PRELUDE
Hhhh...
Hhhh...
Hhhhalf dreaming, half awake, she sees
A boy. She— No, she thinks. Not sees. She is.
She is the boy, like always. Dry twigs crunch.
His eyes are colorblind, and hers are not.
His heart beats in her ears. Hhhh...
Another true dream, shhhe can feel the pull,
The painful tug of each quick breath
He breathes. He’s... Hungry. He’s
Hunting. He runs. Tonight, hhhhe’s playing Hunter.
He grips his dagger tight, so as not to let it slip
Out of his sweaty, slick grip. He sprints.
Dry birches flit, until he comes upon the creek.
He stops, and....
Hhhh....
…listens for it.
Hhhh, shuka-shuka-shhhh!
A rustle in the brush. His eyes pursue it.
Nnnn! hisses the dagger, and (wincing) he goes after,
Into the bramble, shins singing when stung.
Not fast enough, the girl that dreams of hhhim
Hears him think. He gives a groan, to which
The dagger hisses, harmonizing with the chilly spring wind.
Hhhh! Nnnn!
“Too fast,” the boy grumbles to the dagger.
Nnnn! the red voice insists. But the boy
Checks out. His belly grumbles, and she hears him think,
Sssso, so so hungry, feet blistered.
The constant hissing in his head...
The spirit trapped within it losing patience...
But the dagger insists, and he obliges it,
And continues the hunt, into dry brush and dense brambles.
It glows. It glows.
The dagger glows, red as quenched revenged. Then,
Slip! He turned too fast, and even dry dirt can be slick.
Slow motion fall. He seems to hang suspended in the air,
Until the pain that was promised
Comes. He lands hard on big braided roots,
Falls hard. She feels the breath get (Hhh!) knocked out of him.
The angry dagger hisses (Hhh!) and—
“Fine!” the boy shouts, rubbing where it hurts.
Defeated now,
He lets (No, Nala thinks)
The spirit (Don’t)
In.
HhhhhhHHH!
He moves with new speed, so fast he gets lightheaded, and so does the dreamer. The world leans red. Each shadow seems to recoil away from red day’s touch. Within a
dozen hateful, hobbled breaths, he
(No, she thinks again)
he pins some furry
(Don’t do it)
howling creature
(Please)
and as the dagger flays the—
* * * * / * * * *
Nala’s eyes snapped open.
She lay there in the dark, safe on her back, in bed. Her heart was beating fast, but all around her, the day was peaceful.
Day, she thought. It had been day in her dream.
She shook it off and clenched her eyes shut. Just a dream, thought Nala. The last thing she had seen was the doomed creature’s eyes, and it had been…
Just a dream.
Nala was an orc, and just a kid. Last winter she’d turned eleven.
Nala had green skin, and bright yellow eyes with a slit in the middle, more like a cat’s eye than a snake’s. Her tusks were finally beginning to come in, which was more painful than she’d expected it to be; her gums were always sore.
But at least now, they were more like tusks. Before, they’d just been long, thin teeth. Like cat fangs— wimpy, at least in her case.
She listened to her heart thump as she looked at the ceiling. Nala’s black hair fanned out around her like tendrils of a dark halo, like bottomless shadows, keeping her safe from sun and suffering and daylight and bad dreams.
Hhhh…!
The warm wind nudged the curtains, rolling off of Mount Wraithwood. The heavy curtains billowed a little, just enough to let rays of light dance over the empty beds.
The sleeping hut was empty, but for her grandma’s small snoring. Only two of the nine beds were occupied while her family was away.
The hungry day pried at the edges of the cottage’s tall windows. But the meat of day’s harshness was held at bay by three huge curtains, old curtains, almost as old as she was.
Nala had always loved those curtains.
In the safety of the darkness, Nala half remembered, half made up a memory: of watching Mama and Gran embroider those curtains together, long ago, long ago…
They had spent three long evenings, embroidering each of the three tall curtains by hand. Nala had always wondered why they did things by hand when they could use magic.
The symbol was their family’s symbol: Sister Moons, one full and one empty, side by side but not touching.
For the full moon, they had used moonthread, which is colorless grey in the day but cycles through every color when it’s touched by the moon.
The empty moon was simply sewn in thread of darkest black, but even that was not as dark as Nala’s hair was. Nala’s hair was in fact so black that it seemed to drink all the light that tried to touch it.
Her heart was still racing.
Just a dream, Nala thought.
Mmmm, hummed the darkness.
Nala took a deep breath. She was safe. The curtains kept the sinking shadow, and the shadow kept them safe.
Hhhh, the wind kept hissing.
But it was distant now.
Mmmm…
Nala closed her eyes.
Just a dream…
and let herself get heavy…
Just a…
and hoped she wouldn’t…
…dream…
* * * * / * * * *
* * * * / * * * *
AUTHOR’S NOTE— Thank you so much for reading! Next chapter comes out on Monday. In the meantime, check out this Ocarina song I wrote (and performed) for my book…
Share this post