Day 5:
It’s just after dawn right now, and the grey haze of a sky has once again refused to change. Just great rolling storm clouds which are close enough to storming to block out the sun, but not quite ready to actually downpour. A dreary, dreary morning at best. Can’t say that I’m excited for today as I have sworn that I will go pay respects to Cross. I’ll wait for Peers to wake up before I pester him for an exact location. I want to give Cross the time to honor him, but I’m not intent on joining him where he is. It seems to be getting slightly warmer, but it remains cold enough for the chill to dig its teeth down to the bone. The second bed has been completely destroyed in order to keep the fire going, and the burnable but edible inner-bark Peers found us is nearly depleted for either purpose we might use it for. Speaking of Peers, looks like he went to work on the door again last night. The W has turned into Wind. I want to ask him about it, but honestly, does it really matter anymore what any of us do as long as it doesn’t endanger anyone else?
I don’t think Peers has eaten recently. He brought back that edible inner bark, but I haven’t seen him eating any of it. Maybe he’s more concerned about keeping warm then keeping fed. When I go down to pay respects I’ll try to find more inner bark, plenty to eat and burn. Last thing anypony wants to do is starve itself.
I swear that time is a living thing, watching for the moments you want it to run past, just so that it can slow down to an agonizing pace. Wymble has awoken, but Peers is still sound asleep near the fire. This edible bark is probably the bitterest thing I have ever tasted, and a good bet will be the bitterest thing I will ever taste. The texture of it is like rubber that has been dried out for several summers; very crumbly in larger strips, but is very chewy when you are actually trying to eat it. While you are struggling through the task of chewing it into pieces which you can swallow, the agonizing taste threatens to seal your through, making it impossible to eat. Still, food is food, and the worst time to complain is the time when you have everything to complain about, and have a right to do so. Some paradox huh?
There has been no wind since the snowstorm ended. I can see Peer’s tracks from yesterday, walking off into the distance. Almost like those at a beach, imprinted in the sand until time, waves, or another come along to I forgot what I was saying. A thought just occurred to me. I was right, there are tracks outside the window. Something was here last night, looking in. Oh, and Peers is waking up. One last visit. Just like going to chat with anypony.
I’m going down the hill in just a second, just wanted to put something in here, explaining where I went, in case something happens. So, Cross’s body/grave is located about a half mile south, down the hill. He was placed under a tree just inside of the woods. Peers tells me I should be able to see where the snow has covered him. Wish me luck.
Can’t. Can’t. Cross wasn’t buried, he was
No.
Cross wasn’t buried. He was lying there on top of the snow. If he died because he froze to death, then why was there so much blood? The snow was stained crimson everywhere around him. He was torn open in at least six places, including his stomach and neck. It looked almost as if something had been eating him, as the wounds were grotesque and jagged. His hooves were at odd angles, as if something had broken them. He was mutilated, and I didn’t bury him. I couldn’t stay. I didn’t want to stay as long as I did, but the sight captivated me. I couldn’t turn away from it. Still, he deserved more time from me than that. It wasn’t right of me to simply abandon him like that. Why can’t I be who I need to be? I said I was going to pay respects and get more bark so that we could continue to live. I failed at both, with no reason. There is no excuse.
Myrrh is mine; its bitter perfume,
Breaths a life of gathering gloom.
Suffering, sighing, bleeding, dying;
Sealed in the stone cold tomb.
Strange how dark a holiday song can be, and how fitting it seems.
Now the question at hand, do I go back down the hill to the sight which I know awaits me? The single image haunts my dreams and mind, and yet the thought that I did not pay my respects, and instead insulted a good friend by turning and running from what I needed to do. Comes the question: do I do what I should have done, and lay my friend at rest with as much dignity I can give him? Will that redeem me? Peers tells me that anypony would have done the same, and that I should not go back. Knowing that I failed in being a friend, and failed at bringing back what is keeping us alive, he still wants me here. He truly is a good friend. If any of us survive, he deserves to. He also seems to be calming down a bit, maybe it’s the fact that one of us is dead, maybe it’s that he himself is feeling better. Whatever the reason, I’m glad he’s here.
Wymble is getting sick. I wondered why he’s been so quiet, turns out he’s trying to ignore the pain. Shouldn’t have to be like this, one friend taken by the cold on the fourth day, and another taken by illness of some variety shortly after. I normally wouldn’t worry too much about being sick, but we have no help. What kind of world do we live in where two ponies are allowed to die in short succession of each other? So much for a harmonized world, so much for the magic of our great leaders keeping us safe from harm. Where are they now? Speaking of which, where did Peers go? It’s getting darker rapidly; I probably should go and try to find him.
No, I couldn’t go back down that hill. Not for a friend, not for myself, not for anypony. I suppose if staying in the cabin meant certain death, then I might be able to go back, but it’s not as if staying outside didn’t mean certain death.
Cath Amber
In memory of Cross Dreedle, who passed away at the age of nineteen. May his spirit rest, and his memory live in all who knew him for who he was, and what he had done that made him the pony we knew and loved.