The Fall and Maybe the Rebirth?

Chapter 1: The Village

The Village

The wind is soft in my long flowing hair and ribbon. A golden glow settles on the growing bubs of the trees overhead. The weather was finally starting to warm up. I now always dislike when the weather grows colder. When snow settles on everything, making it difficult to walk, hunt, and forage. It reminds me of that day. It reminds me of the smoke, yelling, screaming, sobbing, ash and the overbearing feeling of dread. I always make sure to make time to be outside once it is once again warm.

I pause my steps slightly to have the warm sunlight heat my scarred face.

I breathe in deeply.

I continue on.

I just manage to keep in a sigh as I walk.

Despite my best efforts, I can't help but wonder if I'll get to eat today. Probably not. Maybe, if I'm lucky I'll get a loaf of stale bread at the bakery. My stomach rumbles just thinking about it.

As I walk almost all I can hear is the wind. The leaves rustling, my footsteps as I walk on the dirt path, the wind running through the fur of my haphazardly made cloak, the chitter of the occasional bird.

I breathe in the smoke filled air.

I'm used to the burning sensation that comes from inhaling what has now become natural air.

I can't help but reminisce on the times before. Before I had to go days without eating, before I had to constantly worry for my well being, before I had to make and find my own clothes. Before the invasion. Before the war. Before the fall.

I clench the weaved basket I made by my own calloused hands as I sigh once again.

No use thinking about that. No matter what I do, nothing will ever be the same again.

I find myself coming to the end of the path.

The small village near where I live is bustling with quick steps and barely hidden terror.

Vendors swinging merchandise out as if anyone can afford to get anything but necessities. Children clutching their parents' hands as they avoid any eye contact and briskly walk through the narrow stone road. Out of the corner of my eye I spot some of the disguised soldiers mingling with the common folk.

I roll my eyes internally.

Like those soldiers will actually do anything if a fight breaks out.

Just as I think that, I hear shouting and a body pushes past me, shoving me slightly off balanced as they run away, laughing. I make sure I still have the basket in my grasp as a guard chases past me, chasing the petty thief to the border of the village, before slowing down and coming to a stop, walking back, clearly not wanting to bother actually arresting him.

Typical.

With distain only clear too me, I continue down the poorly made and maintained road as if nothing happened, making my way to the local bakery.

Before I can place my hand on the door handle, Penelope comes bursting out, jumping into my arms for a hug.

"Best friend!!" Her screams are always loud enough to get some disapproving side eyes from onlookers.

She is used to me not responding with more then a hum.

After a couple of minutes trapped in her strong arms, we finally made our way inside. Leaning against the slightly cracked counter of the bakery is James, Penelope's husband. The two love birds got married right before the fall and have been attached at the hip since. Through thick and thin, through sickness and health, I have not once seen them break any semblance of their vows. It is honestly impressive with how much everyone has gone through.

I nod my head towards him in acknowledgment. He nods his own back.

As Penelope chatters in the background I set my basket on the counter and look around the familiar environment. The boarded up bay windows in the front of the shop, once meant to look into the store, now a weak point. The old, cracked, dark gray countertop that spans almost the entirety of the centre of the room, only pausing for a place for the flap gate leading to the back, where they sleep and bake. One of the only decorations hung on the wall is an old analog clock, the backing a dirty off white. The walls surrounding us are a dirty, dusty pale brown with poorly hidden cracks lining them. The shop smells of freshly baked bread, ash and a hint of lavender.

Finally Penelope quiets down. A calm, serene silence falling over us.

Before Penelope can ask the usual courtesy question as to why I'm there, we hear screaming outside as the door slams open.

I quickly grab my previously sheathed hunting knife from my belt, falling into my now familiar fighting stance.

Ah. It was another robber. Typical.

I don't come out of the fighting stance just yet, but I loosen my posture as I observe my surroundings. I hold no animosity towards the average thief, they're just people who are trying to live like the rest of us.

The kid is no older than seventeen. The hand holding his knife shakes. This is his first time.

I sigh, rolling my shoulders back slightly.

Keeping my hunting knife up and in my hand, my face blank, I slowly approach the scared kid. Because that's all he is. A kid. A scared kid.

As I approach, his shaking increases tenfold. He brings his knife higher. It's a butcher's knife, he must be the butcher's son, I heard his wife has fallen terribly ill. The boy's father must not be getting enough trades to feed his son, young daughter and sick wife.

I slowly, as to not startle him, put my hand on his shoulder, pulling him into a strong hug. The kid's breath hitches before he breaks down crying in my arms. As he sobs in my arms, I glance to the side to look at Penelope and James, they're both frowning, I silently nudge my head in the direction of the kitchen.

Penelope nods back.

As she and James walk to the back to get what I guess is leftover bread, I start petting the kid's head as he calms down. He hiccups into my shoulder quietly. I mourn for when this used to be uncommon.

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