Pamelgar-Warck | A Short Story (Read for Free)

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A bit of crass flirting was not unusual to him. But as always, he was just kidding. He knew that he could afford to do no more than kid. But it was evident from the way she was acting that she found his actions and reactions to be genuinely offensive and unkind. But most of all, she was scared by the thought that he was there at all.

She did not know that had he known it would turn out such, he would not have come along in the first place. He felt miserable, he felt as though he should be ashamed of himself but he was not, almost as if he was a human-hyena.

The woods were thick, and there were real hyenas behind the trees; waiting to pounce on easy prey; waiting to gang up and tear apart the pieces of their flesh and gnaw away till their whole mouth was stained with blood.

He asked her to stick close - she gave him a cold, confused, bamboozled, threatened, loathing stare; she maintained distance. She maintained her distance and he felt the vibes of hateful fear that she was emanating. It was unlike anything he had felt from her until today. He asked her why she would not stick close but she ignored nonchalantly and he did not ask again. He walked calmly, silently, relentlessly watching out for the hyenas. They were both carefully avoiding the snake pits under the rustled leaves carpeting the dense forest.

He recognized that it was his very existence that was making her uncomfortable but he didn’t fully understand why that was so? Did he not accompany her through the perilous wilderness of the jungle so she could safely reach the funeral across the river? He didn't arrive uninvited. She herself had beckoned him to escort her through the eeriness of the forest in the night. The least she could do was acknowledge she wouldn't be left stranded alone and fending for herself, helpless in the middle of the jungle, where moonlight was dimmer than the gleam in the wolves' eyes, if at all circumstances turned adverse. And with all the threats that loomed large in the wilderness, it was the existence of his own self that made her uncomfortable. Some realization that was!

Not that he could do anything about it. He just kept walking, always a few feet behind her, alert to any threat that may show its face.

After walking through the darkest hours of the night, they crossed the jungle unharmed. She thanked him for coming along and wished safety him for his journey back to the Estrada servants' quarters. She attended the funeral and offered solemn prayers for her late husband. Upon returning home, she drank away the night in the company of the young son of the Changeglade minister. And by then, he had conquered the Pamgelar-Warck forests and returned to the Estradas' unscathed - with callous wisdom, unratified chivalry, stooping head, and drooping shoulders. He wanted to know something, or perhaps he learned everything he ever needed to know. Or did he know it all, all along?

Warck might summon him again to escort him through the jungle. Pamelgar would have to oblige as much as he wouldn't want to. And the forest wouldn't be named after them until long after they are both gone and only the stories of their journey through it remained.

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