The wind howled so loud that the house began to shutter, fear in its capability to remain standing. It's not uncommon for us to get strong winds this high up in the mountain range of MiraPeak, but you would think our house would have been built more reliable to withstand the weather. To be fair it has been standing in my family's lineage for the past few hundred years since we've been condemned to lighting the warning beacon if the enemy were to cross their boundary. "Sylvia, these buckets won't fill themselves!" My mother barks from across the farmhouse "Yes, ma'am". I put down my pencil and pad as I was sketching a willow tree blowing with the harsh breeze. I was attempting to get the angle of the highest branch before it splits by the bark. I zip my jacket tight and grab the two pail buckets next to the door.
My older brothers had been sent to the front lines after graduating from the academy this past year, leaving me to pick up the slack. Our farm rests at the top of the mountain range where we do most of our bidding through the earth itself, seeing as the closest town is about a three-mile walk to where the range banks into a flat-land more suitable for housing. We never had the resources to put in a well so we usually have to send for a few trips down to the Baskin River that streams near the edge of our property, a few acres from the house. I would say I have lived quite the secluded life due to my family's placement when the accords were struck ages ago. My brothers who are 5 years older than me were more social butterflies than I ever cared to be, Jason and Brett are their names, twins if you cared to know. I side stepped through our vegetable patch and continued onto my daily-path towards the stream.
We live in the territory of Mira which has been the mostly winning side of a long 3 tier generational war. It's been around my entire life so I don't know anything different. As some provinces have stayed faithful to the accords, we have some rebellions appearing further down the coastline touching the territory of Artlu, although I don't see the appeal I usually avoid topics surrounding the war or politics. When you've been jaded as the Black family, nothing really matters apart from day to day survival. After skimming over our corn field I hit the baseline of our tree meadow that brushes with the stream. I guess I should also mention our third territory, Dimn, but it's practically been eradicated.
Dipping my second pail into the cold of the stream a shiver runs down my spine. It's just the beginning days of spring around here as the winter runoff is still chilled through the air. "Sylvia!" The echo of my name was enough to scare me and slip under my crouch causing me to push my boot into the water "God dang it." I lean back onto my hands pulling my foot from the stream, having ice tempered water drain out as I was not keen on knotting up my laces before exiting the house. "Whoops, sorry" I turned my head to see my friend Cora coming through the meadow with a basket of assorted greenery. "Whatcha have to go and do that for Cora" I stand brushing the dirt from my pants.
"I said sorry, I didn't know you were such a scaredy cat today" Cora dropped her basket and put her hands into the stream to drink. I'd known Cora my whole life as she is the next home closest to ours, her family too fell into unfortunate alignment with the cords earning herself a seat as my best friend. Albeit she is just about different from me in every way possible however. Her frame is small and dainty, hair the shade of coal, a passion for politics in the ongoing war, a family large enough to populate a village, and a curiosity to discover new adventures.
"Say sorry to my now soaking sock" I always wondered if we would have chosen to be friends had our lineage been different. "What are you doing up here anyway? I wasn't supposed to see you until tomorrow." We usually found time once a week to break away from our daily duties to have some fun, otherwise I think we would go completely mental. "Lucas is sick again, so I was collecting greens for his herbal medicine. Usually I can get luckier towards the top of the range versus by the village" She says standing up from the stream placing her hands on her hips. "Do you know what it is?" Lucas is one of her million younger brothers.
YOU ARE READING
Sylf Tales
FantasySylvia Black has always been labeled as lesser due to the position of duty written in ink with the Accords. Magic has lost its way and the continent has been at war with each other for years trying to find balance. After a whimsical night, Sylvia is...
