# Death of a Hero

Author: QimmiQ
Tags: Death, Fox, Short Story

My first story on here.. I hope you all like it; feel free to comment/ review it.

There might me grammatical errors; could you please tell me about it? I'll fix it as soon as I can.

 

 

Death of a Hero

I know this is the end for me. Two arrows through my chest, and the  
bubbling in my breath is the truth of that. I was ambushed along with  
my group. The ambushers were detained, after killing one of the patrol guards;  
and leaving me fatally wounded. They have yet to find me.  
My friends and family will not have known I have died, until weeks  
later. They know my will. I written had it long ago, the day I signed  
up to this job.  
My white fur is covered in blood. The sword next to me; but too far. My  
body in a crumpled position, facing the world. I am to die, at least  
facing the world.  
There are secrets that I have kept; stolen bread, missing keys. All  
childhood adventures, each unfounded for. Nothing out of the ordinary.  
I want to tell each and every one of them. Useless information,  
personal information; what's the difference? I am going to die; at  
least I'll be more than just a gravestone to someone. Sometimes I  
think the useless facts are more important than personal stories. The  
weather has so much more then, what you did as a child. The weather  
changes crops; grows or destroys. Childhood memories are things people  
see with a golden glow, but gets forgotten in the end. Forgotten  
versus the memorable.  
I'm a member of a family of five; mother, father, kid brother, sister,  
and myself. My parents just moved from another land; there was a war,  
or something. I wasn't born then; just my  
Parents and my sister.  
I was born after the Shadows fell from the heavens. I was born as a  
fox and a man. I can stand on two legs just like any other man. My  
body is just like any normal person. But I have a fox's tail, ears,  
muzzle, and the senses and spirit of one as well.  
My sister was born before me, so she was not changed; she was five  
years old when it happened. My kid brother is five years old. He is  
always so curious about me. He loves trying to catch my tail when I  
flick it around. My parents were reluctant when I was first born, said  
"it" was different. Thankfully they still cared for me. My sister was  
the one to thank; she stood up for me. If she hadn't disagreed so  
passionately, I would not be around. I was not even considered their  
child! As I grew up, I helped around. I had talents no one else in my  
family had. I had sharper senses then they had, my hunting instincts  
were superb, and I was very agile.  
Childhood was very busy. I had many chores; usually to help provide  
food. I had a few friends, a few were like me. Odd combinations of  
animals. I spent the free time I had either reading or exploring. I  
was one of the people who could read; and very quickly I might add.  
I grew up out of childhood quite quickly for my age. I was taller than  
ordinary children for quite a bit. But I was shorter than most of the  
other kids like me; the ones like animals however. I hung out with  
lots of people; I wasn't disliked by anyone. Accepted and  
acknowledged at least. I was polite, caring, understanding, and was  
able to say the right things at the right time. Body language was  
something I excelled at; maybe my keen senses were the cause.  
As I grew childhood lost its glow. The world seemed more serious. The  
town was steeped in prejudice, hate, and lies. I heard rumours,  
gossip, and tales of people. Even if I didn't want it; my hearing was  
sharp. A blessing and curse.  
A few friends drifted away. Some had to move, others just sort of grew  
distant. I still had deep connections, just not as strong.  
Reading was the link to sanity for me. On the days where the weather  
was to bad to go outside, when there were no chores to do, or when no  
friends were around for some reason. Page after page was an escape  
from my problems. The endings happening to soon for me; breaking my  
heart. What about the problems that was sure to happen next? Slowly  
but surely I read through my shelf of books. I finally finished my  
last book on the shelf; it was about a journey throughout the world to  
find someone to save it.  
Boredom filled me. Things didn't really change here; friends, family,  
town, or anything really. Then I found my output: writing. I wrote  
stories, not very good or clear at first. Then it began to get better.  
Soon I was writing all through my free time. My writing jagged, quick,  
but eligible enough. I finally written something decent, my friend  
Rose loved it. I gave it to her; she still has it in a shelf somewhere.  
Oh gods, Rose! I will never see her again! What about my family and  
friends? I'd have disappeared from them! What will they feel like when  
they know when I'm gone? I moved my battered and bruised hand to my  
hip pouch to retrieve my only link from home; a dried rose. It is an  
obvious reminder to my friend, Rose. Thankfully it didn't crumble, but  
it is wearing down. Not surprising as my job is border patrol around  
the lake to my hometown.  
Tears welled up; I have to send them a sign. I had enough strength for  
a few more precious minutes. I laid the rose besides me; on top of my  
sword. I struggled to pull out a sheaf of paper. My pen was in my  
breast pocket. I had no ink, no problem considering how much blood  
covered me. I am left handed, I grew up doing that. I was forced to  
write with my right hand, but I never learned. Plus I was too stubborn  
to do so.  
I removed both arrows with a grunt of pain. Blood trickling out in the  
wounds. My hand trembling as I dipped in a wound; searing pain through  
my body. The pen absorbing the blood, now I could write. The sheaf of  
paper blew away in a sudden breeze. Growling over the loss of my  
only piece of paper left.  
What caused the breeze? It was a windless night, not even a breeze.  
Until now there was nothing. Was the weather finally changing? I heard  
footsteps; I turned my head to the sound, people? It turned out to be  
the patrol leader, Tom. "Oh. There you are-" he was about to finish, I  
cut him off. "Please help me. I'm dying look." I rasped, pointing at  
the arrows. "Damn! Poisoned arrows are the worst." he exclaimed,  
swearing afterwards. "There isn't much time!" I was about to say, then  
a hacking cough tore through my throat. Blood came out. "Please tell  
my family the news, my friends as well. Tell them I died here.  
Please. That's all I want." I implored; my dark brown eyes wide  
and expectant. "Yes I'll tell them that." he said, he regained his  
composure. We are drilled, tested, and taught never to let emotions  
take over you. "Thank you." I said a slight grin on my muzzle. "You  
did well. Without you all we'd had been ambushed and assassinated. The  
medal of bravery shall be laid on your grave stone." he said. "Thank  
you. Tell them I love them, and thank them for being..." I trailed  
off, weariness taking hold of me. "I'll stay for the last moments." he  
said, as he lifted my head to his crouching form.  
We stayed silent. My body heavy and broken. I felt myself slowing  
down. My time is near; finally rest for me. Eyelids heavy, they  
closed. I heard the wind.  
I fell asleep, listening to the breeze.

Source: https://sofurry.com/s/pnG4POw1