Reaching For Stars

𐂷The Raven's Flight

Unseen branches whipped her face, scraping across her tear stained cheeks as she flew past the gnarled trunks that rose out of the green haze, their withered bark gaping maws of ancient teeth. Sobs snagged in her throat, battling for room against her ragged gasps and the beat of her rabbit-fleeing heart.

She careened past the trees, the branches, and the thorns, her feet pounding down the loose soil underfoot. Wicked claws of the snarlingthorns lashed out at her legs, hooking into her flesh and hindering her desperate flight. She stumbled, loose soil flying as her feet scrambled for a foothold to spur her forward.

Her toe caught a root, and, with a hoarse cry she fell forward, her precious cargo flying out of her grasp. She landed in a spray of sun baked dirt, skidding to a stop at the foot of a tree. No, no, no!

Scrambling to her knees, she whipped her head around the small clearing. Where was it? She couldn't lose it! Not now, not after— not after— She squeezed her eyes shut, clenching her fists around the warm soil, tears lumping in her throat.

"Take the sword," father said, his voice hard with finality. "And go! The Flame be with you." He shoved the hilt into her hands and gave her shoulder push. She searched his warm brown eyes for— "No!" She rasped, jerking open her eyes. "Don't remember more; you have to get farther away." Shakily, she drew in a breath, blinking hard. "Don't let them take it. Never let them take it."

Throwing a fistfull of dirt aside, she locked her jaw against the flashes of movement, wrenches of screams, and pieces of blurred memory welling up inside her as an inevitable tide. Her mother, falling. Dead. Gleaming sword falling out of her limp, gray hands. Screaming. Not just her own. Fire hungrily licking over head, shadows, both human and inhuman, darting under the burning roofs. Her brother, sweet, innocent brother's woeful eyes shining through the soot and tears. And her father—strong, capable father—handing her Mother's sword, telling her to run. To go. To flee. Flee her burning village. Flee from the invaders. Flee from danger while her family fought to survive.

She shook her head, fisting her hands in her dark locks. Stop it, stop it! Don't think about it. Just run. Inhaling slowly, she let her hair go and lifted her gaze to the clearing. A flash of light caught her eye. The sword lay a few feet from her in a patch of sunlight, half buried in the dark soil. She dove forward, her fingers closing around the hilt, and shot to her feet with a strangled grunt.

She had to run. She had to run as fast as her feet could carry her and do nothing else. No thinking, no remembering, no stopping. So she turned and ran.

⎼◡⬩⬪⬬⬪⬩◡⎼

Something tickled her nose. With a sharp inhale, her eyes flew open. A squirrel, brown and unremarkable, stared at her with fathomless black eyes that seemed to suck out her soul and consume it. She blinked. The squirrel twitched its whiskers innocently.

"Oh." The simple word crept out between her cracked lips like a shredded breath of wind, quiet and understated. The squirrel fluffed its tail and scampered away, the morning sun painting outlines of leaves on its back. It was morning. Already.

She slid her eyes away from the trees to the sword. It lay in the bare earth where she'd dropped it, glistening like the crown of a king. But unlike a crown, it wasn't lost; it wasn't waiting to be found. It was just there, lying patiently, waiting for the right person to pick it up and carry it into battles worthy to be sung about.

You will know the truth of the blade; for all who look upon it will know that I have blessed it.

The sword; the Sword of Siel, the gift to the Ravens. The gift to heroes. The gift that was now hers and hers alone. You are a Raven, Ere. One day this sword will be yours. One day fire will light your path. Until then, wait, listen, and learn, my child. One day this will be yours.