Embers of Fall

Shadows of Winter

The cool whisper of winter swirled through the skeletal branches of the naked trees and hushed the last cry of autumn. She couldn't help but close her eyes and listen to the song of the forest hum in sync with her own heartbeat.

She felt the horse move beneath her and its breaths match the thumping of its hooves and the crunch of the fallen leaves. Critters scampered across their path, climbing their way up the towering trees and the birds, tired of singing, had followed into the canopy of higher branches.

The life of the forest had begun to mourn its change from full to barren, singing the last song of autumn. Winter would arrive soon and the lands would be left exposed and only the cold snow would move to cover them.

However, winter's embrace would bring about death and silence.

Kotve felt the shift in the nature around them as well and knew more preparations would be needed if they hoped to survive winter. He dreaded the heaviness of the cold season and could only fall back on trading if the worst of the worst occurred.

He soaked up the scenery that was yet to be blotted out by snow and ice and worry began to wrestle inside of him.

As his father's successor and their prophesied hero, his shoulders felt heavier than ever. His bones longed for battle and freedom, but his spirit quelled his innate desires. When he was younger, he had rode through the plains, racing against the wind, howling out victories on blood soaked battlefields. He hadn't killed for fun, but for honor.

The scars he gained still itched and burned into his back and arms at times and though he had built a firm reputation as a great warrior and the chief's admirable son, he felt like his soul was drifting. His father had been born to a blue-eyed man and former chief's daughter; a Kende woman. He carved his own path into the tribe and though he was a halfbreed, he won the favor of his people after saving them from other tribes and famine. They entrusted their lives to him.

Now that Kotve gained the same favor, he wondered what his life would be like had he followed the war stained path of plundering land and traveling across the country like his grandfather.

He then looked to Navati, seeing how her skin was smooth and lighter under the after glow of the setting sun. Her mother had also been a foreigner and he thought she knew it and had accepted her life on the plains. Never questioning her place. She sat upright, watching the land with such warmth in her eyes as her hands lay tangled around the woven basket, small and soft. He wondered if this life was exactly what she had chosen.

Was it just something monstrous in his blood that gave him a thrill when fighting and even killing?

What drove him to be daring and dauntless?

As bold and decisive as Navati was, he knew she was ignorant to this. His true nature. He kept his chilling passions low below the surface and tried his best to forget his past now that she was his wife and his to protect. So were their tribes. He couldn't afford to let his control slip and drive them all to ruin because of his foolish desires.

The staccato of approaching hooves later recaptured his focus and a new form of uncertainty struck a chord within him at the sight of a few foreign men heading their way. He could tell who they were by the shape of their hats and the pungent smell of cheap cigars and whiskey.

Danger hung heavy above them like a dark cloud that never left. Like sinister spirits who had a grip too firm to withstand. But he felt they were one in the same and that alone made him increasingly wary of them.

He stopped his horse and shot a glance to Navati, willing her to stay silent before he gave a casual wave of his hand. It was a greeting they had and though it felt strange, he knew it was necessary to show that he was friendly and accustomed to their way of communicating.