A New Season

The words left Kyle speechless. It wasn't until one of the council's assistant took him by the arm and tried to guide him out of the cabin—making him stepping over his spilled jam, his hard work spoiled—that Kyle found his voice. "You can't exile me! I didn't do anything wrong!" "I said it was already decided," Randy, Stan's father, interrupted him. "It was your fault. If you hadn't been gathering food in an insecure place, skipping all our protocols that ensure the safety of our tribe, you wouldn't have attracted the wolf and forced Stan to risk his life to save you." Kyle's eyes widened in shock. "That's not what happened." "Weren't you harvesting alone? Far away from the land approved by the leader of the gatherers?" "I-I—it's true I was gathering alone and far away—bu-but Stan's injuries weren't my fault!" he defended himself. "That's not what happened—" "So, are you calling my son a liar?" Randy looked at Kyle sternly. The other council members murmured, displeased with Kyle's perceived insolence. "Stan said that? That it was my fault?" Kyle couldn't help but ask, his outrage replaced by disbelief. "Everyone knows about your reckless behavior," said Randy, deliberately avoiding his question. "We allowed your—attitud because you weren't putting anyone else in danger. But you are a disgrace, a liability, a useless member of the tribe who has now become a risk. It is better for everyone if you leave." Each word felt like a dagger piercing Kyle's soul. He already knew that. He knew he was unappreciated, unwanted, and that the only reason anyone would care about his death would be to avoid the stench of his rotting corpse. Still, a thick lump formed in his throat. "Did Stan say it was my fault?" Kyle asked again, clinging to a hope of something he didn't even know what it was. "That is the account we were given," Randy stated coldly. "And we will never doubt the word of our elite over that of a troublemaker. Now, you are dismissed. We'll send someone tomorrow morning to escort you out of the tribe land." Kyle felt his whole body tremble as he was rushed out of the cabin, almost shoved to the ground if not because he maintained his balance. He looked at the people outside the cabin. All were looking at him. It was clear in their confused eyes that no one knew yet what had happened inside the cabin, but then, a whisper was heard by his right side and rapidly and in real time, Kyle saw how everyone found out about his exiling. Kyle's eyes stung with unshed tears. A hollow ache born in his chest before he sprinted off to his hut. Yesterday, he had seen the worry on Stan's face, the fear that his status would be ruined if everyone discovered he had broken the rules, been nearly killed by a wolf, and had to rely on a low-class omega like Kyle to survive. But then Stan had smiled at him. He had accepted Kyle's help and even said he deserved recognition. All of it, Kyle now realized, was a lie. To preserve his image and his appeal for the mating season, Stan had chosen to sacrifice him. Kyle was no one, he had no one. Blaming him was the easiest solution. When Kyle finally reached his hut and closed the door, he broke down, sobbing. The first time he dared to trust in years an he was betrayed. It was his own fault for believing, even for a moment, that he could have something good like a friend, kindness, or recognition. The cruelest irony was that he had always dreamed of leaving the tribe to travel the world. But not like this. Exiled, unprepared, he would surely die out there. Yet, he was so tired of being mistreated and unjustly judged. He dried his tears with the back of his hand and, then, glancing around the only home he had ever known, he decided to start packing immediately and leave as soon as he was ready. If he had to go, it would be because he decided, not dragged and tossed out by tribesmen who hated him for no excusable reason. He had stayed too long in this rotten place already. He gathered his important possessions by going through shelves, baskets, and hooks. His hands trembled as he reached for a small, clumsily carved wooden fox he made for his dad, as he grabbed the thick wool blanket his mother had woven for him before she died, and when he raised the collar of multiple shining stones his dad had given to his mom when he started courting her. Within minutes, his travel sac was overflowing with a pile of sentimental treasures and practical necessities. He tried to hoist it onto his back, and the weight of it nearly pulled him off balance. "This is stupid," he said, putting the bag on the ground and kneeling next to it. "I am going to die out there." He knew the wooden fox wouldn't ward off predators; the heavy blanket would be warm but it took more space than a simple fur coat; his grief would not fill his belly. It wasn't only leaving his home. He had to leave so many important things behind; he had not enough food to last until he eventually found another tribe, he had no real skills for hunting, and, worse yet, if he left now it would be dark sooner than what it would take him to find a refuge. To leave now was to sign his own death warrant. He would be found days later, frozen or mauled, a pathetic punchline to the tribe's story about the "cursed omega." But to stay, to swallow his pride and use the time they had so "graciously" given him, was humiliation. It meant risking that Stan or one of the others might see him in the morning, granting them the satisfaction of witnessing his defeat. He hated Stan, his heart was broken, and he hated the tribe for its blind, superstitious cruelty. He was again, about to start crying, asking himself why life had to be so cruel towards him when he heard rapid knocking on his door. "Kyle! Kyle! Are you there?" It was the hurried and worried voice of Karen. He wiped his face again and opened the door. Karen stood there, her face pale with concern, a package of wrapped meat held tightly in her hands. Her wide eyes, scanned his face, taking in the redness around his eyes and the tension in his jaw. "I just heard," she said, her voice barely a whisper as she stepped inside. "They can't be serious. Exile? Kyle, this is insane. I'll go to the council. I'll tell them you would never have put Stan in danger on purpose. You're the most careful person I know, rules or no rules. We can appeal this!" Her faith in the system was both touching and agonizingly naive. "There's no use, Karen," Kyle said, his voice hollow. He gestured vaguely toward the center of the village. "They have their story, and it's more convenient than the truth." Her gaze then dropped to the floor, to Kyle's bag and then to the walls, shelves and tables devoid of Kyle's most important possesions. Her expression shifted from hope to disappointment. "So that's it?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Their lies win again and you are leaving too." Kyle knew Karen was thinking about her own situation, how his brother and his family also fled from the tribe; they weren't exiled but they might as well have been. "It's okay," he said, worried Karen may lose herself in another depressive episode triggered by Kyle's situation. It could be said that it was unjust for him to need to comfort someone when he should have been the one comforted, but at least trying to calm Karen would help him. "I should have left a long time ago." The words hung in the air. He wasn't running, he was finally acknowledging his truth. "Then let me help you," Karen pleaded, her voice firming. She grabbed his hands, her grip surprisingly strong. "Don't leave yet. Not like this, unprepared. Let me get you more meat, some proper supplies. Please, Kyle. Not yet." Her desperation cooled the last of his impulsive anger. He saw the fear of losing him in her eyes, just as she had lost all her babies, her husband and her alleged friends. "I wanted to," he admitted, the confession tasting like ash. "I wanted to walk out right now and not give them the satisfaction of kicking me. But—" He gestured to the window, where the afternoon light was already beginning to soften. "If I left now, dark would fall before I could find proper shelter. I'll leave at first light. Watching me walk away will be the very last satisfaction they get from me." "No!" said Karen. "Don't give them any, you can leave tonight, in secret. But not blindly." She stepped closer, her words coming in a rushed, hopeful whisper. "Kevin found a place before leaving. A small cave system in the northern ridge, just beyond the old riverbed. It's on the tribe's land, but no one goes there. It's where he and his family stayed for the first week, to get their bearings before moving on for good. Kenny and I sometimes go there. We keep it stocked with a little firewood, some dried herbs. We keep it livable." The offer was a lifeline, more valuable than any weapon or sack of food. It was a bridge between his pride and his survival. "You could stay there for a few days," she urged. "Rest. Plan your real route. Gather your strength without the tribe watching you, without the pressure of the first night. Then you can leave prepared. And you can go far, far away from this ungrateful village and be happy." For the first time since the council's verdict, a genuine hope flickered in Kyle's chest because Karen words meant that he wouldn't be a victim of the exile, the exile would be his starting line. The air in the infirmary hut was thick with the scent of resin and bitter herbs. Stan was still in physical pain but anxiety was also gnawing at him, and all his thoughts were now about Kyle. He had sent Butters hours ago. All he needed was a simple confirmation that Kyle was unharmed. The tribe wasn't even that big, he couldn't help but wonder what was taking the blonde omega this long. When Butters had finally returned, Stan almost screamed at him. "How is he? Why did it take you so long to get back?" "Kyle's fine, Stan. He was just a bit occupied, but not a scratch on him." "Occupied? Was he planning on leaving to go gathering today too? Did you tell him he needs to rest?" Stan was obviously worried, and now he didn't care if Butters saw it. Butters smiled a bit. "Kyle has a temper, I wouldn't dream of telling him what he could or couldn't do. He's always been a hard worker, but no, I don't think he was planning on going gathering today," he added to calm Stan down. "He was cooking and trading jam. Saw him giving some to—Kenny. You don't need to worry." Once relief came, however, Stan 's mood quickly curdled into the agony of anticipation. Now that he knew Kyle was physically well, he expected him to visit. Surely, he would come. They had been through something together. Kyle had been incredible. He’d helped Stan. He had smiled at him. His beautiful eyes shone while looking at him. He waited and his heart leaped at the sound of steps that might be Kyle's, but were only from the Lead Healer. The stern omega woman checked his bandages, pressed a cool hand to his forehead, and forced a concoction of relaxants, anti-inflammatories, and antibiotics down his throat. "Rest, Stanley," she commanded, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Your body needs to heal." The medicine was potent and, as he drifted into a forced slumber, his last conscious thought was of Kyle's face. He did not hear the murmurs that spread through the tribe like a poison. He did not hear the council's decree. He did not see Kyle, face streaked with tears of betrayal, packing his life into a single bag. He slept through the afternoon light as it faded into a violet dusk, and through the long, tense night while Kyle left his hut with the intention of never coming back. Stan didn't wake up until the next day, with the arrival of his friends from the hunter’s lodge, their faces split with grins. “There he is!” Clyde announced, clapping a gentle hand on Stan’s good shoulder. “The wolf-slayer himself! We are finally allowed to visit you.” “Here I am,” answered Stan, still groggy. “So modest,” said Eric, his voice annoyed. “Your dad has been telling everyone how you fought the wolf off. That you’ve earned a precious pelt, like no one had ever killed a stupid wolf ever—” "You’re lucky it happened right before the mating gathering, too! Nothing boosts your appeal like a show of strength like that. The omegas will be throwing themselves at you,” interrupted Clyde again, with enthusiasm. A hot flush crept up Stan’s neck. His mind instantly conjured an image of Kyle, not throwing himself, but maybe just looking at him with something new in his eyes like respect or admiration. The thought made his cheeks burn, and he looked down at his blankets to hide his expression. It was then that Craig let out an exaggerated yawn, slumping onto a stool beside the cot. “Yeah, lucky for you, we’re the ones paying for it. Because you were laid up here, the Captain sent a patrol to sweep the East to make sure there wasn’t a whole pack moving in. Me and the others had to pull double watch shifts all night. I’m only getting to my bed now.” Stan was about to offer an apology when Clyde waved a dismissive hand, his tone shifting from happy to genuinely annoyed. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault. It’s that Kyle,” Clyde said, the name dripping with contempt. “Everyone knows he’s reckless. If he hadn’t been out there luring predators with his stupid, rule-breaking harvesting, none of this would have happened. You wouldn’t be all chewed up, and we’d have had a full night’s sleep. It’s a relief the council finally did something about him.” “What?” Stan’s voice was a dry croak. “What are you talking about? What did the council do? What happened to Kyle?” The smiles on his friends’ faces faltered, replaced by a mixture of confusion. Craig was the one who spoke, his voice calm. “They exiled him. He was supposed to leave today in the morning but it seems he left sometime in the night, his hut was empty when they were looking for him.” "But-but why?" Stan asked immediately. "Why?" Eric cocked an eyebrow. "Because he lured a wolf into the tribe, the wolf that you killed." "That's not what happened. Who told you that?" "It was you who told about what happened to the hunters that found you and to the healer, don't you remember? Has the infection gotten into your head?" Stan felt like he couldn't breath, but he didn't care about it, not even about the pain that born in his leg when he stood up. "I don't think you should be standing up," Clyde said looking at his friends to back him up on his assement, but Stan payed no mind to him, he was already through the hut's doorway, his vision tunneled on the path to his family's home. He burst through the door, the wood slamming against the wall. His father was sitting by the hearth, looking over a map with a satisfied expression that shattered the moment he saw his son. "Stanley! What in the—" "You exiled Kyle?" Stan's voice was raw, cracking with the strain of his pain and disbelief. "Why are you telling everyone it was his fault? I never said that!" Randy's face shifted from surprise to defensive exasperation. He stood up, squaring his shoulders. "Of course it was his fault! Who else's would it be? If that reckless omega hadn't been out where he shouldn't have been, you wouldn't have gotten hurt! It was obvious!" "IT WASN'T OBVIOUS!" Stan roared, his fists clenched at his sides. "I was tracing a deer! I didn't saw the wolf, it attacked me. It was stalking ME. I lured the wolf to Kyle's position and put him in danger. Kyle helped me! He saved me and then treated my injuries!" Randy waved a dismissive hand. "Stop this insanity right now, Stanley. Do you have any idea what it would look like if I let my own son be portrayed as some—some helpless fool who got himself mauled and had to be saved by the cursed omega? Right before the mating gathering? It would stain our reputation! It would make you look weak, reckless, and useless!" Stan stared at his father, seeing a stranger. "I don't care, I don't care about any of that." He turned, his mind made up. He had to find Kyle. He had to fix this. He took a lurching step toward the door. "Stanley, no!" His mother, Sharon followed by her brother, emerged from the back room, her face etched with worry. She moved quickly, placing herself between him and the exit, her hands gently but firmly on his chest. "Look at you! You can barely stand. You're bleeding through your bandages." "I have to find him," Stan insisted, trying to push past her weakly. "Stan, listen to me," she said, her voice firm but laced with compassion. "Even if you were healthy, where would you go? If he's alive by this hour, he's far, far away. And if you even knew what direction he went, do you think you could catch him? A wounded man on a trail that's already gone cold? You'd just get yourself killed out there, for nothing." Her words were a bucket of ice water. True, the forest was vast and merciless. Kyle had a full night's head start. Stan was crippled. All his hopes vanished. Kyle was gone, and it was his family's fault. And there was nothing he could do. He was about to give up when he suddenly remembered the sparkle in Kyle's eyes when he had told him, "Thanks." Kyle had looked at him as if it had been ages since he'd heard that word. Now, Kyle was out there, alone, believing Stan had betrayed him. He shook his head, a new determination solidifying within him. "I don't care. I have to try." "Stan!" His mom tried to stop him again, but with a soft yet firm movement, he pushed her aside. However, as he tried to sprint for the door, a strong arm trapped his own, immobilizing him. "Boy, you need to calm down," said his uncle, the one now subduing him. "You'll hurt yourself, attract predators with the scent of your blood, and you will certainly not find Kyle." "You need to go to your room. Now," his father commanded, stepping in front of him. With his brother-in-law's help, the two men dragged a struggling Stan to his room and tossed him onto his bed. "You can't tell me what to do!" Stan argued, glaring at his dad and his uncle. He was younger than them, obviously, but he was not a kid. "Oh, I definitely can," his father retorted. "Now, rest, and don't be a brat. If I have to knock you out to keep you here, I will." With that, his father slammed the door shut. Randy was confident Stan couldn't escape; their hut, being that of a council member, was built with wide logs, sturdy branches, and the strongest clay in the area. If Stan wanted to escape, he would have to go through the door, and his father and uncle would be there to stop him. Stan had no chance against them in his current state. Maybe if he wasn't injured. In his room, Stan cursed but then scoffed. His father bragged about being in control of the tribe, but he was a fool. He had no idea that Stan had carved a secret hole to escape his room when he was younger. He hadn't used it in years, and it was probably pretty tight given how much he'd grown since the last time he used it, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Stan had to bite his lip to keep from crying out in pain as he put all his weight on his injured arm to crawl toward the hole. But he ended up smiling triumphantly when he finally squeezed through and was outside his house. He would find Kyle first, then deal with his father; and if his father refused to admit he had lied and made a mistake to the rest of the council, Stan would figure out what to do when the time came.