off by the others one night during an attack. Then came Shadow and Happy, both of which lasted a short amount of time and then just left. They didn’t join the others or stay with me, vanished like smoke and never came back. Finally, Willow arrived alongside the returned Spud. He’d brought her to come and meet me and she loved just as fiercely as he did. She reminded me so much of Calla.

Each night, month after month, year after year, they stayed with me and fought alongside me. What was left of my cabin was on the verge of collapse, and night had progressively lasted longer and longer, allowing very little time between assaults. I had more scars than skin even with Spud and Willow wearing their own that they’d taken defending me. There wasn’t much more that we could endure, we all knew it – that the end was nearing. The walls fell around us. The cabin was gone and night reigned supreme.

Spud and Willow each grabbed one of my sleeves and began to tug in the direction back down the mountain. They wanted to leave. The feeling of wanting to stay surprised me when it pulsed through my body. I had worked so hard to make this a home. I took a leap of faith and despite my best friends leaving me, the abandoning of the light, the frigid cold, I stayed. I looked down at my bulging and callused arms that wore the lingering scars of those once closest to me, at both the marred faces of Willow and Spud whose eyes were desperately pleading for us to leave. What was I fighting for? Why did I want to stay? My home, my body, my soul, it was all gone. Was it pride that kept my feet from moving? The thought of going back down the mountain and starting over made me sick. I failed at being on my own, at carving my own path. Spud and Willow insisted and pulled with all their weak and starved bodies could muster. I wanted them to leave me behind, but they refused. I even shook my sleeves but they wouldn’t let go.

So, I let go. Of the house, the mountain, what I thought was my home, all of it.

We ran. The three of us threw our pathetic bodies down the trail I barely remembered towards the bottom of the mountain. Behind, I heard the gaining pats of bloodthirsty paws and rage filled snarls of those that wished to keep me on that mountain. We wouldn’t beat them, but it wasn’t about beating them. It was about having the courage to leave.

A crashing thud of snapping twigs and scattering snow erupted behind me. Pax dove at me, but Calla had caught him in mid air and wrestled him to the ground. She guarded our rear looking over her shoulders at the other pursuers. Each time one of them would get close, the massive, healthy Calla would prevent them from reaching us. In a break from the chaos our eyes met, hers were no longer amber, they were her own. Wave after wave Calla fought them off until the ground flattened out. Grass appeared beneath my feet and the Sun’s light radiated on my frozen cheeks. Warmth, there was warmth. Spud and Willow no longer bore the wounds from the mountain, their coats were thick and beautiful. My arms held traces of scars but were no longer disfigured as they were only moments before. Then I felt it, something was leaning on my leg.

My Calla, no longer monstrous, stood next to me. Her eyes no longer flashed pain and looked up at me dotingly. They smiled and said, “There you are”. I knelt down and gathered the three beautiful dogs into my arms and squeezed a hug I hadn’t imagined I’d ever have the strength to give again. They covered me in kisses and then broke away and began running ahead. Around a small grouping of trees in a clearing sat a cabin, beautiful and quaint. A thin creek of easy water wrapped around the back side and on its front porch was a single rocking chair. It creaked, only slightly, but couldn’t tear me from the sight of sloping mountain ranges set in perfect view. I took a glance back to the tree line where we’d ran from, it was gloomy and devoid of light or life. Four sets of amber eyes looked on in anguish, unable to reach any of us.

Calla leaned on my leg while I rocked and Spud and Willow played in the creek. She was never my demon but my protector, my friend that never truly left. Her eyes found mine once again.

“Home.”