Stormchild: Emeline and the Forest Mage

7 Warrior's Dream

    "How many have traversed the path to Träumenil, never to return? It is a frightening thing to face night on night. When we are most vulnerable in slumber, our darkest secrets, our deepest fears, our coldest enemies may well kill us. No wonder children sleep so little in the North, no wonder the nursery rhyme says, 'a few more minutes mum, just a few'."

~ Mickelou's Travels Book 2 – North Öldeim (Written in Lord Pittü Magt's Time, in Cera, The Capital of the States of New Linckem)

Avétk drank a huge gulp of coffee down, slamming his mug on the wooden table in satisfaction. 'Ahh, it's wonderful to be back Kitty.' He grinned conspiratorially at her, knowing how she hated that name. Ketiya snarled, and he enjoyed every second.

    She wasn't one of those soft prissy women who fuss about their hair. He'd always appreciated a more realistic woman like her, one who knew about the world. A woman who could fend for herself, and fight like a wild cat.

    No woman was closer to a wild cat in Avétk's mind. Ketiya was notorious for her feral behaviour and cat-like skills. She had fought with him in battles across Öldeim, and even to the south of the Sheia Desert Kingdom. Her slender, flexible figure and slanted eyes added to the wildcat image she was so infamous for. Her abnormal deep red hair was an oddity in the north, but she said its vibrant crimson hue was common where she came from. A yawn interfered his train of thought.

    'Well,' Ketiya scoffed, 'looks like the terrible Avétk needs a nap.'

    Emeline sniggered.

    Avétk glared at her, holding the edge of the table with both hands. 'How observant.'

    'And the coffee didn't help one bit,' Emeline said, seated near the fireplace. The sound of her voice was young and innocent, like a gentle breeze in the wake of Ketiya's deep husky tones.

    Avétk grunted, pushing his chair back as he stood. He looked at Ketiya, intending to ask her if he may sleep in one of her rooms. 'The one on the right,' she said, nodding in its direction, with her arms still folded casually in front of her.

    'Thanks, Kit.' His exhaustion resurfaced with a vengeance, and he felt a yawn coming on in his throat. Man up, Avétk.

    With the little bit of energy he had left, he attempted to save some pride. 'Stand tall,' he thought, 'take manly steps. You're a man of destiny. You can walk a few feet. C'mon man.' Avétk's body was reluctant and it was quite a mental battle for him not to drag his feet or hunch his back.

    He made it to the room, but doubted he'd achieved much. The two women watched him with pity. Great. Avétk fell down onto the bed enjoying its fluffy embrace. He didn't think much further, though. Sleep claimed like a long lost brother returned from the war.

#

    The girls could hear a soft rumbling snore coming from his room. 'So...' Ketiya watched Emeline from her kitchen counter. 'Tell me about yourself, dearie.'

    Emeline looked at Ketiya over her shoulder as she sat by the fire, not willing to pass up its warmth. 'My name is Emeline. I'm from a small village near the Donkerwoud.'

    'Oh?!' Ketiya looked intrigued.

    'I grew up there.' Emeline watched the flames dance, reminiscing. 'My father is a traveling tailor. Heidrïk Full. My mother and I used to run the farm together, sell what goods we could at the market in Aysgarth.'

    'We didn't have much, but I did love it there.' Her eyes moistened at the tender thoughts of home.

    'Sounds very peaceful.' Ketiya's right hand rested on her cheek, supported by her left arm. 'If you don't mind me asking, could you tell me more? You see, I haven't exactly had a normal upbringing.' She laughed a dry, rich laugh, cocking her head back.