That first night...

To this day I can’t quite explain what it was that came over me.

I didn’t yet know that my mother was dead, but I saw the look in her eye; she had been harmed to the point of not being the same again. I already felt her loss.

But it went beyond that. The anger and the pain I felt over what had happened to her… well that was a complex set of emotions there and what I was feeling, or not feeling rather, was quite simple.

I wanted, no needed them to die.

I trailed them for the better part of the day, not wanting to expose myself just yet. I wanted to be sure I had them isolated; that they didn't have any back up coming. I needed them to be alone.

That first night, I just watched them from the trees. They hadn't traveled far since leaving our village; it almost seemed like they had no where to be. They made camp in the late afternoon, and their intoxication was evident by the time the sun went down.

It really didn't take long before they had passed out around the fire; the fumes from their breath were enough to get someone like me drunk just by passing close to them. And I did get close to them that night. When I was sure they weren't going to wake any time soon, I crept down from my perch and into the firelight in their camp.

The light and shadows danced, highlighting the creases and divots on their faces.

I started to waver just for a moment. Deciding that perhaps this wasn't the right thing to do... and then the wind shifted. It was as if my mother breathed a sigh with her last breath. I later found that this was indeed the night she passed, and it just reinforced that this is what she wanted me to do.

When the wind shifted... I caught her scent mingled with the smell of dirt, and booze and sweat.

I felt the cold rage rise up in my body and settle in the pit of my stomach.
The hot rage in me wanted me to slaughter them right then and there; but the cold rage in me quashed them. It wasn't enough to make them die.

They had to suffer.