~ The Rush ~

Civyl cursed the day, and the fire in front of him flared in response. The sun had set behind the trees a full tick ago and they had not returned to Nivia’s house yet, but not from Civyl’s lack of trying. He had done as Akasha asked and kept quiet about Nivia’s regained youth, but when they stopped midday to eat and rest at a pond she caught her reflection in the surface of the water. Her berating at his silence had not held the same effect as it used to, but her decision that they would ride back to thank Akasha properly had given him proper remorse. Civyl waited outside the house with the horses hoping it would hurry the woman along but tick after tick passed until Akasha himself insisted she had shown him gratitude enough. 

Now they were out of sunlight and still only half way to her home. It did not lighten his mood when a breeze kicked up around them. It reminded him of Fiora and how he was not with her. The breeze seemed to caress his face stirring his hair and brushing his cheek. He closed his eyes and pictured her in front of him with her hands on his face instead of the wind and murmured to himself, “Oh, Fiora.” 

A short gust startled him to alertness and he started to wonder at the oddness of it. As he watched, the wind picked up circling the fire. Even Nivia took notice. “It is a quiet night for such an unnatural breeze.” 

Civyl’s wariness grew and he stood. The fire reached taller to match his movements, and wind grabbed at the flames turning them in fiery cyclones that branched out from the main fire. Now the wind had Civyl’s full attention. “Fiora?” he questioned aloud and the breeze spun around him in response gusting intermittently to the south west hard enough he almost stumbled backwards. “Something is wrong,” he decided glad to see Nivia on her feet already packing up. 

“I agree,” she nodded. “Though I wish I knew what.” The wind died to its previous stillness and the trees around them darkened as the fire dimmed. The night was eerily quiet for a moment before a desperate cry could be heard. Quiet at first, but growing in volume, a voice was calling Nivia’s name; a voice she seemed to recognize. “Here!” she shouted back. “We are here, Borris!” 

The End

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