-Menaleen-
The rock beneath her feet scraped on her heels as she miscalculated the surface's bumps, wincing every now and then as she followed dutifully behind the people she had vowed herself to. The quiet was painfully deafening, tense and awfully frightening. She could feel their suspicions and hatred in the air, and it was making it unbearable. She tried to think nothing of it. What she had thought of to get herself through this horrible wall driven between the two groups was that she could one day return to her brother.
What kind of older sister was she? Leaving her brother behind, barely sparing him a thought. Oh, she felt guilt welling in her gut. He was as old as the witch children in the medicine witch's cave—how could she have possibly let her mind wander so far that her own brother was forgotten?
Menaleen shivered, trying not to whimper aloud for fear of the redheaded girl's sharp tongue and loud voice.
Harra, I will come back. I'm sorry for leaving you alone, but I will come back to tell you of the adventure I had. It'll be the best thing I can give you.
She shook herself, trying to return to the task at hand without completely dismissing her brother from her mind. Squinting ahead, she peered at the silhouettes against the torch's glow. At the front led the girl of red hair and a burn scar that covered her left side. From what Menaleen could tell, she was sure that this lady was supposed to be dead. Twice over, apparently. Yet there she walked, leading them.
Behind her was the ever diligent Atlanta, who had started treating Menaleen with respect. It was a surprising change, but who would've thought that to earn that what she had to do was stab another person's back, thus saving her life. It wasn't something she fully understood, but dwelling on it was... Well, dwelling.
Lucan, the tall intimidating man with eerie black eyes, followed closely behind the pale assassin. The Pale Sword, to be exact. The King's silver phantom, revered while at the same time disgraced. The Wyvengardian man seemed oddly fixed on Atlanta, either like a looming skeptic, or a protective brother. Brotherly wasn't exactly the word Menaleen would use to describe how the man looked at the girl though.
The brown-haired, freckle-covered boy followed after. Pretty, talkative, and tirelessly obvious in his interests, Dareon was not quite a nuisance, nor was he a bother. Menaleen decided she was very much indifferent about him, and would prefer his eyes be turned elsewhere. What was fascinating to her however, was that when she declined him, he immediately backed off, knowing his affections were unwanted.
That was rare in a man, and she found herself relieved.
Behind Menaleen, perhaps trailing a couple feet back, was the man everyone called traitor. He staggered uselessly, swaying like his feet could not find the earth beneath him, but he pressed on like a man begging for forgiveness. The odd desperation in his exterior stirred a sense of pity in her gut, but if she showed open sympathy, Aleksandra—who was walking behind him—would surely raise a questionable brow.
Aleksandra had defended her, in front of everyone. That didn't make her so incredibly influential that Menaleen'd do anything to appease her, no. Yet after hearing what this Raphael had done in the private meeting Aleksandra had dragged her to, she had her perceptions about the man that kept her hands to herself.
Even in the back of her mind, she could still hear the witch's hushed fury.
"They brought her back?" Aleksandra had sputtered. "Why? Why'd the bring her back?"
YOU ARE READING
II - Sigh of Smoke
Adventure"And in the depths of memory, await only the forgotten." (text on cover) _________________________________________ Summer has arrived, and Aleksandra, Dareon, Atlanta, and Lucan make their way to Zarkarath for the second ruler of their assignments...
