An eternity, an instant, Oskar was not certain which it had been, but the howling ended more suddenly than it began. With his second story view he could see that it was not that the blackness had ended, simply that it had moved on. For a moment he watched it rolling down the mountain, vanishing into the blackness of the night beyond the bonfires that still lit up Adishi. He shook his head, not wanting to look away from the blackness simply because he would then have to see what lay in the village. He would have to see what he’d wrought. 

There had been screaming when the things were upon them, horrible screams and sounds that would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life. There were new screams now, these were worse somehow. It was the screams of those who lived, those who had lost someone dear to them. Oksana? His Father… Where were they? That thought galvanized him when the screams of others had locked his knees. They were all the family he had. 

He didn’t remember crossing his small room. He didn’t remember ripping open the door. He didn’t remember running down the stairs. But he sure as hell remembered seeing the large shape at the bottom of the stairs, just inside the door that led to the common room where the sounds of merrymaking were not replaced with those of weeping and grief. 

“Father.” He said and the true weight of his actions seemed to land fully on his slender shoulders. “Father.” He said again and took the last few steps down. The air here was rich with the scent of blood, the same scent that filled the air after a funeral sacrifice, the same scent that filled the air while the hunters cleaned and dressed their kills. There was no companionable laughter to take the edge off of the stench, only a backdrop of weeping and screams. 

“My boy…” 

The words were so soft Oskar thought he might have imagined them, had not that great head with the enviable beard not turned towards him showing the two bloody bits of ruin where eyes should have been. 

“Father.” He said again, helplessly, uselessly. Just like he did everything. He lowered himself to his knees and felt with every heartbeat every single time he’d been a disappointment to this man. 

“I’m here.” He said and his voice cracked with grief and guilt. “I am here Father.” 

“Good. That’s good.” He coughed, a wet sound not unlike the ripping, tearing sounds that had filled the unnatural night not so long ago. His hands, his big, capable hands reached out, not to cuff Oskar like usual, but to find comfort. How could he not wrap his own slender hands around the rough, bloody ones that needed him, for once? 

“The witch.” His father said when he caught his breath. “Something happened to her.” 

Guilt choked Oskar’s voice, cowardice too. For a moment he simply nodded before the wet, red mess on his father’s face made him find his voice again. 

“I’m sorry Father.” He managed. 

“You must go see. Go up the mountain and see. Oskar, promise me you will go see. She is the answer, she will be the fix.”

Another round of wet coughing and dark thick blood began to flick and foam at the lips framed so perfectly by the great, dark beard. 

“Go to her. Find your mother…” 

And then he was still. Oskar stared, Oskar shook and then, dropping the lifeless hands Oskar pressed his hands to his ears and screamed.