Author's Note: I am not fond of this chapter. I haven't written for some time, and my most recent Resident Evil work was a flop. This in mind, let me know if I should re-edit this mess into something more Fields of Trees-ish.

Chapter Fourteen

I had rushed out of the house without any real reason as to why. As my boots hit pockets of mud within the path's tightly packed gravel, my body took the opportunity to remind me of just how sore I truly was.

My head felt heavy, fuzzy.

My chest was aching from the forceful effort to breathe.

My skin was tight, too tight, and every limb took herculean strength to simply move.

I had come out the other side of a useless breakdown, but really, what was that worth? Though I wasn't cramped and shivering in my shower, my current state of being wasn't exactly sterling. That worthless lump of grey matter that dares to call itself a brain was pointing out the blatant fact that I had not only taken numerous steps back, I had done so in the presence of my Stranger. The next point made pricked my pride: this man had most likely helped me even after his life had been so indelicately handled by yours truly. My Stranger was, even now, caring for me with less fuss than I had ever provided him.

This thought brought my boots to a halt.

Though I had stitched him, bathed him, fed him, defended him, I had behaved as though he was nothing but a problem to me. A thing I had not wanted in my life. Again. I cared for his body, and little for his mind. And yet...and yet my Stranger had managed to show kindness - in the most roundabout manner possible – when I had afforded him so little. My chest ached now, but not from any physical source; I was staring at stark reality, and I didn't care for what I saw.

Nothing had changed for me.

I thought after years of living my life, as I wanted to, without a single soul to tell me otherwise, I would have shucked off the ridiculous shell I formed. But I hadn't. I was holding on to a thread of the past, wrapping it around whatever small amount of me I still had left, and without ever causing notice, it had insinuated itself more deeply than I could have imagined. So instead of living free, I had created for myself a fiction dictated by my past.

Now I forced my legs to take one step, and then another, and then another, until I was inches from the faded green and white wood doors. I didn't feel like I was struggling to pull back one of them; I didn't feel like it was my battered body that entered the well lit stable. However, it was my bleary eyes that noticed a horse quietly snoozing away. This was slightly beyond my comprehension for the moment. Turning in place, I saw all of my animal wards tucked away into their respective stalls, some lazily burying their noses into full hay racks. I felt as though I was in some sort of alternate reality, in which horses just magically appear in their proper places without my knowledge.

Eyes slightly wider than normal, I shuffled down the aisle to peak at my stallion. He studied me for a moment from under his long forelock and half-lidded eyes. I wanted to slide open the door, wrap my arms around him and let his presence take away all the thoughts running rampant in my mind. But as he shifted his weight, I had the distinct impression that he didn't want me there. I was confused; I had always counted on his solid nature, the grounding effect he imparted. Now, however, he was pushing me away. The cold, stiff fingers of my left hand slid between the steel bars of his stall, then curled around one in an imploring gesture I had never used on him.

My stallion, my friend simply stared.

I didn't think I could cry another drop of tears, but as I stood completely cut off from my lifeline, I could feel them brimming my eyes, close to falling. Swiping angrily at them, I held on to the notion that tomorrow things would be different. That thought had become my mantra, living day by day. It was at this point when my mind shoved an idea to the forefront of my consciousness: living for just another day, praying that life would be brighter just on the other side of today, wasn't living. It wasn't life. It was simply a march to the end when, with that finality, you realize you missed the point.

I could only stare at my stallion. Something in me had cracked, but instead of breaking loose a flood of anger and defeat, it brought with it room to breathe.

And it only took a complete stranger, a mental meltdown, and a red horse to accomplish what I couldn't.

I finally felt relief, felt like I could fill my lungs without the prayer that I would continue doing so. Upon realizing that, I exhaled heavily, allowing my head to fall back and my eyes to close; not with frustration, not with tears. When they finally fluttered open, my mind astounded me with yet another revelation: how the hell did the horses get into the barn, into their stalls, fed and watered? Was it magic? Chewing on my bottom lip, it only took the span of a heartbeat to realize what had happened. It made absolutely no sense whatsoever, but it was the only explanation available.

My Stranger.

He was the only living…person for miles and miles, so unless the horses had suddenly learnt barn management, he was the only option. I couldn't help but allow my jaw to fall open at this revelation. How did he…why? And so doing the only thing that seemed suitable for the moment, I did a cursory check of each animal, finding them all to be completely and happily content. As I reached the last, my lips had begun to twitch into a small smile. Throwing up my hands in what seemed an appropriate gesture for the situation, I shook my head and felt that slight smile bring about a short laugh.

And so, with my revelations in tow, I flipped the light switches off and bid everyone goodnight. Closing the door seemed far less difficult than opening it, and as my eyes adjusted to the night, I could discern the smoke from my large fireplace, and the many lights pouring illumination into the dark. I knew that my Stranger was in the house, I knew he was cooking – still couldn't fathom that one – and I knew he was expecting me. But how was I going tell him all that had happened such a short while? Would he take it in stride, or just brush it off? My money would normally be on the latter, but after the series of disasters we had gone through, chances were that he would understand.