The White Deliverance

ASSIGNMENT 1

note: this is a prologue. the protagonist is ten years of age.

the tenth day of the eighth moon, year X100

forest debris crunching under hesitant footsteps
a swallowing silence
beside the screeching chirps of insects,
the hollow whistle of the wind
full moon in the center of the sky sending silver strips of faded light through the boughs of trees.

Her hair is black as soot. Her eyebrows are bushy, always furrowed in concentration, eyes wide and searching. Her nose and cheeks, round with youth, are tinted pink from the chill. She is alone, struggling to steel her fear and bone-clatteringly shaking because of it, for she will never leave this tainted forest until -

You knew this was coming.

So why can't she breathe?

It is the ninth night.
She has not slept for six.
She is no longer hungry, she assumed her stomach acid has begun to eat her insides for sustenance. Terror and stress for her inescapable responsibility and the constant attempt to suppress her anxieties ironed an exhausting pressure onto her soul, limbs hanging low and heavy, her footsteps not nearly as silent as she wished them to be.

A sound hits her ear. A terrible clench grasped her insides and her body freezes mid-step.

From the trees into a clearing not five armlengths away steps a skinny boy with dark hair, skin nearly as pale as the light he treads through. His limbs were gangly, his foot stance wide and low and expecting while his long arms dangled lifelessly in front of him, shoulders hunched like a great weight sat upon them. She could not outrun him, she gauged immediately, but she could overtake him if she got an advantage. It seems he hasn't seen her, small and hidden she is behind the bracken.

Her objective rings clear through her mind, jarringly quick, gripping her tightly by the arms and violently shaking -

You have to kill him -

You will die otherwise -

The boy stopped in his tracks as if she spoke it aloud

and her heart drops beneath the ground below her. If she could she would marvel at how there was never a bottom to the chasms of fear but her mind was screaming at her to make the move, any move, there are things she still wanted to do and she cannot live if he is alive. She knew he would not hesitate.

So why is she?

Eyes wide she watches him scan the thicket around him, terrifyingly slow,
he is menacing, oh god
he is not afraid to kill, she can tell from his narrowed eyes, shadowed by his disheveled hair, casting a ghastly silhouette across his sharp features. There is no sympathy in those eyes, he is calculating, he will find who he heard in the shrubbery, there is no mistaking the burning determination she had once felt in herself nine days ago.

He will kill her when he finds her.

This alone is what drives her.

She does not want to die. Who does?

Her ribs racked as she inhaled slowly, a shallow exhale, then again, hoping an even intake would harden her heart. It is a conscious effort to keep herself from shaking, so she does not attempt it as she hunches so low she almost has her hands on the ground to keep balance. His searching head bobs over the bracken as she begins her circle around him, hoping to get him while his back is turned.

To beat down her terror she imagined what the Lady would say to correct her.

You are the moving air, ever knowing, conscious of every molecule in your body, every movement your muscles make, every beat of your heart and every breath you take, every leaf you rustle and every mound of dirt you step on, bring your arms in closer, don't step so wide, don't forget to breathe, this is what you were made for, if you do it right he won't find you