The Long Night by Robert von Garrett

Aranna sat at the window eagerly awaiting the arrival of her father. She had not seen him it what felt to her like forever. He was a prince, the son and heir of King Hrak. As such, he had many duties that he had to attend to. He rarely had time for his daughter But he had promised her that today he would spend the afternoon with her.

“Aranna,” he mother called. “Come away from the window.”

“But momma. I don’t want to miss daddy’s arrival.”

“You won’t. He’ll be here before you know it. Now come here.”

Aranna looked out the window one last time, arching her neck in the hope that she might catch a glimpse of the prince riding towards her.

“Aranna!” her mother said again, this time becoming impatient with her.

“Yes, momma,” Aranna replied dejectedly as she came away from the window.

“That’s a good girl. I promise that you’ll see him soon.”

“But I’ve been waiting for ages,” Aranna complained.

“I know,” her mother said. “And you’ve been so patient. But you know how busy your father gets.”

“I know. I just miss him.”

“I know you do, sweetie.”

“Why can’t we live with daddy?” Aranna asked, for the hundredth time.

“You know why? He is the prince, and you are his illegitimate daughter,” her mother explained. “The king, would never allow it.”

“But if my daddy is the prince, then I must be a princess,” Aranna exclaimed hopefully.

“That’s not how it works.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s not.”

“But why?”

“Aranna, I love you but you’re testing mummy’s patience.”

Aranna knew better than to push the matter any further. Her mother only ever showed her kindness, and yet, Aranna felt a deep seated fear of her mother. There was a certain intensity to the way her mother spoke sometimes that left no doubt in Aranna’s mind that her mother was not to be trifled with.

“I’m sorry,” Aranna said pouting.

“Come here,” her mother replied, reaching out to her.

Aranna went into her mother’s arms and snuggled with her.

“Sometimes no matter how much we want something,” her mother explained. “Even if we want it so much it feels like our heart will burst with longing. Sometimes we just can’t have it. Life isn’t fair like that.”

“Is that how much you want to be with my daddy?” Aranna asked.

Aranna felt her mother pull away for a moment, before she replied, “You’re very perceptive for a six year old. Yes, my dear, that is how much I want to be with your father. But it can never be.”

“But when he is king…”

“Aranna, enough!” her mother interrupted. “No more of this talk.”

It was then that they heard horses stop outside the establishment. Aranna leapt up with excitement as if to rush to the window, but her mother took a firm grip on her arm.

“Aranna, no!” she commanded. “It’s not safe.”

“Okay, momma.”

“Good girl. Now wait here patiently, and I’ll see if it’s him.”

Her mother went to the window and looked out. She then closed the shutters and went back to her daughter. “Wait here,” she said. “He’ll be up in a moment.”

Aranna bounced with excitement. She felt like if she had to wait a moment longer she would burst.

Her mother left her with her maid and went to welcome the prince.

Aranna waited for what felt like an eternity before finally the door swung open and her father entered the room. Aranna ran to him and threw her arms around his waist.

Her father was like a giant to her. He was by far the tallest and strongest man that Aranna had ever seen. He was so tall that he had to duck as he entered through the door. His hair was long and black, like many other men that she had seen, but his eyes were the brightest shade of blue Aranna had ever seen. Her own eyes were emerald-green: an eye colour her mother told her was rarer than gold.

“Daddy, I missed you so so much,” she said, as her tears of joy poured from her eyes.

“I missed you too,” he said in his deep melodic tone.

“I wish you could visit more often.”

“Me too. I’m sorry you had to wait so long. I’ve just been so busy with the king’s orders,” he said with regret straining his voice. “Anyway, I’m here now and we should have an hour all to ourselves. What would you like to do today, sweetheart?”

“I want you to tell me a story,” Aranna said. “I want you to tell me a story about my great grandma, Arath.”

“You always want to hear stories about her don’t you?”

“Yes, please daddy! Tell me a story about Arath and the north.”

“Okay my little barbarian,” he mocked. “Let me tell you a story about grandma, Arath…

~ / ~

Arath was born far away in the frozen north, where the summers are brief and cool. Where winter storms blow bitter cold for months on end. And where days grow so short that the sun doesn’t even rise. She was the third child born to Haabor and Fjoryn. Haabor was the chief of their clan, the Visjart.

Being born a girl, Arath was never meant to be her father’s heir, and yet of his three children, she was the only one still living. Her eldest brother, Svalk, had wandered far into Icktark’s realm, during The Long Night, and had never returned. He was assumed dead, but his mother, Fjoryn, believed that he had been chosen to be one of Icktark’s honoured Ashtval. Her next oldest brother, Hrak, returned from Icktark’s realm, but he had died later that same year raiding in the south. And so, it fell on Arath to inherit her father’s position of head of the Visjart clan.

But it was not the way of her people to simply inherit without first proving one’s worth. She knew that she needed to gain her clan’s respect long before her father’s passing, least a rival family usurp her position before she could sit upon her father’s high seat.

Arath fought and trained with the boys near her age, determined to be the best among them, in spite her being a girl. She returned to her father’s hall at the end of each day bloody and bruised, sometimes even with broken bones. As she entered the hall her father would laugh and proudly announce, “Arath has returned to us from battle. My daughter, were you victorious today?”

“Alas, father, no I was defeated,” she had to admit more often than not. But then the very next day she would always return to the training yards. Even dragging her aching body out of bed and limping out of her father’s hall if she had to.

Day by day she grew stronger and quicker, and she soon realised that she was more cunning than most. It didn’t matter that she was not the largest or strongest. She could use their size against them. The more she trained, the better she got, and soon she was landing more hits than she received. As she began to win more often than not, her Norsarg blood stirred within her and she became hungry for real battle. Her people, the Norsarg, were a warring people, and she was no different. She wanted to sail south and raid the very lands on which we now live in peace.

First, she knew that she would have to undergo her people’s rite of passage into adulthood: The Long Night. It was not forbidden to girls, but it was generally reserved for boys, marking their transition to manhood.

Arath went to her father to plead her case to him. He listened patiently but in the end argued against the idea.

“Daughter, you will not survive The Long Night.”

“You’re wrong,” she argued. “I can best any of the boys in the practice yards. I can even wrestle all but the strongest of them. And my skill at archery is unmatched any of them.”

“Playing in the practice yard is not surviving The Long Night,” he replied.

“I know. But I’m ready,” Arath declared.

Her father laughed. “If you think you are ready, then you are not. Nothing you will face in life compares to the trials you will face in Icktark’s realm.”

“That is why I must face go there,” she countered. “If I am ever to gain our clan’s respect, I must first gain Icktark’s Blessing.”

Chief Haabor knew that his daughter was right. Eventually she would have to face to the month long darkness in Icktark’s frozen realm. While he was afraid of little else, he was afraid that she would not return, and he was not ready to lose another one of his children.

“Another year,” he said.

While Arath wanted to argue with her father, she knew it was futile, her father had made up his mind. She would have to wait another year.

~ / ~

As the days shortened and the sun barely rose above the mountains, with envy Arath said farewell to the boys her age whom she had grown up among and trained with. She knew it was the last time that she would see many of them, but she could not have anticipated that that winter would be particularly harsh. A month later, less than half of her friends returned from The Long Night.

Those that returned were considered men by the clan and so had earned their place among the raiders that spring. Again Arath watched them go, saying farewell to her friends, of whom she knew too few would return.

When finally the long ships returned from the south, Arath rushed to greet them. She stood among the old folk, the mothers and the children of the raiders. Of her childhood friends that had gone raiding, only Aulvard returned. It was a bitter-sweat reunion. She was overjoyed to see her friend again, but her heart was heavy at the loss of so many close friends.

Arath had hoped to rekindle her old friendship with Aulvard, and hear the tales of his adventures in the southern lands, but he had grown cold towards her, preferring the company of the other men, with whom he had gone raiding.

Eventually she became impatient with him, “As daughter of Chief Haabor,” she began. “I command you to train with me.” Begrudgingly he agreed.

As they spared Aulvard only spoke to correct or criticise her technique. He had grown leaner, stronger and faster than Arath remembered. He had always been a skilled fighter but now his abilities far outstripped hers.

Aulvard swung his practice sword at her in a furious barrage of attacks, knocking Arath to the ground. Her head struck hard against the ground and she lost consciousness for a moment.

When her awareness returned she found the point of Aulvard’s sword at her throat, but there was also a concerned expression on his face. He slid the sword into his belt and offered her his hand. She took his hand, but as he pulled her to her feet she struck his face with her fist.

He staggered backwards holding his nose as his blood pooled on the muddy snow below him.

“What was that for?” he asked.

“We were only sparing!” she replied. “It’s like you’re trying to kill me or something. What’s your problem?”

“My problem!” he exclaimed. “My problem is you’re too soft.”

Arath fetched her sword from the ground where she’d dropped it. “You want to go another round then?” she challenged him.

“Listen to me,” he said. Preparing himself for her advance. “The stakes are low here. You can afford to make mistakes and walk away with little more than a bruised ego. But in the heat of battle, it only takes the smallest blunder and you’re dead.”

“I know that,” she said.

“Do you though?” he asked, his voice betraying the sincerity of the question. “Most of my childhood friends are dead.”

“They were my friends too.”

“Then fight like your life depends on it. Because one day it will.”

~ / ~

The days grew shorter and the time of The Long Night was quickly approaching. And so Arath went to her father once again.

“Father,” she began. “Last year you promised that I could undergo the trials of The Long Night. I call on you now to fulfil that promise.”

Haabor sat back in his chair as he observed his daughter. He had no doubt that she had grown into a capable young woman. Hers was a better chance than most at surviving the frozen darkness of Icktark’s bleak and unforgiving realm, and yet he dreaded the moment that he would have to agree to let her go. And yet, he couldn’t deny his daughter, least he shame her in front of their clan.

He had hoped that Arath would decide against the whole thing, choosing instead to marry a capable man to lead the clan after him. He believed Aulvard would make a fine chieftain and worthy husband. But Arath was stubborn, and once she put her mind to something, little could stand in her way.

“I will do as I promised,” he said. “But I fear that I will not see you again.”

Arath rolled her eyes at her father’s pessimism. She understood why he was fearful to lose her, but found his protectiveness tiresome. It made him seem weak. Sooner or later, he would have to allow her to put her fate in the hands of their gods.

“Thank you, father. I will return to you with Icktark’s Blessing,” she declared.

“I hope that you do,” he replied. “Remember that the cold will be your ever present companion. It will creep into your bones if you let it. You must never fall asleep in the open. It is unlikely that you will find food. If the cold doesn’t kill you, then starvation will be your next greatest challenge. You may not be alone out there. You may see phantoms of travellers past and present. You must not communicate with them. If you see them, move away from them as quickly as possible: the dead hunger for the warm blood of the living. And there are also Icktark’s Guardians,” he added. “The white bears of the north. You mustn’t let them catch your scent, or they will hunt you relentlessly.”

Arath already knew everything her father was telling her. But she listened enraptured by his every word. She was not afraid of what she must face. She was aware of the risks, and yet they did not deter her. She was Norsarg. Hers were a people forged, not by fire, but in the cold. They were Icktark’s chosen people, whom long ago, according to their legends, had crossed the frozen wastes of the north from lands beyond, driven by Icktark’s promise of a land of plenty beyond.

The Long Night was her people’s way of reconnecting with their ancestors and their god. It weaned out the weakest among them, so that only Icktark’s chosen would be deemed worthy to sail with the raiding parties. As such, the Norsarg are without peer in battle: tall and strong, without fear and impervious to all but the gravest wounds.

“Now go,” Haabor said. “Go prepare yourself the best you can for the coming trails.”

Arath bowed her head to him, then turned and left her father’s hall.

~ / ~

Arath had hoped to hunt on her journey north, but the world slept beneath a thick blanket of snow. Few living things stirred, and those that did were wary of travellers, staying hidden or fleeing before she could notch an arrow.

A mountain range stood between her and Icktark’s Realm. She made the most of what little light she could in the brief, shortening hours that the still sun rose. Her nights were long and cold, huddled close to a fire. Excitement was already giving way to self doubt. The task ahead of her seemed impossible. Yet she was determined to defy the odds stacked against her survival.

The sun finally set for the last time, having barely risen that day. In the darkening twilight, she put out her last fire and descended from the hills into the seemingly endless desolate plains that stretched out before her: Icktark’s Realm, where she would spend the next month.

She reached the featureless plain and spoke a prayer:

“Icktark. Oh Mighty One. God of cold and of darkness. I ask for your blessing as I enter your frozen realm. I am Arath. Daughter of Haabor who came here before me. My clan is the Visjart. I was born under the sign of the wolf.

Oh dark father. Lord of Ice. Master of Death. Take me into your frozen arms and grant me your cruel blessings.”

Only the wind and cracking ice answered her prayer as she began her journey.

She found herself in a world outside of time. The share vastness of it made her feel insignificant and alone. When the clouds covered the sky she was plunged into complete darkness.

It was not long before the cold began to creep into her bones, and hunger and fatigue came to consume her every thought. Not even a week had passed, and the once proud and determined, Arath, had already began to accept her inevitable death.

As she made camp, digging into a snow drift for shelter, she wondered how long she had been out on the ice. There was no way to tell the passing of time when the moon was hidden behind thick, snow laden, clouds.

Once inside her snow cave, Arath fell into a deep sleep. She dreamt of a featureless plain, of bitter cold and darkness.

When she woke she continued to wander out into Icktark’s Realm. She had no sense of what direction she was heading in and wondered if she would ever be able to find her way back to her father’s hall and the comforts of family, friends, mead, meat and a roaring fire.

When finally the clouds parted and Arath saw the moon again, she realised that, although she felt like she had spent an eternity in Icktark’s realm, barely two weeks had passed.

She had not eaten in days and knew that she would soon starve to death. Already her hunger had become an almost crippling pain in her stomach. She knew that her only hope was to find Icktark’s mythical tower that was said to rise up from the very centre of Icktark’s Realm. But she did not know how to reach it or how much further she would have to travel. All she knew for certain was that without food, she would soon die. What little hope she had had of returning to her father’s hall was slipping away. She was dying.

Arath looked in all directions for the tall spire of Icktark’s tower rising into the sky. But she saw no glittering tower. Only featureless plains stretching out endlessly in all directions. She couldn’t even see the mountains from which she had descended. She kept looking as panic set in. She was lost and alone.

Then far off in the distance she noticed a slight change in the landscape. A rocky outcrop rose from the ice. With nowhere else to go she set out towards it.

~ / ~

It was much further to the rocky outcrop than Arath had anticipated it being. As she approached it grew larger and larger, until it loomed over her. Two full days passed before she reached the bottom. She rested for a time at it’s base, wishing she had something to eat to sustain her, before she willed herself back to her feet and began the long climb. While most of the hill was shear rocky cliffs from which icicles hung like jagged teeth, she chose to ascend a slope that appeared much more gradual.

Arath climbed for hours. Her body ached and her stomach was empty. She was colder than she ever imagined it was possible to be and yet still live. Only by Icktark’s blessings, was she free of frostbite. And yet, despite her body’s protests, she continued to climb upwards, each laboured step followed by the next.

Her eyes were cast downwards. For what seemed like hours, she had forced each of her feet to move by share determination alone. One moved and then the other. She was so consumed by her struggle between her will and her dying body, that she didn’t realise at first when she finally reached the top.

She collapsed exhausted in the icy snow. For a moment she felt like she should give in to the cold’s embrace. But she was Arath daughter and heir, of Haabor of the Visjart. She was Norsarg. She refused to die. She willed her body to move and at first feared that it would refuse her, but then she began to push herself up and force herself to her feet.

As she looked upwards, the majesty of the heavens opened up before her. There was not a cloud in the sky and the moon had not yet risen. Spread across the sky were countless stars shimmering in the night sky. Arath felt awe as she beheld the night sky and wondered at their mysteries. She knew that if she could reach Icktark’s tower, not only would she be saved, but the heavens’ secrets would be revealed to her.

Arath looked towards the north, hoping to get her first glimpse of Icktark’s tower. Instead all that she saw was a seemingly endless and featureless landscape stretching out before her. As her last hope was lost she laughed and cried at the same time. She even wondered if the stories of the mythical tower and the Ashtval, were just stories to comfort the families of those who were lost to The Long Night.

She resigned herself to returning south. She knew that she could not hope to survive the journey back, but at least, she reasoned, she would die a little closer to her family. She felt like a fool to believe that she could survive in that desolate place, from which so few returned.

As she wept she noticed something moving upon the ice far below her. She couldn’t make out what it was. She began to panic as she realised that it was following the tracks she had left in the snow. She cleared the frozen tears from her eyelids and strained to see the thing that pursued her. Then it dawned on her that she was being tracked by one of Icktark’s Guardians.

She stood paralysed by her fear for a moment. It was one thing die giving into the cold’s embrace, but quite another to die while being eaten alive by a bear. She knew she had to act, and yet her father had warned her that to flee was futile. No doubt the bear was as starved as herself. She knew that it would track her relentlessly and it would catch up with her no matter how hard she tried to escape.

From some deep well of reserves she sprang into action. She clambered down the north-eastern slope. It was steeper and more treacherous than the way she had come up, but it provided her fastest means of descent without being seen by the bear.

Where possible she leapt from ledges, hoping against hope that the snow would cushion her fall and did not conceal rocks.

As she neared the bottom her foot slipped on ice and she fell the last few meters. She lay in the thick snow fatigued and in shock, she was too numb by the cold to feel pain. She knew that with every passing breath the bear drew ever nearer.

Again she willed herself to her feet. She clambered through the snow moving around the northern face of the hill. As she came around the hill she concealed her approach behind rocks. She hoped that the bear was still following her original tracks and had not sensed her current approach.

She spied the bear approaching from the west as it followed her trail away from where she stood. She then began to creep forward, and once she was within a few yards of the bear she began to string her bow, as quickly and quietly as possible.

She wasn’t quiet enough. The bear turned and stood staring at her for a moment. It was many times her size. She had no hope of outrunning or over powering such a large animal.

Their eyes met as each gauged the other. She wondered if this was how she would die, even as she drew back the string of her bow. She muttered a prayer, not to Icktark, but to Mordvark: god of war. She asked him to lend her his strength. And she prayed to Aurah: the sun goddess, to lend her her sight.

As she did, the bear reared up onto it’s back legs and roared it’s challenge. Arath let her arrow fly and it took the bear in the chest. The bear came down with a heavy thud and began to charge. As it did, Arath drew her second arrow and was about to let it loose, when the bear collapsed almost within spitting distance of her.

Slowly she approached the bear. Her arrow still drawn. She fired the arrow into the bear’s exposed neck. It didn’t respond. It was already dead from her first shot.

She dropped her bow where she stood and sat against the animal. Suddenly all of her last energy drained out of her and she lost consciousness.

~ / ~

Arath dreamed of a silver-white tower rising from an otherwise featureless white plain. From the base of the tower a man emerged. Arath approached him and was filled with joy when she recognised that it was her lost brother, Svalk.

They embraced and she felt warmth for the first time since she had extinguished her last fire.

“Brother,” Arath said. “We thought you were lost. I’ve missed you. We all have. Mother and Father will be so happy to see you again.

“I glad to see you too,” Svalk said smiling. Then he frowned. “But I can’t return with you. I’m one of the Ashtval now.”

“But brother, please! Come home with me. You’re father’s true heir.”

“It is no longer possible for me to return,” Svalk explained. “My body perished when I fell through thin ice.”

Arath wept. “I had hoped…” she began. “You feel so alive.”

“This is a dream,” he replied.

“Then you are not real?” she asked.

“I’m real enough.”

Arath was not sure she understood but she didn’t press the matter.

“I have a message,” Svalk said. “I have foreseen the doom of our people.” Arath was shocked by his words. “The southern kingdoms are not so weak as they appear,” he continued. “A king will arise among them who will bring tragedy beyond measure to the north. I have seen our gods burning and our people in chains.”

“Then we must destroy them before they can destroy us,” Arath declared.

“No, my sister,” he said. “You must prevent the doom that I have foreseen. You must broker peace between our peoples before it it too late.”

“Peace!” Arath spat. “Brother, we are Norsarg. We don’t broker peace with our enemies.”

“Then what I have foreseen may as well have already come to pass. The world is changing, Arath, and so must we, if our people are to find a place within it.”

“I will think upon your council should I return,” she said. “But I fear that my body is already dying.”

“The bear is a gift from Icktark,” Svalk said. “It’s flesh will sustain you on your return south.”

“Thank you, brother.” She said. “And thank Icktark for me. Will I ever see you again?”

“Not in this life,” he replied. “Now wake up, Arath. Wake before you freeze to death.”

~ / ~

When Arath awoke, the snow was beginning to fall. She drew her dagger and drove it into the bear’s stomach, extracting its liver. She bit into it, savouring its warmth and metallic savoury flavour. She had to stop herself from consuming the whole thing, least she make herself sick. Instead, she began digging with her axe into the snow beneath the bear, until she had a cave large enough for her to fit inside. She crawled in and covered the entrance. She ate more liver, before falling into an exhausted sleep.

With her hopes renewed, Arath dreamed of home. Of a raging hearth fire and freshly baked bread. She dreamed of seeing her mother and father again, and she dreamed of her friend Aulvard.

When she awoke, she began work removing the bear’s pelt. Once done, she threw it over her shoulders and continued work cutting away the bear’s flesh to sustain her on the long journey ahead of her back home.

Before leaving, Arath said a prayer of thanks to Icktark for gifting her the means to survive. And she begged for forgiveness for her weakness.

The last two weeks of her journey passed more quickly than the first two had. She had a full stomach to sustain her and the thought of home to motivate her. She limped every step of the way and was weighed down by the heavy pelt on her back. But the bear was a gift from Icktark and a sign that he had bestowed his blessings upon her.

Finally dawn broke, although the sun was yet to rise for many more days. She knew then that the worst was behind her, and that her trials were nearly over. The mountains that marked the border between her world and Icktark’s realm appeared in the distance.

When finally the sun returned, it’s rays lasted only moments, but Arath had never felt anything quite so exquisite. Her trials were over and she could finally go home.

~ / ~

When Arath arrived back in her home town, the people did not greet her but only stood in silent awe of the heiress. She didn’t notice the gathering crowd as she limped towards her father’s great hall.

She pushed the heavy oak doors open and made her way to the hearth to warm herself.

“Arath!” her mother cried. “Arath, you have returned to us.” She rushed to embrace her daughter.

“Mother,” is all that Arath could say, as tears of joy ran down her cheeks. She wanted to say more, but she was too exhausted to speak.

“Arath,” her father said, as he rushed into the hall. “By the gods. You survived. And you return with a mighty trophy. I should never have doubted you.”

That night they feasted. Arath ate freshly baked bread, hot meat, and drank hearty ale. She found herself in the arms of her old friend, Aulvard, who told her how glad he was to see her again.

“If you can bring down a bear, then you are a match for any man on the battlefield,” he said.

“Was there any doubt,” she mocked.

~ / ~

“Was she?” Aranna asked.

“Was she what?” Skarvard asked.

“A match for any man.”

“She slew many men in battle,” Skarvard replied. “But those are tales that will have to wait for another day.”

“But I want to hear more,” Aranna complained.

“Not today, sweetheart,” her mother said. She had slipped unnoticed into the room while the prince told the tale of Arath’s trials.

“Daddy was just telling me about my great grandmother, Arath,” Aranna explained. “And how she killed a bear!”

“That sounds like quite the story,” her mother said smiling. “You’ll have to tell me all about it… I’m sorry to interrupt, but Sato awaits outside.”

Skarvard hugged his daughter. “I’m sorry Aranna, but I have to go.”

“Do you have to leave already?” Aranna asked. “Please can you stay a little longer?”

“I wish I could,” he replied. “But I have princely duties to attend to.”

“If you’re a prince, does that make me a princess?” she asked.

“It’s not that simple,” her mother said.

“Why not? I want to be like Arath. Isn’t that why I’m called Aranna?”

“Aranna,” Skarvard said. When I am king, I can adopt you as my own daughter, but while my father lives, he is king, and he would not allow it.”

“But why?”

“Because he is king and a stubborn one at that,” he replied. “But, Aranna, listen to what I’m about to say to you.” He paused for a moment to ensure he had her full attention. He looked into her eyes as he explained. “I don’t want you to live waiting to become a princess. You have my blood, but you also have your mother’s blood too. She was born poor and now she owns this establishment, and many more. Arath didn’t survive The Long Night because she was her father’s heir, she survived because of her will to make something of herself. Aranna, I want you to find your own path, and not wait for fate to hand it to you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, but…”

“No but, Aranna” Skarvard interrupted.

“Yes, father.”

“You will become great no matter what you put your mind to,” He said. “Never sell yourself short. Hope is the first step towards disappointment.” At that Skarvard stood. “I better go, or Sato will be lecturing me all the way back to the castle about the virtues of duty and sins of self indulgence.”

“Good bye, daddy,” Aranna said, crying as she hugged him one last time.

The prince departed. Aranna listened to his every step and as Sato began berating him.

“Tell me about Arath,” her mother said to distract her. “I want to hear about all her exciting adventures.”

END