Chapter 11 #2
Ren was dizzy and a bit nauseous by the time Falk finally pulled back on the reins, slowing Walnut down to a walk.
Ren glanced around, not recognizing where they were.
They had gone on the path straight through the forest of the valley where the trees gave way to longer stretches of fields leading up to the cliff faces.
“Are we going up there?” Ren asked, panic suddenly racing through his chest.
“No,” Falk said. “I was given the patrol for the entire perimeter of the valley.”
“What is even out here?” Ren questioned. Falk tugged on the reins to steer Walnut in the correct direction.
“This is where most of the farmer’s land is,” Falk hummed. “All of this,” he said, motioning to the fields in front of them, “is wheat and corn.”
As they continued their trek, Ren was in awe of everything around them. He hadn’t even known this part of the valley existed, but it was beautiful. They moved from the field of wheat to fields of vegetables. Ren pointed at every plot, asking what everything was.
“Are those vegetables?”
“Are there farms for meat?”
“How do they protect the animals? Do a lot of them get eaten by wild animals?”
“What type of trees are these?”
“Are these farmers paid by Oren?”
“There must be a bunch of people working on these farms. Do they come from somewhere else or do they live here with the farmer?”
He got quite annoyed when Falk couldn’t answer any of his questions.
They stopped at a stream to water their horse when the sun was high overhead.
“Who lives here?” Ren asked, pointing at the little house a bit ways off.
Falk groaned as he stood from filling their water bottle. He handed it over to Ren who took a long drink from it. “I don’t know, Ren.”
“What type of farm is this? Look at all these plants—are they growing underground? What food grows underground? Is it potatoes? How do they get all of these over to the?—”
“Ren,” Falk interrupted his rambling questions, squatting by the stream and dipping his fingers into the chilly water. Ren looked up at him, blinking when he noticed the annoyed expression on Falk’s face. “Please, stop asking so many questions.”
Ren stood, lip pressing out as he asked, “Why?”
“Because I don’t know the answers.” Falk sighed.
Ren frowned but stayed quiet while they rested, and stayed quiet until they were back up on their horse and carrying on their way.
“What types of trees are those?” Ren gasped, pointing at the orchard they were coming up on.
“Ren—” Falk yelled as Ren swung his leg up and over the horse before Walnut even stopped moving. “That’s dangerous, what are you?—”
Ren grinned as he ran over to the trees. He stared up at the dark leaves overhead and the bright red apples nestled within them. Ren stood up on his tiptoes, reaching to grab one from the lowest branch and scowling when he couldn’t stretch up high enough to reach it.
He looked over his shoulder when he heard the crunch of grass beneath Falk’s feet. “Can you grab it for me?”
He gasped when Falk grabbed him by the shoulders and steered him away from the trees and back over to the horse. “You cannot jump off a moving horse,” he scolded. “And you cannot run into a farmer’s orchard and try to take his produce.”
“It’s just one apple!” Ren protested. “You’re no fun!”
He glared at Falk as he shoved him back up and onto the saddle.
“What about those,” Ren asked a while later, pointing when they came upon another orchard. “Those are lemons. Who cares about lemons? Can I take one of those?”
Ren squeaked in surprise when a hand wrapped around his mouth, pressing tightly on his lips. “Shh,” Falk hushed him. “You’ve used up all your questions for today—no more.”
Ren batted Falk’s hand away. “Dr. Bram said questions are good,” he protested.
Falk hushed him again.
Ren craned his neck back to glare at Falk again. But he fell silent, scowling as the farms of the valley went by.
Now he could understand why patrolling could be boring. He grumbled, arms crossed over his chest, as Falk led them through the never-ending fields.
Ren didn’t do well with boredom—boredom meant his brain had enough time to start wandering, and when his brain wandered, thoughts he’d rather not have crept in.
When he noticed his mind drifting off, spiraling into what Dr. Bram called ‘depression’ and ‘panic attacks’, he shook his head and sat up a bit straighter, forcing himself back into the present.
“Falk—”
“The day isn’t over. Your questions aren’t replenished,” Falk chided.
“But—”
“Shh,” Falk whispered. Ren shivered when Falk’s breath tickled the back of his neck. Tingles ran down his spine, making him lean back into Falk’s chest. Falk froze at the sudden extra closeness between them.
Ren didn’t say anything, keeping his lips sealed like Falk told him to, but turning his head so he could press his nose into Falk’s scent gland, searching for comfort there. He took a long inhale before parting his lips and pressing them against the skin.
“Ren,” Falk said, placing a hand on Ren’s shoulder and pushing him away gently.
“You smell so nice though,” Ren murmured. He reached up with one hand to press it against Falk’s neck, holding him still so he could nuzzle his nose against the spot. He dug his nails into his neck, feeling Falk flinch.
“Ren—”
“Do I smell nice to you?” Ren asked, pulling away. “You never comment on my scent.”
An expression passed over Falk’s face for a moment before his face fell, a soft look painting itself there. “Of course you smell nice to me.”
“What do I smell like?” Ren hummed.
“Sweet, but also kind of like bread. Like a pastry,” Falk said.
Ren grinned, pressing his fingers deeper into Falk’s neck until he felt his pulse. “You never want to scent me, though.”
“You aren’t twenty, yet, Ren.”
“I am in two days,” Ren hummed.
“I know.”
Ren sat up straighter again, grinning and pointing as they turned the corner into a new farm. “What’s that? What types of fruit are those?”
Falk just stared at him, but didn’t tell him to be quiet again.
“You will no longer be coming with me during my duties.”
Ren gaped at Falk, staring at his bare back as he pulled his shirt on. “What?” he questioned. He quickly tugged his own sweater on before Falk could turn around.
“You have become too distracting. It is too much of a liability when I need to do my job,” Falk said. His voice was so stern, so serious.
“But you aren’t allowed to leave me alone—I have to be with you at all times,” Ren argued.
“Oren said I am allowed to leave you with other trusted Wolves,” Falk said. “Which is why I can leave you to have your therapy sessions with Dr. Bram in private.”
“Then who will I be left with?” Ren asked, already feeling panic crawling up his throat.
“I believe I have found someone for you to work with,” Falk hummed as he finished tightening his belt and fastening his keys to his hip. “You’ll like her, I promise.”
Ren’s pulse thrummed as he followed Falk. He could recognize the feeling now—the anxiety Dr. Bram made him talk about again and again during their sessions. He recognized the bile rising in his esophagus, burning his throat and threatening to empty his breakfast.
He didn’t want to meet someone new—everyone he met here hated him immediately.
None of them trusted him. All of them looked at him as Falk’s pity project, or as a prisoner who should be locked away.
He didn’t want to be without Falk—the Alpha had become similar to a child’s favorite blanket, always wrapped around them to keep them safe.
He didn’t know what he would do without Falk beside him.
The new hallway Falk turned down was filled with sunlight. Large, floor to ceiling windows carved into the castle’s stones let in the warm breeze. On the other side of the hall, there were a few doors all propped open, welcoming whoever passed by.
“Here we are,” Falk hummed, stopping at the second door and waving Ren in.
Ren hesitated, not wanting to make the first move. He only stepped in once Falk settled his hand on the small of his back, pressing lightly until he walked forward.
The room smelled so familiar—cotton and fibers. He could hear the rhythmic swishing of a loom and the more sporadic clicking of a sewing machine. Ren looked around in awe at the stacks of finished and half finished clothes and the walls of fabrics and yarns.
As he looked around, his gaze caught on a small Omega with long, dark hair scooped up into a pile on top of her head.
She was stooped over one of the sewing machines, eyes fixed on the needle punching into the fabric, her tongue bitten between her teeth in concentration.
She didn’t seem to notice them at all, and only stopped what she was doing when Falk called out softly, “Chaya.”
The Omega looked up, surprised to see two new people standing there.
“Ah, Falk,” she smiled as she stood up. She was a bit smaller than Ren with a cute, almost childish face even though she must have been older than he was.
She reminded him of a faerie. “This must be Ren, correct?” she asked, gaze skimming over him.
Ren couldn’t help how he took a single step back and to the right, closer to Falk, trying to tuck himself into Falk’s side. “Nice to meet you,” Ren mumbled.
“Ren, you’re going to be working here with Chaya now,” Falk said, pushing him gently.
Ren looked back at him, pupils blown wide, “I don’t want to—I want to come with you.”
“As I said, you’re too distracting,” Falk said. “Plus, this will not be forever or even every day. Just a few days a week when I have important duties I can’t be distracted during.”
“But Falk?—”
“Falk told me you used to be a tailor,” Chaya interrupted. Her smile was so sweet, Ren found it hard to hate her. “What medium did you prefer working in?”
Ren hesitated before muttering, “I liked to crochet a lot. I’m not very good at the actual tailoring part, like with a sewing machine and stuff.”