Yarrow

l - YARROW

   

    Sunlight illuminates the leaves above me as I lay on the forest floor, engrossed in the peaceful landscape, and my hands grip the cold soil beneath me. The lingering taste of clover blossoms rests on my tongue; the flowers grow throughout the woods. The air is cool, but the humidity of spring has come, and the bitter feeling of winter has passed. The ground is damp from a recent rain and I can hear the occasional water drop falls from the trees. I'm tired from a lack of sleep, my eyes burn slightly, so I shut them and attempt to rest while I actually can. Wind picks up through the trees and I enjoy every bit of it. I sit up, though hesitantly, and run my fingers through my ginger hair. It's greasy and in need of a trim. My hands are grimy from being in the woods, my clothes are in desperate need of a wash, and it wouldn't hurt for me to take a bath.
The sun's position suggests that it's around 7am; I should be heading back. I push myself off the ground and begin walking through the dimly lit forest. I can hear birds in the canopy, a nearby stream, and all kinds of wildlife I could hunt. Today I'm supposed to meet with Bellamy and Annaliese, whom I've known for years; we work together on the weekends.
Bellamy and Annaliese are my closest — and only — friends. Bellamy is sixteen, a year older than me, and between the three of us, he's certainly the most outgoing. He's not outrageously tall, but taller than me without a doubt. He has a narrow face structure, but his jawline is sharp. His hair is very a dark blond and it barely falls past his ears; it's so messy, it almost resembles a mop. His eyes are somewhere between gold and brown. They're a very earth-toned  amber. Not unnatural looking, but nothing like I've seen before. He's not necessarily skinny, but he's not terribly muscular, either. I guess you could say he's fit. I would say he's average, that's all.
    Annaliese is my age. She has red hair, sort of like mine, but it's a little darker. She's about my height; I'm not very tall — in fact, I'm pretty short for my age. But she has long arms, so it makes up for her lack in height. She has ashy skin, and hazel eyes. More blue than brown.
I quickly stop by my dwelling to retrieve my bow and a sheath of arrows which I've hidden under my bed. I grab a piece of bread off the kitchen table before leaving the house, and lock the door on my way out. I don't have to worry about being loud in the mornings since there's nobody to wake up. My sister, Mae, is never around, and she's technically my legal guardian since our parents passed away earlier this year. She's eighteen, and yet she hardly does anything to put food on the table. If I'm being completely honest, I'm not really sure what she does throughout the day. She claims she's a seamstress, but somehow, miraculously, she manages to come home with nothing. So I've taken on most of the responsibilities myself. Every Saturday and Sunday I go hunting. I'm only fifteen, and legally, anyone under the age of eighteen is not supposed to have a job. Those who go on the weekend hunts are employed by the market, so we made a fib, and have tried not to talk to anyone else in the group. It's strange to be seen as an adult by the people we work with and the workers at the market, but it's not necessarily uncomfortable. And it's certainly worth the money.
I come to the familiar clearing where I see my group gathered and ready to depart. I take a minute to stare at the enormous, twenty metre, wall, which extends past the horizon both south and west all the way across the country. All the way across the world, really. Or so I'm told. I'm not completely sure when the wall was built, or why it came to be in the first place. No one is. But we're told it's something to do with a war. I'm not convinced that's the true reason for the wall, but either way, I'm not itching to see the other side. They send criminals to the other side, or people who break a law in general — whether it's a felony or misdemeanor put aside. Most of the time, the people who are banished to the other side are innocent. They're very strict in my province: Selum. I would be lying if I said I wasn't worried about being banished. If the city council found out I'm working underage, I would get the ax before I could protest.
My bow is situated over my shoulder as I approach the other hunters. It's a Sunday. The day of the weekly parade. Every sunday each city in our province has a parade, and the main reason we have them is for the hunts. As soon as I join the rest of the group, we depart for the hunt. Like usual, I stick with Bellamy and Annaliese. And as we step into the cover of the trees, I feel relieved to not have the sun beating down on me. I hate that feeling; I always have and I doubt it will ever change.
My eyes are (briefly) met with the loquacious Ben; a real blether, and certainly the most under qualified individual in the group. There are eight of us who go hunting on the weekends—the rest of the hunters tend to go on weekdays. The "leader" of our group, Gedeon, has a fiery personality, and he's the only one in the bunch who knows we're underage. He's nineteen — a good guy. Very modest. He's tall, with a very muscular build, and he has dark olive skin. His hair is jet black and his eyes are a deep brown.
Then there's Ben. He's twenty, though he doesn't act like it, he's as pale as snow, his hair is hazel brown, his eyes are freakishly blue, and he's skinny as a rail. He's tall, too, and he has a strangely formed nose. It's a lot smaller than it should be, given the rest of his proportions. I don't think I'll live to see the day Ben stops jabbering. He's audacious, and quite frankly, incompetent.
I honestly haven't bothered to learn the names of the others in our group. I'm never paying attention to the other hunters, so I don't really know anything about them, and don't see the point in trying if I never spend time with them in the first place. I just don't have the time or the patience to make friends. Besides, they never stay for very long anyway, so why bother?
As we trek through the forest, clouds begin to roll in from the west and judging by the wind and the deep grey hue of the clouds, I can sense it will be a strong storm. I tie my hair back, which, unlike most of the boys my age, falls to my shoulders; the wind always blows it in my face and makes it difficult to see. The trail we take for the hunts is all too familiar. I have so many memories in these woods. We pass an old willow—Bellamy found it ages ago when we were younger and we started coming out to climb it every day. The leaves drop all the way to the bed of pine needles and leaves that lay still on the floor, the bark is rough, and the branches give you plenty of room when you climb it. The highest branches just about reach the four metre range; maybe three and a half. I'm not the strongest climber. Not on trees, anyway. But Bellamy is something else. He can climb anything. Trees, boulders, buildings — you name it, he can climb it.
Trees have never really been my forte, but I've always excelled in logic-work. I'm very observant. I'm usually the first to notice little details. And it may take longer than just climbing a tree like normal, and it's a bit unorthodox (and possibly unnecessary), but if the time came that I truly had to make it to the top of a difficult tree, I could probably manage it with some kind of invention. I've always had a knack for mechanics. I remember once, when I was just a tyke, my mother was trying to fix a broken electrical cord for the mayor. My mother was an electrician. The cord had been chewed up by some kind of animal; it was for a lamp on the pergola. I rarely saw electrical cords then — I wasn't in school yet and electricity has never been a luxury most families have. I wanted to help her fix the cord, but I didn't know the first thing about electricity. So my mother taught me everything I could retain, given my age. I still remember the lessons she gave me. Once I began school, I dove farther into my science studies. Time is tight, but I try my best.