Hexe - The Great Exodus

[CH. 0018] - The Little King and the Mage

Mamavida

Mother

Type: Noun

Meaning: In the Menschen language, "Mamavida" is the term for "mother," encapsulating the essence of life and nurturing. It denotes the one who gives life. The term carries the weight of both the physical act of mothering and the broader, life-giving force that sustains all beings.

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The underbrush crunched under Noctavia's barefoot steps through the forest. Her keen eyes fixed on the boar grazing obliviously in the silent clearing, only accompanied by the distant call of a bird as the boar nibbled on the fresh grass, unaware of the deadly trajectory of the arrow aimed at its heart.

There was no room for error; the bow was drawn tight, a curve of impending death, and Noctavia's fingers itched on the string, ready to release.

But as she took aim, her arms betrayed her, the bowstring slackening with a sigh. The weapon lowered with a wave of exhaustion washed over her. Fatigue clung to her limbs, sickness roiling in her belly like a stormy sea.

She craved the mouthwatering taste of meat, a longing driven by the endless mornings of eggs that Ulencia prepared, bland and repetitive. But her body was rebelling, drained of strength.

"Master?" The concern in the wolf's voice was clear as the Spirit of the Howling Night materialised beside her.

"I'm fine, Howl. Just tired," she lied, her voice barely a mumble amidst the verdant whispers of the forest. Grit creased her brow as she nocked another arrow, refocusing on the boar. With a deep breath, she drew the string once more and let the arrow fly. It missed its mark again, and the boar bolted—only to halt mid-escape, suspended in the air as if snared by invisible threads. Time itself had frozen, a small mercy granted by Noctavia's will.

"Well, it's not cheating if no one knows," she muttered under her breath, a note of frustration in her tone meant only for her and the Howling Night at her side. Her hand found the copper dagger in her belt.

"You have been... irritated lately," Howling Night observed, his voice a deep rumble as he prowled behind his Master.

"Wouldn't you be?" Noctavia complained with a sharp voice that exposed her blade of emotion. "Half a moon has passed, and he hasn't returned. I can't sense him, and I don't even know if he's safe. If something happened to him or to the others. Or maybe he's—"

"I would know," Howl interjected.

"You would?" she pressed, her heart twisting with worry.

"And I would kill him for causing you distress and pain," Howl growled protectively. "Would shatter his bones, and he would hear each one of them crack."

"You would not, silly! Such a big mouth saying such big words. You adore him as much as I do, if not more," Noctavia retorted, her hand steady as she approached the suspended animal, her dagger poised at its neck.

"He does give excellent belly rubs," Howl conceded with a wistful tone that lightened the moment. "But he is not my Master!"

A soft chuckle escaped Noctavia's lips even as she made the clean-cut. "He sure does."

As time snapped back into its rightful rhythm, the boar collapsed to the ground, its lifeblood staining the grass a vivid crimson. The scent of blood mingled with the earthy dampness of the forest floor, overwhelming Noctavia's senses. She doubled over, retching beside the boar's twitching form.