CHAPTER 1
Ariyana lay panting in the grass, revelling in the feeling of the sun on her face and the blood pounding through her veins as she recovered from the race. It had been closer than usual that time, but she was still the better runner. Shooting a look at her challenger, she was gratified to see that he was puffing even heavier than her. Maybe next time he would think twice before boasting that he was faster than the wind itself. Although in all fairness she was almost grateful that he had made a point of it; nobody was willing to race the unbeaten champion any more.
People had even stopped betting because the odds had got so bad. It was never anything serious- sips of whiskey stolen from beneath the noses of parents, a favour to be owed. But to the teenagers of her village it was important. Yet more than this, Ariyana just liked to feel the wind in her hair and the sun's warmth on her face. Not to say that she didn't enjoy the satisfaction of winning, but she ran more for the sake of running, not just for prestige.
A freshening breeze, whilst cool on her flushed cheeks, began to tug playfully at her now rather muddy, twice torn skirt. It had once been a lovely russet hue- like old autumn oak leaves- but now...? Inwardly she groaned- there was no way she could talk her way out of this one in her usual manner- her aunt would want a better explanation as to why she had ruined a third skirt in as many days. The others hadn't really been her fault: of course it was inevitable that climbing a tree for cherries would not be risk free, and maybe jumping into a stream whilst chasing a boy who had stolen said cherries was not the wisest course. But as she had patiently explained to her fussy relative- accidents will inadvertently happen, and to blame Ariyana and punish her was by no means fair.
At least this time her shoes had been spared- seeing as how she had kicked them off and carried them at the start of the race preferring to run barefoot as it was much easier. However, she wouldn't tell her aunt that either as it would lead to enquiries as to the whereabouts of her corset and stockings, which Ari had in fact quietly hidden in the dog's kennel to avoid the unpleasantness of wearing.
As if reading her thoughts her challenger, Robert, rolled over to face her, red faced from exertion and asked,
"Ari, won't you get in a whole lot of trouble over this?"
She tried to shrug nonchalantly, but her expression obviously bellied her response.
"If you know it will cost you, why do you do it?"
She had no answer for this question which she had asked herself a hundred times.
"What's the worst that could happen?"
"Well... she said she would birch me is I misbehaved again, but I don't think she will; she can't stand the sight of blood. No, probably just a lecture followed by extra chores. Nothing too bad."
Yet even as she said it, a small kernel of doubt niggled at the back of her mind. She had been pushing it rather far lately. Her aunt just didn't understand- and how could she- that the idea of spending her life caring for a home, a husband and a flock of children was like the toll of a death knell to her. The one thing she feared in life was to be trapped in a cage of the mundane, to never go anywhere or do anything. To have the chance to leave her mark on the world or at least have the world leave the mark on her. To those in the village this was outlandish nonsense. Ariyana could practically hear her aunt repeating as she so often had before, the heart ache which her wayward niece constantly caused.
"Try to be more like Sandriy." That phrase, so often heard, was hated more than any curse or abuse could ever be. Oh yes, be more like Sandriy the socialite. Care more about the local gossip and the colour of her hair or skin than whether there was something more interesting waiting to happen outside. Scream every time she saw a spider and gradually lose who she really was. That was all that was asked of her by her despairing guardian.
The main problem was that the way of life allotted to her was in Ariyana's opinion completely, indisputably, 24 carat boredom. And that was one thing she couldn't stand for. Unfortunately, she knew that her dreams of adventures were just that. There were no more adventures left in her world, and doubtless none were going to come to her sleeping corner of it. And so it was with a sigh of resignation that she reclaimed her shoes and made her way back to the village, Robert's wishes of good luck wringing in her ears.
