It has been three weeks since your people cast you out. Three weeks since you broke the covenant and laid with Atai'aj, your chieftain's partner. Three weeks since you bundled up what little you were allowed to take and left the only home you had ever known on the Tormal highlands. To the north there is only ice, the west, an impassable mountain, and to the east, a sheer cliff, so you went south, warmth guiding you towards the distant peaks of Guldaj, and a new life on your own. Your only comfort is the spear you carry, and the thought of the chieftain raising your son in place of his own.

It took you a week to wind your way down from the highlands, and another two following the river Janef to the bay of Fanek, which stands between you and the peaks of Guldaj in the distant, where it is said the spirits forgive those who break their covenants and lay with those they should not.

In the highlands, you knew how to hunt and gather the food you require to survive, and the river is large and bountiful, sustaining you as you traveled south. Now the bay stretches out before you, and the distant peaks look farther away than ever. Food here is strange, but plentiful, though you know that lingering in this place too long will allow the cold winds to come, and the prospects of surviving snowfall in the open without your people to support you look bleak.

A choice stands before you, and you must decide before long.

The End

1 comment about this story Feed