Avarice Blacksteel

Gulag

It had been a restless nerve wracked night spent on the periphery with the slaves. Aran felt chilled so distant from the fire, but he dared not approach, instead huddling in his huge cape, in stunned disbelief this was happening to him. The warriors spoke in hushed tones forgoing sleep, there would be time for that later.

At intervals Sven shot his brother looks of concern, he appeared to be speaking to Bennett with great urgency. This caused Aran, usually fearless, to feel sick inside. Maya huddled close to her man, she too sensing his doubt. His fall from grace would mean hardship for her as well.

The warriors were passing sentence on one of their own. This was something not often done, and was debated with much seriousness by all, even Todd, his face ashen with loss of blood had been brought close to the roaring fire. The wounded warrior propped up against a stack of hides that he might listen and comment on the ideas being passed about on Aran’s sentence.

Seemingly incapacitated as he was Todd still had much to say on the matter, glaring across at the object of his displeasure at intervals as he voiced his piece to his leader; who sat immobile and impassive listening to all the arguments, his large hand absently rubbing his strong jaw line or straying at intervals to the warm flesh of his slave at his feet.

Todd was not alone in his opinions, it seemed every man there had plenty to contribute, and by what Aran could make out the majority of the argument was not in his favor.

The slightest alteration in the light signified dawn. Raissa was up preparing food, Maya leaving Aran's side, going the help her as did Lucy and Lissa. The other two women now rarely left the bed they shared, they had become so weak with sickness. Most there seemed not to notice their absence from the slave community.

Aran may have been disgraced amongst his peers, but Maya still brought him his meal as though he were a king and nothing had fundamentally changed. He gazed at the food, but the young warrior had little stomach for it, setting it aside, even the wine this day had no appeal.

Sven stood, hefting another great beam on to the fire, the solid aged hardwood burned hotly once it finally caught, giving off intense heat and popping sparks. The women dutifully and silently cleared the remains of the morning meal, refilling the cups.

Aran blanched as his brother left the fire to come towards him, knowing without being told a verdict had at last been reached. Sven giving him no hint of what was to come except a sorry glance. Aran released his body from Maya's embrace firmly pushing her back as he rose, taking a few moments to compose himself, adjusting his weapons belt and cape, and followed behind Sven to the fire and his awaiting sentence.

Aran stood in the vacant space by the fire, all eyes on him accusing, serious, sensing no mercy there. Bennett did not bid him to sit, but left him standing, awkward and unsure being appraised by all. The young man's mind rummaging through the terrible list of possibilities. Images of his impending fate playing over and over in snippets in his head. All terrible, adding to his sense of fear.

Aran was brave, often the first to run headlong into possible death. He had seen much, and lived through more. However today he felt uncharacteristic fear. This was somehow more terrible, these were his people, and his life. Being judged by them and found wanting left a sour taste. He had always contributed, he had always accepted the most difficult challenges and taken punishments for his transgressions with stoicism. 'Let me survive this' He thought.

“The men and I have all agreed on an appropriate sentence.” Bennett let his words sink in before he continued. Most of the warriors nodded in assent. “In times past it would appear even the most severe corporal punishment has failed to drive the point home to you.”

Aran twinged with fear, what was his leader hedging at? “You have enjoyed the upper rank in this clan, had your fair pick of the spoils, and have been overlooked many a time for your discretions'. I know your brother has tried hard to curb you of your willful traits, but that too has fallen on deaf ears.”

Aran shifted his feet and swallowed his discomfort obvious to all. Will looked sad and serious not meeting Aran’s eyes, and Sven did likewise. The others who had little compassion looked at him with indifference, Gareth even managing a cruel if subtle smile.

“What you brought upon this camp last night, with your carelessness and stupidity cannot be merely passed over...... You have threatened the security of this place, and its occupants.” Bennett paused then resumed thoughtfully. “And what’s more you have in the past openly challenged me.”

Aran blanched at these words, the ramifications of what was being said made him feel cold and light headed. Too late he had realized there was more than one issue here, it appeared his leader had never been completely comfortable after the savage fist fight over Frances.

Aran could see it was the classic case of the strong leader shoring up his position, attempting to dispose of and silence his perceived rival. The young warrior felt stupid. He had played right into Bennett’s ruthless hands and made himself dispensable. He had never envisioned this would lead to his demise, and he should have, had Sven not warned him many times? It was startlingly clear to him now.

“It has been decided that you will be exiled from this camp.” The warriors remained impassive, Sven looked at the packed dirt floor. Aran heard some of the slaves gasp, and Maya cry out. Raissa doing her best to hold her, but the lithe woman broke free and ran to her warrior’s side.

Aran met his leader’s cold eyes resigned, he would take his woman and wander the wastes above. He would find his way, he did not need them, and if his brother was too weak to protest this, then damn him too.

Aran made to turn away but Bennett halted him. “I have not finished yet...” In spite of his defiance at the verdict shivers ran up his back, his leader’s words sharp, cold, and deadly. “You are to leave here with nothing but your weapons and a horse. I will only accept your return when you have the archer in your possession, alive or not, it is of little consequence to me.”

Aran had not expected this, a punishment of a kind. Yet a mission he was burning to undertake nonetheless. “You may leave now.” The words fell with a hard finality, there was no more to be said on the matter, and nothing to be gained by doing so.

Maya clung to him, the demeanor of a fearful eighteen year old girl he had claimed in the burning village replacing any confidence she had found as a woman. However Bennett had still not quite finished with his retribution. “Gareth, Aran’s woman is now yours. He won't need her now he’s going to be getting a new one.”

All the men but Sven laughed at this, Gareth roughly wrenching the petite woman's desperate grip from Aran’s departing cape. She hung on so tightly she pulled clumps of the soft fur from it. Maya cried after Aran loudly her pleas pitiful, rising rapidly to hysteria, followed by the sound a loud slap which reduced her commotion to softer crying. Aran did not look back, walking out into the light snowfall to his black gelding, saddling him, and riding away.


Aran rode hard to the south, making no effort to spare his mount, there were still traces of the horse’s hoof prints embedded in the hard cold soil. It seemed logical to follow them. The horse had been a draft animal of a similar stature to the black one he had first ridden all those months ago. How his life had changed since then, and the world with it, the outcast warrior reflected grimly; pulling the rabbit fur cape further about him to cover his otherwise naked torso.

The hard earth soon gave way to shifting dune country, the trail now indistinguishable. He paused to let his mount rest a little and nibble on the unpalatable dry sticks of last summer's grass, the gelding tearing at it greedily. The wind blew Aran’s ample golden hair into his eyes and the stinging sands with it. There was only the constant of the wind in his ears, and he had no idea where he should head; or better still where the archer would have headed? He galloped his horse about in ever wider circles, hoping to spy any sign of his prey’s passing, but it was a futile gesture.

*****

Aurianne woke later that evening, she had slept the best part of the day. She dressed warmly and made a fire, discovering she was very hungry. The humble cold beef as good as the finest cuisine this evening.

The woman gave a sudden start to see a black dog not unlike her beloved Worgen, though somewhat smaller, standing in the mouth of the cave. It was on its belly edging timidly towards her. The animal seemed to fear the fire, but hunger spurred it on and it crept forward scenting the beef, one slow inch at a time. Always one to do a kindness especially to an animal Aurianne was moved by the pretty creature. It had bright, golden, intelligent eyes, alert pointed ears, and its tail wagged timorously.

She threw a piece of the beef toward the dog, the nervous animal darted away from her well meaning gesture, and out into the dark. However in a few moments it had returned edging towards the meat again. Aurianne coaxed the animal in a gentle musical voice, she too was grateful for the company.

Reassured it finally ate and Aurianne continued to feed it to gain its confidence. She looked long and hard at the animal, and it occurred to her that this dog was the one who had tripped the warrior last night and saved her skin. It had to be. The dog must have trailed her back here. Well, if that was the case she owed her new found friend a decent meal at the very least.

Aurianne sat long into the night dwelling on the events of twenty-four hours past, and ruminating on how next time she would do it all better. The words of her dream dogged her. “Your simple weapons will not fell all your enemies.” Cold comfort as she again thought of the magnificent warrior parrying her arrow aside with his sword, the feat seemed impossible, incomprehensible. Yet, she had witnessed it with her own eyes.

She chased the meaning of her disjointed dreams feeling more unsure than ever. However her mind was also with Darius, he had called her name into the dark sealing his fate. His captors would not have missed his utterance, and she was positive torture would follow. They would burn to know who had fired the missiles on them from the dark. She must return tomorrow evening, and if it were still possible free her beloved mentor and father figure from peril.

*****

Sven looked out into the dark, his brother was out there somewhere. Unbeknownst to Aran, Sven had done the last thing he could for his wayward sibling. Begging his execution be stayed in lieu of banishment. Bennett’s last possible favor towards him Sven suspected, as their friendship of many years grew estranged. The man sighed resignedly for he had seen this coming, he had failed and been found wanting.

Self loathing had been his constant companion since the unspeakable had happened to him at Doctor Krosse’s hands. Before that time he had identified with the reasoning and objectives of the others. Like Aran Sven was a self assured and powerful individual. Now he was an outcast, neither warrior nor slave, and as of today he did not even have the comfort of his young brother to ease his burden.

Sven turned away from the dark, wondering how long a lone man even one as mighty as Aran could survive out there? Bennett had not intended him to return, one man against the elements pretty well ensured his little brother would not triumph, all here knew it. It was a glorified death sentence. Sven choked down his grief, and right on cue the wind began to rise, bitter and relentless.

Maya had been sobbing hysterically all day, terrified at being handed to the brutal Gareth. The inked man was delighted to be granted such a prize, he had often looked longingly on her from afar inciting Aran. Now she was his to use without reservation. He had no qualms bedding a woman who did not house him in her affections, jail time had long ago seen to deaden his squeamishness over anything.

Today Maya’s world had collapsed about her, she had never even considered the possibility of being handed off to another man. Aran had been brave and strong, and had watched her like a hawk. If he did not, Sven had. With Aran’s banishment the girl piteously looked to Sven to intervene and protect her, to her horror he had just walked away as though she had never been part of his family.

Her new Master wasting no time claiming her completely. Gareth frightened her with his gruff manner and his non existent patience. The man would slap or pinch her hard giving Maya no clear instructions, yet expecting her to complete a task. He was not loving or tender to her in the least. She had become no more than pretty property, and her heart quailed.

Renard watched on in silence. He had little more to do with his slow moving days than observe, the shrewd man could slowly see the fabric of Bennett’s tribe fracturing. Only seven fighting men left, and the relationship between some of those at best tenuous. Perhaps he would even be lucky enough that the mysterious archer would return making his task even easier, or infighting would finally spell an end to this savage clan; and he would at last be freed?

*****

Aran spent a miserable night caught out in the open, all he could do was shelter in the lee of a large stone outcrop with his horse in front of him to block the icy wind. Toward dawn the weather abated and he woke completely shrouded in the hooded fur cape, he must have fallen asleep finally for an hour or two. He shook the sand from it and re mounted his horse. Determined not to spend another night in such a fashion.

With the beginning of a new day, there were new miseries. Today it was thirst, with hunger gnawing steadily in the background. He had been banished with no food, water, or the means to light a fire, just his horse, his weapons, and the clothes on his back. He was not the only one who was thirsty, his gelding was also, the animal would have to drink today that fact was non negotiable.

Aran gazed about at the ever changing landscape trying to get his bearings, and it occurred to him he must be somewhere close to the Wolf Lord’s fort. He could not imagine the woman had gone there, but he knew that further south there were many small settlements scattered on the plains. Perhaps she had ventured there?

The lone warrior set off at a brusque trot across the orange sands trying to get his bearings, a familiar rock outcrop rose to his right, and he knew immediately where he was. In another hour he spied the blackened steel fort far below him on the plains, it looked lifeless and bleak from this distant vantage point, but Aran knew otherwise.

Angling his mount west along the rise he rode on, shortly the landmark he sought came into view. The prominent, jutting lime stone overhang; housed within, the ever reliable spring fed pool. Aran dismounted, his thirsty horse scenting the water. The warrior ducked inside, hearing the steady tell tale trickle. There it was the life saving pond cupped in the smooth stone, cool, clear, and unpolluted. The big man lay down on his belly drinking his fill greedily, his long hair in the water. To his chapped lips the cool liquid felt like an angel’s caress.

Thirst sated, Aran’s mind returned to other concerns. The black gelding fretting and restless at the overhangs mouth desiring the water that it could not locate. With no vessel at his disposal, and the cave being too low to allow his horse free access to the pond, Aran pondered the difficulty of getting his mount a much needed drink.

The man cast about leaving the cave, remounting the fractious animal. The heavy set gelding was most unwilling to leave the water it could smell but not see. The agitated horse reared and bucked refusing to be subjugated. Aran fighting the stubborn beast with all he had. The frustrated warrior finally resorting to slapping the recalcitrant animal on the rump with the flat of his sword to persuade it onward.

The wind was again on the rise, howling across the flat, sandy plain. He descended the shifting sands, treacherous under his mount’s flailing hooves, heading toward the fort. Its dark steel parapets looming and ominous. The exiled warrior drew closer, it felt strange to come here again. Aran looked down at the silvered scar that ran full length along the inside of his sword arm, a souvenir of that time. Remembering his thirty strong clan of less than one year ago.

Mighty and unstoppable they had been then, but they had been fools to come here to try to breach this place. Aran could see that plainly now, the entire exercise had been far too costly. Bennett’s warriors had been in damage control ever since. However, now none of this mattered to him, for he was exiled. With little hope of return, even if he hated to admit this so early in his banishment.

The flame cannon over the solitary gate lay idle, icicles hung from its soot blackened barrel, the battlements appeared deserted. The black wolf on the red standard ragged, fluttering high overhead. Aran held back well out of firing range, and skirted the fortress’s walls. The warrior edgy, ears straining against the wind for any trace of sound.

He cast his sights to the shifting sands, with habitation there was always refuse, and this is what he now sought. The dump was a little further on, and shortly as he had hoped, he caught sight of what he had been looking for, the undamaged hub cap of a large truck. He pulled the chromed disk from the sand, it would serve his purpose as a horse trough admirably.

Aran searched a little further in the hope of finding something he could use as a canteen, constantly glancing up at the looming walls for fear of being spotted. Always on the lookout for movement above or a stray projectile. It was considerably dangerous here so close to the fortress.

Even this large society did not discard items of use as it once may have. With every item seeing an alternative use until it was for the most part useless to everyone. Every container full of holes or crushed beyond usage he soon gave up his quest. He then mounted his horse and rode away, glad to be gone from this place.

That evening the darkness closed in bringing a storm with it. Aran sat, sheltered from the worst of the wind and the stinging sand, with his broad back against the overhang wall. With much difficulty he had managed to light a modest fire using a tinder stone. He gnawed hungrily on the emaciated rabbit carcass he had roasted, the meager flesh only serving to further inflame his hunger rather than sate it. The animal was poor, it was the only living game he had spotted all day, but hardly a decent meal. The warrior hoped his luck would improve tomorrow.

Aran observed the dark shadow of his horse standing head down, facing away from the wind just outside the cave. He shivered and pulled the cape Maya had so lovingly crafted tighter about him. He could still smell her on it and longed for her pleasures. His mind straying to those he had left behind, especially his brother, spending the time until his fire died in quiet reflection before sleep finally claimed him.

*****

Emboldened by her first attack and subsequent lucky escape Aurianne returned to her enemies' camp. This time she was even more fortunate to escape unscathed. The woman never even gaining the pathway to the valley. Fearful she may return and pick them off one by one the men had resumed a series of short watches. It was the best they could do considering the cold. Their vigil had paid off, Gareth who was stationed in the frigid conditions cursing his misfortune heard the horse approach. However the wily Aurianne realized the man was there, wheeling her mare about and fled at a full gallop. Gareth firing after her into the sand storm, missing her completely.

*****

Aran had slept much later than he had intended, body stiff and cold as he rose from the hard stone. Today he felt well beyond his twenty-three years. The wind had abated, his horse nowhere to be seen. He collected his few simple belongings and took a long deliberate drink even though he was not excessively thirsty, he had no idea where his next one would be coming from.

Overhead the sky was still tumultuous and dark, nothing but the endless thick cloud cover, and the relentless wind. He examined the horizon in every direction and spotted his gelding some distance away. He had not unsaddled the animal ensuring a swift departure.

He had never been this far south before, he left the fort and its bad associations far behind, venturing into new undiscovered territories. As a teenager in his brother’s care they had come this way long ago on the cusp of the war, fleeing the anarchy of the cities and the ravages of radiation and disease. North always pressing north.

Aran’s memory of that time was muddled, he had been little more than sixteen then. Sven sheltering him from the worst of the atrocities. Now Aran would return some seven years later a grown man, stronger and wiser. If the nameless archer had come this way he would find her.

Aran rode for many hours, the plains all about him stretching flat and lifeless in every direction. Late in the day he picked his way through a recently destroyed village of considerable size. The ramshackle buildings had all been put to the torch. The pile of partially decomposed bodies in the center of the well trampled town square betrayed the recent, violent events that took place here. The inhabitants had been rounded up and shot in a mass execution, men, women, and children. There were a few surviving carrion eaters here, still feasting on the boon of rank, slaughtered flesh.

Aran sought his bow, and bagged two fat black crows. The first living birds he had seen for many weeks. He dismounted at the well lowering the sturdy wooden bucket into its murky depths. The rope creaked as he withdrew the vessel brimming with water. He sniffed the liquid unsure if he should drink it or not, it appeared unfouled. He let the horse drink first and waited a considerable time deciding it had no ill effects on the animal, allowing himself to take his fill.

It was growing late, but the warrior did not wish to linger here in this place of death. He pressed on unsure of where he was headed. The light was failing when he spied the unmistakable curls of smoke on the horizon, maybe a village, or perhaps just the aftermath of more destruction? He urged his mount forward to investigate.

It was dark when he drew close enough to see the multiple fires that illuminated what appeared to be a small settlement. Aran was unsure if he should ride in or not. He could discern no inhabitants, dogs, nor farm animals moving about.

He paused on the periphery, but he was most reluctant to spend another hungry night in the open. He threw back his cape bearing his sword so all may see he was armed, and rode into the village centre cautiously, his hand on the pommel, dismounting slowly. Nothing moved, no one emerged from the low roofed hovels to greet him, or issue a challenge. He stood uncertainly in the darkness looking about him at the circle of rough dwellings. He could see small fires burning in the hearths of the houses, some of the doors were ajar.

“Anyone here?” Aran called to the dark, his own voice sounded odd to him, he had no reason to speak being alone. He heard something shuffling behind him. Turning swiftly toward the sound, but he could see nothing in the darkness. His skin crawled, and his horse pawed at the ground champing on its bit loudly. Something was not right. Aran sensed this, it had been a mistake to come here. The warrior drew his sword. He heard more noise coming from many sources about him, as he backed up slowly against the reassuring form of his horse.

A crude, iron tipped spear was thrust at him from the shadows, reflexively Aran parried the on coming weapon aside with his own superior one. It slid down the broad blade striking sparks. More missiles followed suit, stones, sticks, primitive spears, and farm implements.

The spooked horse reared, and bolted through the village, leaving the warrior alone to face the hail of malice directed at him. Aran swung his blade wildly in an arc passing it behind his back in the move he had perfected, blindly seeking targets in the darkness. The heavy, razor sharp blade did not pause in its momentum as it collided with his hidden assailants, cleaving them through, their utterances inhuman.

Blood sprayed forth as the weapon leveled all in its path. The rain of projectiles dwindled and finally stopped all together, Aran realizing his attackers were fleeing. He stood panting, covered in a bloody sheen, most of it not his own, his two hands atop his sword pommel, knuckles white. The huge sword dripping viscera and bloody gore before him, its tip dug into the earth.

Curiosity tugged at him and he pulled one of the fallen toward the light. The battle hardened man recoiled in horror with what he saw by the firelight. The male creature was barely human, a monster, stunted and contorted so terribly it was grotesque. Sven had spoken of these unfortunates, subhumans he had called them. Those irreparably afflicted by radiation and disease, shunned by all others.

Until now Aran had never gazed closely on one. During the passage of his exodus all those years before he had sighted the furtive forms of the maimed survivors shrouded in rags, mere shadows, appearing mainly at night to forage and steal from the unwary. Unnerving and annoying they had been, but mostly harmless.

Though it appeared all these years later the sub humans had now become organized, congregating in their own villages, growing in threat. The warrior felt ill as he gazed on the blighted creature clad in rags, sightless eyes bulging, the crooked yellow teeth, face hideously deformed, its hair uneven emerging in tufts on its misshapen scalp.

Driven by curiosity, Aran cautiously entered one of the low roofed dwellings, he could not stand upright in it. All was silent, the single room appeared unoccupied. He took some dry wood plunging it into the cooking fire, the tip caught almost immediately, and he used it as a rudimentary torch thrusting it into every dark corner. There was no one there, the low ceilinged hovel contained nothing of value to him.

Outside he went to further examine the ring of bodies. They we all the same, deformed, blighted, apparitions, bloody and cloven in pieces. Some still twitched and groaned, he ran them through with his sword, he would not stay here.

He wondered at the wisdom of pressing further south as he located his horse in the darkness. The animal had only fled a short distance away to stop at some sparse grazing.

Aran’s skin crawled, and he felt most unclean after coming into close contact with the subhuman creatures. He had no desire to do so again. Vowing to be more cautious next time. He rode through the rest of night at a slow pace, pausing to let his mount snatch mouthfuls of the dead grasses as it passed, his own stomach rumbling.

Dawn arrived steely gray, Aran rubbing the dried, encrusted blood from his skin shuddering. Hunger was gnawing at him strongly now, thirst as well. He looked down at the two black crows tied over his saddle pommel and contemplated the difficulty of lighting a fire. Hunger finally won out, he built a tiny blaze with difficulty, feeding it anything close at hand. He singed off the birds feathers and attempted to cook the flesh. The birds were tough and only partially cooked through, Aran did not care, he ate all, leaving nothing but gnawed bones.

For the remainder of the day he rode skirting wide the suspect habitations he passed by. Alarmingly there were many. Aran was learning the signs to avoid, the low buildings, the lack of domestic animals, betraying the many scattered settlements the subhuman ones had created. This was not what the young warrior had expected at all. It was no wonder his brother had been so vehement about them returning here for any reason.

Another difficult night spent out in the open, Aran deciding if he did not find any viable habitations here tomorrow he would discontinue his southward course. He slept in snatches, shivering, huddled on the ground, his extreme thirst waking him at intervals.

In the quiet and darkness his mind would drift to places he did not relish. He was beginning to understand what his exile really portended, and the woman? She could by now be anywhere. His heart sank and he tried to beat down his pessimism, but the warrior knew he could never return to his rightful place in Bennett’s clan, unless he located her.

The thought frightened him more than he had imagined, he had no memories of anything else. What would happen to him if he did not succeed? It was a terrible question, one he had no glossy answer for. Who would accept him into their fold? Would he be destined to just wander alone, forever the outcast, a mere prisoner to fear, hunger, and thirst for the remainder of his days? A lesser man would have cried and given up right there and then.

*****

Aurianne bathed in the copper tinged waters of the pool beneath the sanctuary of her hideout. The body of water warm compared to the frigid conditions above, making bathing most pleasant. The warrior woman’s physical self most relaxed in the calming pool, but her mind was in turmoil. She was at a complete loss as to what to do. Vengeance burned brightly in her, but to what purpose? She had hoped for better on her initial attack, but the element of surprise was now gone, and the men waited day and night for her return armed with firearms.

She prayed Darius had the time to wait it out. One lone woman against a possible eight fighting men, madness! Admittedly one of their number was at least injured, but after her last failed foray she could not afford to get too sure of herself. Sense told her she was unlikely to be tracked back to this place of sanctuary, her enemy’s horses were gaunt and numbered but few. No match for her strong fast mare, there would likely be no pursuit.

She had decided that the best course of action would be to pick off the watchers one by one until they were all dead, even if she must return many times. Then rescue Darius if he still lived. That thought troubled and pained her, the strong, honest smith was all she now had that counted as a family. However she could see of no other way than the patient war of attrition. All she had was hope, and no thought for the future beyond immediate revenge.

The black dog sat atop the rocks eyeing her with its yellow orbs quizzically, its long jet muzzle resting between its lanky fore paws. Aurianne was grateful of the company, the furtive hound had not left her side, shadowing her every move since its initial appearance. She smiled at her new found friend whom she had dubbed Beauty. The presence of her animal companions helped to ease the loneliness of her days.

She had ample easy food and water at her disposal, the days stretched out only to be filled with the planning of her revenge. Yet in Aurianne’s heart she was not a vengeful creature. Yes, she had fought on many occasions when the need arose, and she could fight well, but the act of violence did not drive her as it did her adversaries. If Darius had not been implicated she may have already retreated on the death of even one of their number as a suitable payment for the loss of her beloved Mother. However now this could not be so.

Reclining back in the pond, vibrant red hair floating about her, she listened to the warmish water bubbling up in an endless stream from beneath. Aurianne’s mind strayed to the strange dreams and the subterranean pond, its vast waters greenish as these were.

These recurring nightly phantasms, intrigued yet repulsed her. Leaving the woman in her lone waking hours wondering at their portent. The fierce blond warrior haunted Aurianne as well. His earnest, animal gaze etched into her consciousness, she shivered even though the water was warm and tried to push thoughts of another confrontation with him from her mind. Something told her he was the unstoppable one of her father’s prophecy, unfailingly she knew it.