The Day at Cattail Creek

"A step in the wrong direction"

Lysndra

Vellik and I grew up in a tight knit, rather large family home. As is typical of harengon culture, it consisted of our core family units as well as grandparents on both sides, aunties, uncles, first, second, and third cousins, all in close proximity. To say our living quarters were cramped is a very deep understatement. I lived with my parents, sister, and Mom’s sister Lucinda. Vellik with his parents, brother and three sisters. Everyone was in everyone's business all the time, and yet the two of us were thick as thieves. Probably because in the whole collection of us, we were the most likely to BE thieves. As a result of the tight quarters, family is crawling all over you until you can't breathe and you have to fight your way to the door to sneak out and not be seen just so you can get a chance to breathe without someone asking, “whatcha doing?” for the ten millionth time that day…Dillon! The problem with this, is that someone is always watching. The day that Vellik snuck out to go climb trees and hang out by Cattail Creek without any of the family, was the last day they never saw him.

Vellik

The Jadecape family home was always a riot of sound and movement. The air smelled of fresh-baked pumpkin seed bread, and the chatter of a dozen voices clashed with the occasional thud of cousins tumbling over each other. I loved my family—really, I did—but sometimes, the chaos felt more like a cage. I just needed a moment to myself. A moment where I wasn’t tripping over someone or dodging questions like, “Whatcha doing?”

This was definitely one of those days. Dillon—nosy, pesky, five-year-old Dillon—had been glued to my side all morning, firing off questions about everything from, “what’s for breakfast” to “why do clouds float.” By mid-morning, I’d had enough. With a quick glance at Lysn, who was busy wrestling a pair of toddlers off the kitchen counter, I mouthed, I’m outta here. She smirked, raised her eyebrows, and gave me a little nod that I knew meant, Good luck.

I slipped out the back door, down the steps, careful not to hit the creaky one, and darted through the vegetable garden. Keeping low, I skirted the edge of our property, ducking behind a woodpile just as Auntie Moonfire shuffled past with her basket of laundry. The last thing I needed was getting caught and being pulled back into the madness.

Once I was clear of the homestead, I broke into a run, my legs carrying me toward my favorite spot: Cattail Creek. It was perfect—quiet, peaceful, and far away from everyone. The creek was everything I loved, a winding ribbon of clear water flanked by willows and cattails. It was great for climbing trees, splashing around, or just lying by the bank and watching the clouds drift by. Best of all, no one ever followed me here. No cousins. No Dillon. Just me, the rustle of leaves, and the burble of the water.

When I reached the creek, I let out a deep breath of relief. Hopping onto a low-hanging branch of my favorite willow tree, I stretched out along its length, feeling the sun filtering through the leaves. The light danced on my fur, warm patches of gold that felt like a hug after the chaos of home. For a while, I just lay there, listening to the breeze moving through the leaves and watching dragonflies zip across the water.

It was warm out and amongst the shade of the tree it was perfect. I didn’t sleep well last night, my brother, Vebaryn kept kicking me. So in the stillness and quiet I dozed on and off. The sun was setting, and the shadows began to darken the ground, and I knew my break was coming to a close. Gathering my wits about me and wiping the lazy sleep from my eyes. I didn’t notice the shadow until it was too late.

“Enjoying yourself, little one?” The voice startled me. Rough and cold, like the creek on a winter morning. My ears shot up, and I scrambled to sit upright, nearly losing my balance. On the opposite side, partially hidden by the cattails, stood a figure. Tall, muscular, wearing leather duster and grinning, no it wasn't as much as a grin, it was grimace both her fangs pushing up into her top lip. Something about her dark piercing eyes made the fur on the back of my neck prickle.

“Who—who are you?” I stammered, my heart hammering in my chest.

The stranger stepped through the creek coming closer, and I caught the glint of metal at their side—a cutlass. “Just a traveler,” they said with a gruff smile. “You seemed like someone who might enjoy a little adventure.” Her words set off every alarm in my head. I jumped down from the branch, ready to run, but I could take a single step, they moved. Fast. Too fast. A hand clamped around my ears like a vice. “Now, now,” the stranger said, her voice calm and low, as though she wasn’t holding me away from everything I knew. “No need to make a fuss. You’re coming with me.”

I thrashed and kicked, my fists pounding uselessly against her side. “Let me go!” I yelled, my voice cracking. She didn’t flinch. The stranger—Theralii, though I wouldn’t learn that name until later—hoisted me over their shoulder like a sack of grain, ignoring my struggling. The world blurred as she carried me away from the creek, the willow trees, and everything familiar. My shouts faded into the rustling cattails, lost to my flooding thoughts of the family that I may not see again. My life as I knew it was gone. And somewhere, back at the family home, Lysndra was about to notice my empty seat at the dinner table.

---

I’d only ever been to the ocean once before. Most of my days were spent on the homestead, venturing no farther than the creek. Everything beyond it felt like another world—wild and unknown. I was curious, sure, but there was always that edge of fear holding me back. As it turns out, I was right to be afraid.

Now, here I am—tied, gagged, and powerless—surrounded by the vastness of the big, wide ocean. The rowboat rocked beneath me, each creak of the oars cutting through the eerie silence. Ahead, the ship loomed like a specter from my worst nightmares. The Impolite North. Its shadow swallowed us whole as we drew closer, the crests of its sails disappearing into the sky. I felt so much smaller than ever.

The next thing I remember is waking in the dark. My head throbbed, and my body ached. I could hear muffled voices above me, the heavy thud of boots on wooden planks. Scratchy fabric pressed against my ears, and the scent in the air was almost unbearable—sickly sweet, clinging to my skin like oil. My breath came in shallow gasps as I tried to piece together what had happened.

I couldn’t tell how much time had passed. Hours? Minutes? Maybe days since the moment at the creek. Time lost all meaning in the suffocating darkness. I sat there, disoriented, trapped in a void where adrenaline had burned itself out, leaving only the creeping weight of exhaustion. Fatigue clawed at me, threatening to pull me under. At some point—between falling asleep and waking back up—I realized I was no longer bound. Instead, I was in a cage. An actual cage. The kind made for animals. I am not an animal. I am a sentient being—with thoughts and cares and fears, with friends and family. Or… I had them. I guess I don’t anymore. The realization gnawed at me, a hollow ache that grew heavier with each passing moment. What were they doing right now? Were they looking for me? Had they already given up? These questions circled endlessly in my mind, but the longer I sat there, the harder it became to hold on to anything. Time stretched into the darkness, and eventually, I succumbed to sleep again, tumbling into the dark pit of worry that had become my world.

I woke to a voice I’d come to dread. It was her—my captor. Her voice was unmistakable, the kind that scratched and grated, as if she were always on the verge of losing it. Low and rough, it crept under my skin and made ice form in my veins. “Little one, you’re awake. Bet you’re hungry,” she rasped. It wasn’t a question, just two clipped statements shoved together. Before I could respond, she dropped my “meal” in front of the cage: two chunks of stale bread, a shriveled carrot, and half of a bruised apple. My stomach twisted at the sight, but I was starving—truly starving. I had no choice. “Enjoy,” she added, already turning away. “That’s all you’ll get until we dock at the next port.”

As she walked off, she tossed something toward me. The metallic glint of a flask caught the thin beams of light seeping through the planks above before it clattered against the wood, just out of reach. I stared at it for a moment, my hunger and thirst warring with my exhaustion. It took nearly an hour—an hour of contorting myself, timing my efforts with the ship’s lurches—but I managed to drag it into my cage. When I uncapped it, that same sickly sweet smell hit me like a punch to the gut. The memory came unbidden, sharp and sudden: my little sister’s giggle before she hurled a rock at me during one of our games near the creek. For a second, I was back there, laughing and teasing, before reality crashed over me like a cold wave. No. No, I can’t think about that now. Shoving the memory aside with a force that hurt, I tipped the flask to my lips. The liquid hit the back of my throat like fire wrapped in citrus and honey, sharp and cloying. It burned as it went down, leaving a trail of warmth that spread through my chest. It wasn’t refreshing. It wasn’t satisfying. But it was something. And something was all I had.

—

By my reckoning, it’s been three days—if I counted the sun cycles through the slivers of light correctly. She wasn’t lying. I didn’t get anything else to eat. Not until a rat, with the worst timing imaginable, scurried into my cage. I didn’t want to do it. But hunger doesn’t leave room for pride, and desperation silences disgust. I caught it, killed it, and forced myself to eat. It wasn’t good—not by any stretch—but it was something. Something to keep me going. No one came here, after all. No one cared, maybe no one knew.

The space I was in—if you could even call it that—was a dark, dank cubby tucked away somewhere on this gargantuan ship. The air was thick with that sickly sweet smell that clung to everything. I didn’t know where I was exactly, only that it felt like the walls were closing in. My world had shrunk to this patch of floor, this cage, these shadows. Those three days bled together. I drifted between hazy daydreams, snatches of restless sleep, and abrupt jolts awake whenever the ship struck a wave or caught a gust of wind. Time twisted into something unrecognizable, and I clung to the only thing that felt remotely solid—memories. I thought of Uncle Navycloak and his grand stories of the sea in the Sherashook Water Militia. He would paint pictures of endless horizons and ships so large they felt like cities on water. I held on to those stories like lifelines, piecing together my own imagined ship from his descriptions. I mapped out its decks, pictured its sails billowing against the sky, and pretended I was there instead of here.

But the daydreams only lasted so long. Reality always crept back in—the smell, the hunger, the emptiness. I didn’t know where I was. I didn’t know when I was. And worst of all, I was losing sight of who I was.

–

I woke to stillness—or what felt like stillness compared to the relentless rocking I’d grown used to. The ship still tilted back and forth, but it was softer now, almost gentle. The usual creaks and groans of the vessel were oddly absent, replaced by something quieter, almost expectant. I strained to listen, my ears twitching, and then I heard it: the faint clatter of hooves and the rhythmic creak of carts rolling over cobblestones. My heart leapt. We’re in port! I didn’t have the energy to yell, let alone fight. My throat was too dry, my body too weak. But the thought of food, maybe water, gave me something to cling to. I pressed myself closer to the wooden planks of the cage, listening to the distant hum of the town as the day dragged on. The sounds were a strange comfort—voices bartering, children laughing, the occasional bark of a dog. For the first time in days, there was life beyond the dark, suffocating space I was trapped in. Hours passed—or maybe minutes; time was impossible to track—and I started to drift into the haze of hunger, thirst, and boredom. That’s when the sudden noise above snapped me back to attention. The sun had set; I could feel the coolness of night settling in. And now the air was alive with chaos.

Shouting. Yelling. The heavy thud of boots pounding on the deck above and the one I was on. Steel clashing against steel. Screams of pain. Bodies hitting the floor with sickening thuds. My ears twitched at every sound, picking apart the chaos, trying to make sense of it. For the first time, I could distinguish individual voices in the din. A deep, commanding voice barking orders—the captain, I guessed. Another, sharper and frantic, accompanied by the metallic clang of what sounded like a copper pot smashing into something—the cook, maybe? And then, unmistakably, her. That rasping, grating voice that haunted me: my captor. Theralii. It had to be mutiny. My stomach churned, equal parts fear and anticipation. Theralii was challenging the captain. I didn’t know what that meant for me—whether it would make things better or worse—but the ship felt like a powder keg about to blow. And I was stuck right in the middle of it?

Eventually, the chaos dimmed. The captain had emerged victorious, but... where was Theralii? Alarm crept in, quickly twisting into full-blown terror. No one knew I was here, that much was clear. And if she wasn’t here either—if she was gone—then that was it for me. My life wouldn’t just be taken from my home; it’d be erased from this plane of existence. This couldn’t be the end. I summoned everything I had left and tried to scream, but my throat was too dry, my lips too cracked. Not a sound came out. My body, weak and trembling, fought me at every turn, but desperation clawed at me, refusing to let me stop. I slammed my fists against the walls of the cage, pounding and scraping until thick drops of dark red blood oozed from the splinters in my hands. The wood barely shifted—if at all. When I had nothing left, I collapsed onto my back, my chest heaving with the effort. I rolled onto my side and curled into a ball, going through the motions of crying even though no tears came. The darkness clouded my vision, thick and oppressive, and as it seeped into my bones, I saw them—images of my family, my home, the life I used to have. The life I’d had ripped away.

A sudden gasp of air jolted me awake. My body was drenched, and for a moment, I had no idea where I was. Blinking against the dark, I struggled to remember, to piece it all together. And then it hit me. I wasn’t dead. But the infinite darkness, distant voices, and familiar noises made it all too clear where I was—still trapped in this cage, still forgotten. But now... I was soaked. Why am I wet? I strained to listen, ears twitching, and I heard it: the slosh of water above and the unmistakable rocking of the ship beneath me. We’ve left port. Panic surged, mixing with what little adrenaline I had left. Desperation drove me as I yanked off my shirt and wrung it into my mouth. The water was briny, tasting like salt and—like that time Vebaryn accidentally hit me in the mouth with a cast iron pan. Blood. I grimaced and swallowed. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to wet my mouth. Enough to try again. They must have been washing the deck above. Maybe we were still close to port. Maybe someone could hear me. I had to try. With what little strength I had left, I screamed. My voice cracked, weak and pitiful, but I kept going. I screamed and screamed, each attempt scraping against my raw throat. I screamed until I thought I’d collapse again.

And when I had nothing left, I waited. In the stillness, I clung to the last fragile strand of hope I had left. My ears strained against the quiet until I finally heard it: footsteps. Heavy, deliberate, like Theralii’s. She’s alive. Relief washed over me for a fleeting moment—until I heard the voice. It wasn’t hers. This voice was different. Clear, strong, and commanding. It carried none of Theralii’s rasping edge. It was the voice of someone in charge—someone who could change everything. “So, you’re the one screaming, huh? What are you doing on my ship?” The man stood towering over me, and I tried to respond. My lips moved, mouthing the word trapped, but my voice refused to follow. I looked up at him, desperate, hoping beyond reason that he might save me. He reached for a canteen and handed it between the spaces in the wall. “Have some water.” I drank greedily, the cool liquid sliding down my parched throat. “Careful,” he warned, his tone patient but firm. “You’ll make yourself sick. Sip, don’t chug.” But it was too late. My stomach rebelled, heaving up the most precious resource I’d had in days. Panic surged. No, no, no—please, body, just drink. Don’t waste this. I forced myself to slow down, to sip in tiny gulps, willing the water to stay down as the man stood over me, watching.

Even in the dim light, he was larger than life. Wavy black hair fell just past his shoulders, and his dark brown skin was evidence of his time at sea, and muscles that had muscles. A jagged, freshly scabbed wound ran from his forehead, across his right eye, all the way to his chin. At his hip hung a sword so massive it looked as though it could cleave my cage in two. And judging by the way he carried himself, I wouldn’t doubt he could. “Can you tell me now what you’re doing here?” he asked again, his tone softer this time. I nodded and tried. At first, the words came out broken, disjointed fragments of thought that tumbled over one another. My mouth was dry, my mind scrambled, but I kept going. As I sipped the water and spoke, the story began to piece itself together. He crouched lower, eventually sitting cross-legged in front of my cage. Even seated, he was taller than me, taller than the cage itself.

I told him everything—how I’d ended up here, the moments I’d been awake, the cracks of time I remembered. I told him about Theralii, her grating voice, and her treatment. I told him about the endless dark and how I thought no one would ever find me. As my story unfolded, his expression hardened. His jaw clenched, and his dark eyes burned with anger. He stood abruptly, towering over the cage. For a moment, I thought he was going to walk away. But instead, he turned back, reached down, and in one swift motion, ripped the side of the cage clean off. The splintered wood groaned and fell away as he tossed it aside. “Can you walk?” he asked, his voice steady. I tried. I really tried. But my legs gave out the moment I put weight on them, sending me crumpling to the floor. The man knelt again, extending his hand. I flinched instinctively, but he didn’t move, waiting. His voice softened as he nodded, urging me forward. So I climbed into his hand. And we walked away from that cage.

Someone found me. I am not erased. Someday I'll find my family, I hope.