824His voice was like nothing she had ever heard. It seemed to capture the sounds of the world, and set them free into the air. She was reminded of the singing of birds, the rhythmic lapping of waves, and the creaking of trees in the wind, all in that one word. She stared at him. He looked back at her, his expression innocent and honest. Freya could detect no trace of fear, or uncertainty.
She realised that she was still holding his tiny hand, and let go, moving a little away from him.
"I'm Freya," she said quietly.
He nodded.
"Would you like a drink?"
He nodded again. Freya climbed quickly to her feet and went downstairs. Pouring warm milk from the pail into a mug, she sighed and frowned, unsettled.
She paused at the top of the stairs hesitantly. After wavering for a moment, she stepped into her bedroom. Quelin was sitting up, wrapped in blankets. He looked at her when she came in, and smiled, the brightness of his eyes casting the rest of the room into shadow.
She handed his the mug.
"Thank you."
Freya stepped back and leant against the wall. "Who are you?" she asked softly.
"Quelin," he answered, flashing her a teasing grin.
"I didn't mean that."
"Sorry."
There was silence for a moment, and Freya fidgeted with her hair uneasily.
"Thank you," he said suddenly. She looked up.
"For what?"
"For looking after me."
She smiled a little to herself, then walked over to him and sat beside him.
"You move like a cat," said Quelin, and laughed.
She frowned and looked at her hands, nervously picking at a blanket's edge. Quelin leaned towards her and looked up at her face, his head tilted on one side. Her face cleared. She smiled genuinely down at him. Reaching out a hand, she brushed a lock of hair off his face, then seemed embarrassed at what she'd done.
"Are you hungry?" she asked softly.
He nodded decisively.
"I'll go and get us some food. Help yourself to any clothes you can find," she said, pointing at the wardrobe.
Quelin nodded, and with one last look, Freya went downstairs into the kitchen.
She took a loaf of brown bread and a piece of cheese, and cut them into slices, making crude sandwiches. Taking two mugs of milk from the pail, she sat at the table and began to eat.
He appeared suddenly in the doorway, making her start. He was smiling openly at her, wearing just a thin shirt and trousers. Freya pulled her shawl closer around her, frowning. She was walked over to the table and sat beside her, picking up the sandwich and taking a bite.
"Why do you live here all alone?" he asked, with simple child-like curiosity, turning to her.
Freya looked down at the grain of the table for a moment before answering. "My father died," she whispered.
Quelin was silent for a moment, watching her curiously.
"He misses you," he said simply.
"What?" she asked. She looked up, her dark eyes glittering more than usual.
"He misses you."
Freya said nothing, but looked away.
"I'm telling the truth."
He climbed down from his chair and put his arms around her. She stiffened, unused to any form of intimacy.
She had been a solitary child, seldom coming into contact with anyone but her father. She hadn't attended the village school – her father had decided to teach her at home. As a result, she was rather better educated than many children her age, at least, in the field of nature she was. She could do sums, her hand was neat and her spelling was good. By the time she was seven, she knew as much about the land and animals as her father did. She knew exactly when the frogspawn would appear, and could tell when it was about to rain. She recognised when the vegetables were ready to be harvested, and was well acquainted with all the animals on the farm. She and her father were close – they shared everything together. Nearly everything.
Freya's childhood had been a thing filled with trust and love. That is, until her father passed away, leaving her alone in a world she didn't understand. She had always been naturally shy, and her seclusion had simply magnified this. She spent most of her time alone, avoiding contact with the other villagers as much as possible.
"He wants you to remember," said Quelin, lifting his head from Freya's shoulder.
Freya looked down at him, her face filled with confusion. She pulled away. "How can you possibly…"
She rested her elbows on the table and covered her face with her hands. She felt Quelin's arms encircle her, and he rested his head on her shoulder.
Her mind wandered back to the day that her father died.
She was kneeling by the bed. The room was darkened, the curtains pulled for her father's comfort as well as her own. Freya was crying uncontrollably, clasping her father's hand desperately.
"Freya," said her father weakly, "Freya, stop crying."
She sniffed, and brushed her tears away, swallowing.
"I want you to listen to what I have to say. This is important. I want you to remember everything I've taught you, because you are going to have to manage by yourself now."
"No," she sobbed, her voice cracking.
"Yes."
"But I don't want to, not without you," she cried in distress, forgetting her reserve.
"Freya, listen. I love you, but I can't always be here to show you the right way. You will have to make your own decisions, and learn by yourself."
Freya shook her head, unable to speak.
"Yes. I know you can do it Freya." He had a strange expression on his face that Freya couldn't read.
The doctor stepped out of the corner and took Freya's hand. She flinched and pulled from his touch, running from the room. She fled down the stairs and straight outside. Field after field flashed past her, and tears blurred her vision until she could no longer see. She sat amongst the sheep, her arms around her knees, and cried until she could cry no more.
That was three weeks ago. Her father had died that night.
"I'm sorry, Freya," said Quelin, his child's voice bring her back to reality.
Freya shook herself out of her daze and looked up. Quelin was watching her warily, not certain how to react.
"I didn't mean to upset you," he said.
She sighed, and brushed the tears from her cheeks. Pushing the plate away from her, she stood up and walked to the door. She paused only to pull on a cloak and her boots, then went outside. She paced through field after field, trying to clear her head, but thought after thought filled her mind, and she felt herself grow weary with the constant circling.
Suddenly, a blur of black fur ran past her, just missing her leg. It shook her out of her reverie, and she looked up. A black collie ran back towards her, her fur ruffled in the wind, tongue lolling out. She jumped up at Freya. Freya crouched down and fussed her, not minding her face being licked enthusiastically.
"Hi Freya," said a clear voice from above her. She looked up. A boy about her own age stood near her, wrapped in a coat. His hair was blown by the wind and his grey eyes were smiling a little.
"Hi Jake," she said wearily.
"Are you okay?" he asked, taking a step towards her.
"I'm fine."
He raised an eyebrow, looking concerned.
"I said I'm fine!" she said, exasperatedly.
"Okay," he said, raising his hands and stepping back.
She sighed, regretting her outburst instantly. "I'm sorry, Jake. I'm just having a hard day."
He looked at the ground, and said nothing. Freya watched him numbly, and could think of nothing to say.
"I should be getting back," she said eventually.
"All right." Jake whistled for Tessa, who had disappeared. She came running, a stick clamped firmly between her jaws. "Bye Freya."
She waved, already halfway across the field.
Quelin watched them from a window and sighed. As Freya approached the house, he bounded lightly down the stairs and sat on the last step, waiting for her. She opened the door quietly and slipped inside, closing it behind her.
"I'm sorry," he said immediately. His voice was quiet.
She started and turned, her back against the wall. When she saw him, she sighed and hung up her cloak.
"It's fine," she murmured, then walked into the living room. She knelt before the fire and lit it, holding her hands out to try and warm herself. Quelin watched her in silence. She curled up in an armchair, her chin on her arms, her eyes closed. Feeling someone take her hand, she opened her eyes. Quelin was kneeling before her. A strange sensation came over her, spreading from where his hand was touching hers. In her heart she could feel his emotion beside her own – his pity, his sadness. She looked to his eyes, which were watching her.
"What are you?" she asked, bewildered.
He looked away from her for a second, his face troubled. He sighed, then returned his gaze to Freya's eyes which were watching him closely. He didn't know what to say.
I just want to say a quick thank you to everyone who has given me CC, I bow down to you. You have made this story what it is. Thank you.