Sharp Flowers

Part 2

I leave in the early morning before the sun has yet to warm the cool, damp grass. Birds sing, fluttering from tree to tree. The woods at the edge of the yard are lovely. Wildflowers grow in little patches around the uneven, rocky slopes of the woods. This ought to be far enough. I unsheathe my blade strapped to my back and strike at the air. Pivoting my foot around to block, I angle the weapon, fighting off imaginary attackers. I swing the blade, moving as Peter has taught me.

"YA!" I roar and charge forward. I attack the air relentlessly. "YAH!" I continue on, fighting without a break. I keep going, practicing my footwork until even my legs grow tired. If war really is to come, we all must be ready. Sitting back for a Wrenwood is not an option. Breathless, I pause, my lungs burning for air. Peter would tell me to keep my breathing even. Though it's only been a few hours, I'm weary and ready to walk back home. Peter could go on practicing forever if he felt like it. I'll never be good enough to live up to our name if I can't stand in a little exhaustion. Cool air soothes aching muscles and whisks away hot sweat. A breeze blows through the woods, where twigs and leaves crunch. Running, a faceless form is darting around the trees. "KYA!" I scream, panting hard. One leg in front of the other, I push off the ground for dear life. Where did he come from? Have they been watching me?

"Leave me alone!" I call out in between pants. Birds take off, startled by us running, our breaths heavy in the crisp morning air. "Someone! Help!" I cry, but who's going to hear my screams? Home is too far away. It's just me. Faster. His hand reaches out.

"Come on!" he complains, missing me by inches. That was too close. I leap over a dip, and he nearly trips. I have the advantage of knowing the terrain. He, on the other hand, is taller and faster. His legs stretch far across the ground, long arms reaching after me. We veer around trees. In a last-ditch effort, I burst out into a sprint. Barreling through a gap in a thicken of bushes and thorns, I lose him. Heavy panting comes in from my left, and those arms wrap around me.

"LET ME GO!" I scream. Forest critters take off. I writhe in his grasp, unable to free myself. His dirty hand pats my head.

"Shhh, easy now," he whispers in my ear. My whole body trembles. My chest burns for air. "Such soft, pretty hair," he murmurs, hands weaving down my black silk. It's no use; I can't reach my sword.

"Why-," I blurt out shrilly. If not to kill me, then why? Kidnapping for ransom, I think not. I have no political affairs to be useful as a hostage. He shoves me forward, gesturing for me to walk. One foot begrudgingly in front of the other, we start, or else I fear he might drag me. If not If not for ransom, or the mark of death, then why else would I be targeted? I have no other value unless- oh.

"Your husband awaits you," he murmurs.

"Tennoford?" I presume.

"Is a very generous man," he comments.

"Yet he does me the disrespect of improperly sending for me," I note, "He couldn't come for me himself?"

"The king is a busy man," my captor reasons. He scoffs, "Your father didn't thing it wise to post a guard with you," my kidnaper sneers.

"You would do well not to talk about my family," I warn him. That dense shrubbery, I'm going to run into it.

"He might as well as just given you over," the kidnaper supposes with a shrug,

"My father is a good man," I snap off at him and I hear him chuckle. Never, I refuse, I will not be taken as anyone's wife I don't approve of.

"Who was too cheap to be bothered over- HEY!" he goes on, when I take off running into a thicket of thorns, branches, and leaves. Wood snaps and breaks, slowing his larger stature. I veer about the trees, lungs burning, but the adrenaline is flowing fast.

"Hey!" he roars, barreling around the brush. You lost me once, and never will you take me again. Sword unsheathed, I run into him, rather than away. His knees give out, and blood seeps into the ground around my blade. Forget him; I have to keep running. The bottoms of my feet ache, my lungs burn for air, and my stomach turns over. Finally, home is in sight. A quiet breeze rolls across the grass, stirring the smell of flowers, herbal candles, and sweet perfumes. Curling up, the damp grass tickles my nose. Beads of morning dew waiver in the breeze before the form coming this way, Tayna. I pop up to my knees.

"You should clean that sword after a fight. Show some respect," my mother reminds me.

"There was a man," I tell her with a fleeting, apologetic smile. Tayna scoffs, her nose wrinkling and lip curling. Her morning dress, a delicate orange, glows in the morning sun's radiance.

"What a fool," she murmurs. Folding her hands together around a necklace, she bows her head. It's our family's way, even for our enemies, to pray for their souls. Though, if you ask me, he deserved what was coming.

"This war will be full of blood. It will be wretched, a massacre," My mother decides to say after some time of silence.

"What makes you say that?" I inquire.

"Because King Kisomen will not stand down from fighting, not this enemy. Especially if he's hurting his people," she informs me.

"You trust Kisomen will fight for us?" I scoff at her, "You know what people are saying."

"King Kisomen is more loyal to his people than his people are to him," Tanya remarks, giving me an eye, "He is patient and fights when he is needed. He will not lose."

"I should fight," I decide.

"When you've taken the oath and completed your training," my mother reminds me. I put on a face, pouting really, but she pays me no mind. With the wave of her hand, she draws a line of smoke through the air. It stirs in the breeze before it remains still in the shape of a fox. "When you've made your oath, you will fight with us as a Wrenwood," she explains.

"How terrible will these battles be?" I wonder.

"With our King in the fight, a disaster. He will wreak havoc worse than any storm. He's not a man to trifle within the battle," Tanya informs me, "Much blood will be shed. Warriors will lose their heads. The spirits of the old families will bare their fangs and claws,"

"Will our foxes be enough?" I hope.

"It is not the guardians we must depend on," my mother snaps, "Never lose your faith in them, and especially not yourself," she reminds me, "Trust the Wrenwood protector and trust your skills," my mother praises. I nod, soaking in every word. While my mother cares to pray for the dead, I pray for our lives and Peter's safe journey. He has traveled far to the palace before, but during these concerning times, things grow more uncertain. Smoke plumes have risen in the untamed forest beyond our territory. They come closer with each passing day. Lately, I dare not walk outside without my sword. I just pray that this King, Kisomen, really is the warrior they say he is.