The Mayor, the Witch, and the Lumberjack - Part 5

Instructions

The walls weren't welcoming. They knew too much about Owen for him to be comfortable. They knew about the few times he'd cried, they knew how his rage at the town could grow out of control… they knew how desperately he wanted to be with someone he shouldn't be with. But he couldn't focus on that. Every time he went down that road, his mind raced and his emotions riled up. He couldn't risk that right now. Owen grabbed his dark brown cloak, wrapping it around himself as he opened his cabin door. The forest welcomed his presence, the breeze blowing his hair into his face. He pulled it out of the way, quickly pulling it into a ponytail. Ever since Varona had admitted to practicing witchcraft, he'd begun thinking that nature purposefully tended to mess with him. “ ‘It's a gift from nature,’ ” He quietly quoted her, grabbing his woodcutter's axe. He couldn't bear to admit that he was bitter about that. A gift from nature. He could've used that *long* ago. And yet here he was: outcasted from town as his body slowly crippled him. No one dared to touch him–hardly even attempted to get *near* him. Well, no one except- “No, no.” He rested his axe across his shoulders, dragging a hand down his face. “Not him. Not yet.” Even so, Owen felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips at the thought of finally intertwining his fingers with… “Guh!” He stomped his foot. He needed a distraction. He hurried to enter the woods behind his cabin, axe at the ready. He'd never been one to *really* believe in witchcraft–people tended to make something out of nothing. But… Varona had given him no reason to think she was lying. He knew she'd always been different, in some way… but supernaturally was not what he'd expected. He had to admit, in the three days–three!– since then, he'd felt… *better*. Not healed, but he felt like he could do more. He could cut wood for longer, his hands went numb less often, and his joints weren't nearly as stiff. Whatever Varona had done, it was working. He tossed his axe in the air, catching it before it hit the ground. He smiled to himself as he began to cut down the tree in front of him. It was routine at this point: Wake up, get dressed, cut wood, come back, eat, cut more wood, go to bed. The life of a lumberjack living in near-squalor wasn’t exactly *exciting*. Owen had started looking forward to his days, though. Ever since he’d met- “Ah-!” He yelled in surprise. He’d swung too hard, landing flat on his back on the forest floor as he muttered angrily. This was getting out of control. This was *stupid*! Owen focused on breathing as he lay there, his arms spread wide. His axe was still stuck in the tree, but he could grab that later. He let out a quiet sigh. He missed Louis. No amount of tree cutting could keep him from admitting it. Never once in the months they’d been meeting together had the mayor shied away from him. Never once had Owen felt less than human. He needed that feeling, and desperately so. Owen frowned at the sky. “Can I just have something? For once?” The sky didn’t answer. He didn’t know if that was worse than a blunt “no.” He blew a sharp breath up his face, his hair flipping out of the way as his eyes bent in concern. He needed to let this work. None of this would be worth it if he just botched it up. He turned his head to the side, looking into the forest around him. He sat there for a few minutes, letting the sun warm him, before sighing. He was about to shove himself off the ground and continue with his day when he winced. He sat up and glared at his hands, confused. That… wasn't supposed to happen, right? He pulled himself up, his hands more sore than they'd been for a long while. He clenched and unclenched his hands, holding them close to his chest as he kept his breathing steady. “Come on,” he muttered in anger. “Come on, come on, come on.” Owen continued to mutter under his breath as he reached for his axe. It was still stuck in the tree, which made getting it back even harder. His grip slid off it several times, unable to keep it tight. He groaned in frustration, the pain growing unbearable. Normally, he would be fine when his disease got like this, but he hadn't expected it to flare up like this. Not when Varona's spell… “No…” He took a few steps away from the tree as the sudden realization hit him. “No, no, no… it was for *one*. *Millisecond*!” He dragged a hand down his face, shaking slightly. How could he have messed up already? He hadn't even made it halfway! He began to pace in panic, spiraling. His eyes kept wandering back to the axe. “Focus up, Owen,” he scolded himself. “Y- you don't know for *sure* that it's broken. You have to calm down, or else it *will* be.” He focused on his breathing. That had always worked when the pain got to be too much. It took a few tries, but his pacing slowed until he was just rocking on his heels. “Okay, good. What now…”