Chapter 04 - The path of vengence

As they followed the valley's downward path, Avia noted the narrow, untrampled trail was more indicative of animal use than human. The close-knit bushes and periodic deer droppings confirmed her suspicions, which she shared with Putt when he caught up to her, concerned they might be lost. "No, it just means we're unlikely to meet other people here," Avia explained, reassuring him. She considered using the droppings for a fire but decided against it, choosing instead to keep moving.
"Granny, what do you do? For a living?" Putt asked again, his voice carrying a mix of curiosity and a need for reassurance.
"I'm a warrior," Avia replied, sensing that her brief answer wasn't quite what Putt was looking for. She expanded, "Sometimes, people with money hire me to trace someone or bring a criminal to justice. Some need protection during their travels. Once, I was even hired to fight a supposed dragon."
"Fight a dragon?!" Putt's eyes widened in awe.
"Yes," Avia smiled, amused by his reaction. "The lord of a castle believed a dragon lived in his dungeons. He paid me well to tackle it. But when I went down there, it was just a vast, empty cellar. No dragon. If there ever were dragons, I doubt they'd hide in damp cellars."
Putt seemed slightly disappointed, perhaps at the anticlimax of the story more than anything else. Avia thought about the embellishments she had added when she recounted the tale to the lord, which had earned her a handsome reward. She decided against sharing that part of the story with Putt; such nuances of moral flexibility were too complex for his young mind.
"So, how did you get all your scars?" Putt asked, changing the topic as he eyed the healed lines marking her skin.
Avia pulled out her sword, handing it to him handle-first. "Feel the edge," she instructed.
Putt cautiously ran his thumb across the sharp blade, and a drop of blood appeared. He winced and quickly withdrew his hand.
"I'm a warrior, Putt. Warriors fight. Often with swords, sometimes with knives, axes, arrows, and spears. They're all sharp. That's why I have these scars," she explained, her tone mixing seriousness with a touch of pride. As Putt nursed his small wound, Avia continued, "Being a warrior is about more than just fighting. It's about knowing why you fight and what you fight for. It’s about strength, courage, and sometimes, about making tough choices."
The boy nodded, absorbing her words with a newfound respect. They continued their journey, the trail now leading towards a promising campsite as the sun closed upon the horizon. Avia felt a responsibility not just to protect Putt but also to prepare him for whatever path he might choose in the future, armed with knowledge and understanding, not just weapons.
Putt looked at the blood beading on his thumb, his expression a mix of fascination and apprehension. Avia, noticing his discomfort, quickly wrapped his small hand in a piece of cloth from her pack.
"Always respect the blade."
The trail continued to wind through the valley, and as they walked, Putt seemed deep in thought, perhaps mulling over the life his grandmother led—a life so vastly different from the one he had known in his short but tumultuous existence.
"Did it hurt?" he finally asked, his voice small, his eyes on the path ahead.
"Every time," Avia replied honestly. "But you learn to get past the pain. You learn to focus on surviving, on winning. Pain is temporary, but the lessons you learn from each battle stay with you."
Putt nodded, processing her words with a seriousness that was beyond his age. The conversation shifted subtly, the boy now more intrigued than scared.
"Have you ever lost?"
"Many times," Avia admitted. "Losing is part of fighting, as much as winning. Each loss taught me something important. Sometimes more than the victories."
"What did you learn?" Putt's interest grew as the path leveled out, and the dense vegetation gave way to a clearer area with a view of the valley below.
"To be smarter," Avia said, scanning the horizon. "To pick battles I can win or those worth fighting for. And to know when to walk away."
Putt seemed to ponder this, looking back at the path they had come down.
"Will we fight?"
"Not if we can help it," Avia answered, leading him towards a clearing where they could camp. "I fight so you don't have to. But I'll teach you how to defend yourself. Everyone should know that, especially in these times."
As they settled down in the clearing, Avia continued to share her experiences, weaving lessons into her tales. She spoke of distant lands, fierce battles, and the wisdom gleaned from both victories and defeats. Her stories were not just about the thrill of combat but about understanding the world and one's place within it.
Putt listened, rapt and silent, absorbing every word. His initial fear of the warrior life was slowly being replaced by an understanding of its depth—the honor, the necessity, and the heavy responsibility it carried.
As the sun set, casting long shadows over the valley, Avia felt a twinge of pride. Teaching Putt was not just about imparting survival skills; it was about preparing him for life's broader challenges, about helping him grow into someone who could face the world with strength and wisdom.


Midday the next day, they reached the bottom of the valley where a stream flowed, born from the melting snowfields and glaciers nestled on the shadowed sides of the mountain peaks. The water was ice-cold and refreshingly pure, running down to nurture the arable lands below before finally reaching the sea. It was days like these—submerged in the brisk embrace of nature—that Avia felt most connected to the world around her.
She shed her gear and clothes without hesitation and stepped into the stream, letting the cold water envelop her. Lying back, she closed her eyes, absorbing the serene sounds and the crisp touch of the water. Beside her, Putt seemed uneasy, his face flushed with embarrassment.
"Why don't you join in? It's refreshing," she called out to him, noticing his discomfort.
Putt fidgeted, his gaze fixed on his toes.
"I can turn my back if it makes you more comfortable," Avia offered.
She turned away to give him some privacy, deliberately not looking back to maintain the trust developing between them. After a moment of silence, she heard Putt speak up, his voice tinged with apprehension.
"Isn't there fish in the water? I don't want to get bitten."
"No, there’s no fish this far up," Avia reassured him. "Have you never taken a swim outdoors before?"
"No," came his timid reply.
Surprised, Avia pondered his response. In her younger days, she and Arica had often swum in the lakes near their home each summer. It struck her as odd that Arica hadn't continued this simple joy with Putt. She listened to Putt's cautious movements.
"Just get in and dip your whole body in the water. You'll feel fine. Trust me."
She heard the splash as Putt ventured in, his initial shock to the cold water quickly turning to delight.
"It's cold!" he exclaimed, followed by a playful splash.
Reflecting on her role as a mother and now as a grandmother, Avia felt a mix of doubt and determination. She had always been told she was a good parent, yet she often questioned her adequacy. She rarely judged other parents, knowing well the complexities of raising children. Still, she couldn't help but feel Arica had missed sharing something essential with Putt—the freeing experience of swimming in the wild.
Avia rose, walked passed Putt, and stepped out of the water.
Putt climbed out of the water, not asking for a towel but instead choosing to dry off in the warm sun, just as she did.
Avia glanced at him, standing with his back to her, a slight smile tugging at her lips. He was learning, observing the ways she interacted with the world. It pleased her to see him adapt, to take in new experiences and find comfort in them, even if they were as simple as drying off in the sun after a cold dip in a mountain stream. This, she thought, was part of what it meant to truly live—embracing the world and all its natural offerings without hesitation.


"If you need to get paid by rich people, why are you up here, where there are no people?" Putt asked as they continued down the valley along the stream. The persistent theme of money sparked a teaching moment.
"What would you do if you had a purse full of gold coins?" Avia asked him, challenging the boy's understanding of wealth.
"Buy food. Clothes. A house," Putt responded after a moment of thought.
"If you have no use for a house, can get your own food, and have no need for new clothes, then why do you need money?" Avia posed the question to make him think beyond conventional needs.
Putt fell silent, pondering the implications. Avia stopped and turned to face him, ensuring she had his full attention.
"Listen to me, Putt, this is the life I love and this the way I want it, with or without money. I risk my life when I earn money. What money I make, I spend to be able to live like this. And I see no reason to risk my life earning more money than I can spend. Do you understand?"
Putt nodded, his young face grave as he absorbed her words.
"My life is far from what you're used to, I know. Don't be afraid to ask questions, but be prepared that the answer may be different from what you expect. There's no right or wrong way to live a life, no right or wrong emotions. People are different, that's all. Some you'll like, some you won't, but those you don't like are never 'wrong' or 'incorrect,' they think differently from you." Avia waited a moment to ensure her message sank in before continuing down the path.
"So those men who killed mom and dad didn't do wrong?" Putt's voice cracked, his words laden with confusion and pain.
"Of course, you have the right to feel that they did wrong to you. That doesn't mean they believe they did something wrong. Sometimes different ways of thinking clash and cause destruction. It happens all the time. Always had. Probably always will. Either you can react by causing more damage, or you can try to understand and accept that we're different."
"I want to kill them!" Putt exclaimed, tears beginning to form.
Avia stopped again, facing him. She fought the urge to respond harshly, knowing he was just a child grappling with raw, painful emotions.
"Nothing can turn back time. Revenge only brings more death. Will you be happy when you see their children cry for their moms and dads that you just killed? What will you say when they come and kill you and hundreds of others, to avenge their dead loved ones?" Her voice softened after a tense moment, trying to guide him away from the path of hatred and vengeance. "Will you make them regret that they didn't kill you in the first place? Do you want them to slaughter the children as well, next time they make a raid?"
Holding back further outbursts, she turned and continued walking. She knew she had to give him space to think, to process the heavy truths she had laid before him.
Avia’s steps were firm, her mind racing with frustration and concern. Despite her tough exterior, she knew she would turn back for him if necessary. But for now, she needed him to follow, to learn from her, and to understand that revenge was not the path to peace or justice. As she marched forward, the weight of her responsibility as his guardian, teacher, and grandmother pressed heavily upon her, shaping the course of their journey together.