Help! Each grain seemed to cry fervently. I need water! Brown, charred leaves fluttered around, circling nothing but dry air. Or so it seemed.
Mens' voices interrupted the eerie peace, as a young girl weaved nimbly between the trees. Brown cloth covered her, and she held a bow and arrow. Out of breath, she leaned against the trunk of one tree, and glanced untrustingly in the direction she came from.
The girl felt the tug of the breeze calling for her to play with it. “Oh, hold on,” she whispered. “Let them men get off my trail first. Who do they think they are, saying who can live in the forest and who can't!” she muttered to herself. She smiled as the leaves seemed to murmur in agreement. They frolicked in a circle around her, but fell to the ground immediately as a man's voice was heard. They didn't want their friend to get caught.
“Where is she?” a rough voice sounded impatiently.
“I believe she went this way,” the other replied. Both spoke in fluent CommonTounge.
“Well, where is she?” the first demanded, quite rudely, in the girl's opinion. Feeling they were coming closer, she pressed harder into the tree and held her breath.
“Oh, leave it. She can't run forever. I'm sure we'll find her soon enough.”
The other man seemed reluctant. “Alright,” he growled finally. “But by the end of this week, at the most.”
As the two slowly left, the girl cautiously let her breath out. Relaxing, she stepped out confidently in the part of the woods she knew so well.
Will you water us? Everything surrounding her seemed to ask. She whispered, “Of course, just let me get it.” The girl quickly ran over to the stream that ran nearby. It barely trickled, most of the water had dried up.
As she remembered the dreadful night merely a few weeks ago, she scooped water out into a large bucket she'd found the other day. Since the big fire, she'd been caring for the parched plants lusting for liquid. The flames had devoured almost everything, instead of killing, they left the forest in chaos. Fortunately, it only spread in a small area before big men wearing yellow and black somehow put it out.
The men who had been looking for her. She knew why they wanted her. A few years ago, she was living a noble's life, proud and wealthy in her parent's mansion. Some thieves on the street had broken into their place and began collecting jewels in their pockets. When her parents had tried to stop them, they drew knives and killed them.
Her name was Flora then. Too dainty. More adjusted to living in the wild, she changed it to Fawn. Fawndria. She kept her surname though, Niforem.
Fawn shook her head and hurried on to sprinkling the ground with water. She knew she couldn't do much now, but she could help at least a few trees. It matters to the ones she saves.
A leaf landed on her head. Slowly Fawn reached up and picked it off. Curiosity prickled on her skin as she studied the pattern. It looked unlike any leaf she'd seen before. In it, two veins seemed to snake across from each side and mingle with each other in the center. Then, one of the veins seemed to stop suddenly while the other continued happily along.
A rustle in the bushes startled her out of her investigation. She nimbly leaped behind one of the trees. A deer, she realized as a figure seemed to dart around the the clearing. Fawn stealthily crept closer, and drew her bow and arrow. Closing one eye to aim it perfectly, she let it snap and send the arrow flying.
A few seconds later, the deer crumpled down to the ground. Fawn rushed over to it, examining its dead body. "I'm sorry," she whispered. Then, pulling out a knife, she began to carve a piece out to eat.
Fawn was frolicking in the woods carelessly as the sunlight began to dim. She knew no one else who lived here, but she didn't want to. This was her place now. If anyone showed up, she would drive him or her way for sure. She didn't want any intruders.
Finally tired out from the day, she slowly made her way back to the den she had constructed. It lid on the ground, with many sticks resting against a tree. Space resided inside it, and it was larger than it looked. But it was cozy, all the same.
Her bed held many bird feathers, to make it soft and bearable. After living in luxury for eleven years of her life, she hadn't been able to completely adjust to the forest life. Though she wished she could. But there's a limit. There always is.
Not hungry, she simply laid down and pulled the animal skin over herself. Closing her eyes, she drifted peacefully off to sleep.
Flora slowly sipped her drink as her parents spoke quietly in the other room. Small candles dimly lit the room, one illuminating her face in the shadowy corner. Her parents, the High Niforem and his wife, spoke in hushed whispers, probably about financial issues, Flora decided. Whenever she asked what that was exactly, they always said that she was too young to understand. At eleven, Flora couldn't help but to think defiantly about how she is old enough.
Flora sighed as she stood up ad pushed the chair in the table. Hiding against the wall outside of the room her parents were in, she listened carefully.
"The golden one!" her mother whispered. "But really, what if that is her!"
"We must make sure no harm comes to her then. We must find this other golden one and destroy it." Her father replied hesitantly, as if he wasn't sure if it would work.
When all Flora could hear was them talking about some golden rubbish, she stood up straight and walked past the room, holding her empty cup. "Goodnight, Mother. Father," she said quietly as she made her way to her room, leaving the cup on a counter.
Decorated much more to her liking, Flora preferred her room over any other in her home. A few pots of plants bordered around her room, and paintings of trees and forests hung on the walls. Otherwise lavish decorations approved by her parents lived there.
A cry of shattering glass woke Flora from the delicate braid she was weaving, as she was getting ready to sleep.
Quietly, she ran downstairs. Peering into the room where she heard the crash, she saw her father standing on one side and her mother on the other. The reason why was obvious. A group of boys stood in the center, each carrying a small sack filled with what looked surely like her jewelry. A few of the boys fished out knives from their pockets.
Realizing a fight was going to break out, Flora restricted a gasp from escaping her mouth. Silence held the mansion for a moment. She saw her father's stare fix on one boy in particular, the one standing closest to him. Then he grabbed the boy and throw him to the ground. It was hard to ignore the crack she heard coming from him.
Overwhelmed, Flora fled from the room and went into one close by, but from where she couldn't see the fighting. She waited out the gasps and choked voices of the street boys being punished for their attempt to break into her house. No pity mixed with her hatred, only disdain.
A strangled gasp woke Flora from her thoughts. She ran back to the room she had been watching from and saw her father being stabbed by one of the boys. Her mother crumpled to the ground as another boy stood by her. The rest of the boys were strewn across the ground, not breathing. The one her father had first attacked lay next to where he was now falling to the ground. His chest was the only one that faintly rose and fell.
The two remaining boys spoke to each other. "What should we do with 'im?" the skinnier one asked, signaling to the one who lay by her father.
"'Dunno, Ash. 'is brother is dead."
"Well he wouldn't be too happy if we di'nt keep 'im safe. I say we take 'im, Bristle."
The one named Ash looked to be about seventeen, probably about four years older that the boy who lay unconscious. Neither of their language was spoken very well.
Then she saw the one named Bristle glare directly at her. "She's still here," he told Ash.
Ash followed his gaze, then exchanged a glance with Bristle for less than a second. Then Flora found herself pressed against the wall, a knife at her throat, and a thief named Ash threatening her. "You going to tell anyone about this?" he asked.
At only eleven, Flora didn't know how to respond and ended up shrugging.
"Well, don't. Else you're gonna regret it."
Ash stalked over to the boy and picked him up tentatively, as if he didn't want to hurt him further. He was right doing so. As he was lifted off the floor, Flora saw a large pool of blood already under him.
"Remember." Ash gave her one final warning before walking out with Bristle.
Fawn woke up with a gasp. Why had her dreams brought her back to the one moment she had come to forget about for two years? She didn't care about her old mansion or those boys anymore. She still hated them, but they were of the past. Now was now. Why had her dreams brought her back to the past?
A wave of regret washed over her, as much as she attempted in vain to control it. She had trained herself to forget whatever she didn't like, and relish the pleasures she gained. Fear began to creep into her mind, for whatever reason.
Then she heard the voice.
Fawn shook her head and hurried on to sprinkling the ground with water. She knew she couldn't do much now, but she could help at least a few trees. It matters to the ones she saves.
A leaf landed on her head. Slowly Fawn reached up and picked it off. Curiosity prickled on her skin as she studied the pattern. It looked unlike any leaf she'd seen before. In it, two veins seemed to snake across from each side and mingle with each other in the center. Then, one of the veins seemed to stop suddenly while the other continued happily along.
A rustle in the bushes startled her out of her investigation. She nimbly leaped behind one of the trees. A deer, she realized as a figure seemed to dart around the the clearing. Fawn stealthily crept closer, and drew her bow and arrow. Closing one eye to aim it perfectly, she let it snap and send the arrow flying.
A few seconds later, the deer crumpled down to the ground. Fawn rushed over to it, examining its dead body. "I'm sorry," she whispered. Then, pulling out a knife, she began to carve a piece out to eat.
Fawn was frolicking in the woods carelessly as the sunlight began to dim. She knew no one else who lived here, but she didn't want to. This was her place now. If anyone showed up, she would drive him or her way for sure. She didn't want any intruders.
Finally tired out from the day, she slowly made her way back to the den she had constructed. It lid on the ground, with many sticks resting against a tree. Space resided inside it, and it was larger than it looked. But it was cozy, all the same.
Her bed held many bird feathers, to make it soft and bearable. After living in luxury for eleven years of her life, she hadn't been able to completely adjust to the forest life. Though she wished she could. But there's a limit. There always is.
Not hungry, she simply laid down and pulled the animal skin over herself. Closing her eyes, she drifted peacefully off to sleep.
Flora slowly sipped her drink as her parents spoke quietly in the other room. Small candles dimly lit the room, one illuminating her face in the shadowy corner. Her parents, the High Niforem and his wife, spoke in hushed whispers, probably about financial issues, Flora decided. Whenever she asked what that was exactly, they always said that she was too young to understand. At eleven, Flora couldn't help but to think defiantly about how she is old enough.
Flora sighed as she stood up ad pushed the chair in the table. Hiding against the wall outside of the room her parents were in, she listened carefully.
"The golden one!" her mother whispered. "But really, what if that is her!"
"We must make sure no harm comes to her then. We must find this other golden one and destroy it." Her father replied hesitantly, as if he wasn't sure if it would work.
When all Flora could hear was them talking about some golden rubbish, she stood up straight and walked past the room, holding her empty cup. "Goodnight, Mother. Father," she said quietly as she made her way to her room, leaving the cup on a counter.
Decorated much more to her liking, Flora preferred her room over any other in her home. A few pots of plants bordered around her room, and paintings of trees and forests hung on the walls. Otherwise lavish decorations approved by her parents lived there.
A cry of shattering glass woke Flora from the delicate braid she was weaving, as she was getting ready to sleep.
Quietly, she ran downstairs. Peering into the room where she heard the crash, she saw her father standing on one side and her mother on the other. The reason why was obvious. A group of boys stood in the center, each carrying a small sack filled with what looked surely like her jewelry. A few of the boys fished out knives from their pockets.
Realizing a fight was going to break out, Flora restricted a gasp from escaping her mouth. Silence held the mansion for a moment. She saw her father's stare fix on one boy in particular, the one standing closest to him. Then he grabbed the boy and throw him to the ground. It was hard to ignore the crack she heard coming from him.
Overwhelmed, Flora fled from the room and went into one close by, but from where she couldn't see the fighting. She waited out the gasps and choked voices of the street boys being punished for their attempt to break into her house. No pity mixed with her hatred, only disdain.
A strangled gasp woke Flora from her thoughts. She ran back to the room she had been watching from and saw her father being stabbed by one of the boys. Her mother crumpled to the ground as another boy stood by her. The rest of the boys were strewn across the ground, not breathing. The one her father had first attacked lay next to where he was now falling to the ground. His chest was the only one that faintly rose and fell.
The two remaining boys spoke to each other. "What should we do with 'im?" the skinnier one asked, signaling to the one who lay by her father.
"'Dunno, Ash. 'is brother is dead."
"Well he wouldn't be too happy if we di'nt keep 'im safe. I say we take 'im, Bristle."
The one named Ash looked to be about seventeen, probably about four years older that the boy who lay unconscious. Neither of their language was spoken very well.
Then she saw the one named Bristle glare directly at her. "She's still here," he told Ash.
Ash followed his gaze, then exchanged a glance with Bristle for less than a second. Then Flora found herself pressed against the wall, a knife at her throat, and a thief named Ash threatening her. "You going to tell anyone about this?" he asked.
At only eleven, Flora didn't know how to respond and ended up shrugging.
"Well, don't. Else you're gonna regret it."
Ash stalked over to the boy and picked him up tentatively, as if he didn't want to hurt him further. He was right doing so. As he was lifted off the floor, Flora saw a large pool of blood already under him.
"Remember." Ash gave her one final warning before walking out with Bristle.
Fawn woke up with a gasp. Why had her dreams brought her back to the one moment she had come to forget about for two years? She didn't care about her old mansion or those boys anymore. She still hated them, but they were of the past. Now was now. Why had her dreams brought her back to the past?
A wave of regret washed over her, as much as she attempted in vain to control it. She had trained herself to forget whatever she didn't like, and relish the pleasures she gained. Fear began to creep into her mind, for whatever reason.
Then she heard the voice.
Under the blazing sun and the roar of fire
Entwined by fear and afraid by love
The strength in the trunk of trees and the hesitance from betrayal
Will meet
The once powerful gem will succumb to the mercy of clay
And betrayal is at hand for the one who fears
It was a man's voice, although he sounded old, and his voice cracked as if he had been terribly injured. It was hardly a whisper in her mind, and easy to brush off as a hallucination. But she didn't. Fawn shivered as the prophecy repeated itself over and over in her mind.
Then she stopped. She couldn't let some insane thought overrule her life. Immediately, everything seemed back to normal. After a moment, Fawn slid under onto her back and drifted off to sleep.
"Fawn?"
Fawn looked around wildly, trying in vain to find the voice. When all she saw was red mist, she realized she was still dreaming.
"Fawn."
The voice sounded more authoritative now, and she swallowed her fear and asked, "Who is it?"
"Hello, Fawn. You do not need to know who I am just yet." It was a woman's voice, now that she was talking longer sentences. "But I assume you've heard the prophecy?"
Fawn didn't respond. She didn't need to.
"You're a bright young girl. I hope you've connected the golden ones as being a part of it."
"What?"
"As part of the prophecy."
"Oh."
Silence.
"Well, Fawn. I'll talk to you more, and soon enough, you will meet me. You live in the Forest of Ismuraa, right?"
"Er, yes. How did you-"
"Never mind that. Farewell, Fawn."
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