❝ DEATH IS COMING.
BUT SHE DOESN'T FEAR HIM. ❞
For the people of Khaya's little village living amidst the woods is quiet, and even more, so it became since the creatures lurking in its shadows turned into mere fairytales. Little does Khaya know that...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
WHAT DEATH CANNOT TOUCH xii. sing, little swallow, of midwinter in flames
❆ ❆ ❆
"Fear it was that drove your people into Karachun's claws. Hope will guide them back to Svet. We have to show them a victory to celebrate," the priest had told Khaya at the cemetery when she asked if he would tell the others.
He was true to his words.
This day, on the brink of midwinter, he called the people to gather and feast after service, and as before the people clung to this promised happiness like a man lost in the darkness to the slightest hint of light on the horizon. All too willing to leave the terror of the past days behind, their wounded, hungry hearts allowed themselves to get lost in the sweet madness of pure pleasure.
The house smelled of dainties Khaya forced down her throat. She hadn't eaten properly for days and could not go on like this if she did not wish for death to take her with him this winter. Although her stomach hurt, she kept taking more bites. Tomorrow, she had to be ready to finally face Karachun.
"It's good to see everyone lighthearted," Abram said to the priest sitting next to him. For an instant, he looked at Khaya as she was dragged away by a laughing Majda, and his lips twitched. Nearly everyone, he seemed to add, silently.
"And yet, I hear sorrow in your voice, my son."
"I am concerned about my daughter," he confessed, only for the blind man to hear, still watching Khaya who danced with Majda and the other youths of Lasow.
"Do you want to sit here all alone?" his niece teased Mladen, who had not joined them, yet. With flushing cheeks and ears, the boy sprang to his feet. His mouth opened, but he found himself speechless until he managed a gawky "O-Of course not, I—"
"Because of Karachun day?", the priest asked.
"No—Yes. I do not know. Ever since my mother died, she changed. Now there is something in her I have not seen before." And it scares me, he thought but did not dare to say, and with a sip of honey wine, he washed it down.
"I fear for her, too," the priest answered and made Abram look up from his cup quickly to face him. "She turned the Dark God's advocate more than once. You see, she is in that dangerous age when the whole world becomes tempting—especially its darkness that appears dressed in light. I will pray for Svet to keep watch over her."
Khaya could not hear their words but feel their gazes on her—dark and grim among the others—while Majda swirled with her across the room more gracefully than ever. Even while she danced with Mladen, Khaya saw her look right through him. Instead, her honey eyes flew across the room to the tall soldier who quietly watched them from the priest's side like a guard dog at his master's feet.
