Chapter 3 - Leaving the Mountain

A/N: 828 words for The Last Man Standing. I was running really short on time for this chapter, so I'm not happy with it, but I'll keep on editing.

It was like holding a small fire in my hand, a fire that for some reason didn't burn my skin. The warmth emanating from it seemed to flow through my fingers, up my arm and into my chest where it gathered and grew, filling me with a kind of energy that I hadn't felt since I was a child.

My father always warned me, time and time again: “Don't play with fire, you'll burn yourself,” but I never listened. The flames, slowly disintegrating whatever was put among them, had fascinated me and filled me with a kind of awe that children should not even be aware of. More than once I had come close to setting our cabin on fire, and the old timber still bore the scars of my recklessness.

I looked up, staring at one of those spots, and realized that I couldn't remember how I had gotten home. There was light coming through the wind eye in the roof, but it was hard to tell if the sun had gone up or not, or if it was on its way down. Feeling disoriented I made my way outside, looking towards the east and confirming that the sun was on its way up over the treetops. Could I then assume that I had turned back immediately after finding the feather?

I sat down on the log at the back of the house, once again watching the sunrise and glancing down at the warm feather every now and then to confirm that it was real. My memories from the night before were vague and blurry. I knew I had followed the moose up the mountain, worried that Malte might be laying hurt somewhere. Instead of Malte I found a crater, and in that crater... I didn't understand any of it. Magic was obviously involved. Probably some kind of evil witchcraft, just like what my father had told me stories about, and yet I couldn't find it in myself to be worried. Not about magic, not about Malte and note even about the feather that glowed just like fire. The warmth in my chest made me feel calm and energized, and somehow excited – like I was doing something I wasn't allowed to do.

After sitting there for quite some time, watching the sun turn the sky from dark to light blue as it climbed, I realized what that feeling inside of me was. I felt young. For the first time in years I felt like there was something unexpected around the corner, and if I just went to check there could be a troll or a huldra, or maybe even a wight. Even though I knew it was silly I could imagine myself finding a chest of gold if I just picked up a shovel and started digging.

When the cuckoo bird started playing I suddenly got up, the warmth building up inside my chest and turning to excitement. There was something I needed to do. I didn't know what, but there was definitely something. That something wouldn't be easily found, no. I'd have to travel a long way, and to travel that long way I would need to pack some food. Without another thought I went to get my father's old wicker back basket, the one I always used when I was carrying things down to the town to sell, and packed everything I might need for a longer journey. I was tired of the old mountain anyway, wasn't I? Besides, Malte was probably dead, and I didn't want to be up there all alone for the rest of my life.

As I packed I whistled a melody that Malte's wife had taught me while she was still alive, and caught myself several times with a smile on my face. I didn't understand why I was smiling, but I knew it was the right thing to leave. The more I thought about it, the more certain I became. There was something out there in the world waiting for me, and my life could not possibly be complete unless I found it.

With the basket strapped to my back, and a rolled up blanket strapped to the basket, the feather in one hand and father's well-balanced walking stick in the other, I headed out. The energy in my chest was still growing, and I had to fight back the urge to hop along the trail. I couldn't remember ever feeling so light on my feet.

“You should never get yourself involved with magic.”

Father's warning gnawed at the back of my mind, but I ignored it. The feeling in my chest, the feeling that was now spreading through my whole body, could not possibly be bad. It was every good thing I had ever felt surging through my veins, leading me on the path down the mountain, past the tall pine trees and dark firs, over the small mire and onwards, leading me to my great aventure.