Emeral In Shadow

The Harvest [#13]

Madelief finally felt like she had a purpose again.

At the farm, she worked everyday for her ma and pa till the heat of the day, then played with Marijn- or Gustaaf, his first name was according to Aethel, till it got dark. She slept, repeat the familiar cycle.
The bandits had turned her life upside down, shook all meaning out of it, then squeezed every drop of hope out of her life's already reeling body.

Finding Gustaaf at the ball was only the first step, the first spark to the dry kindling that was her heart, her drive for living.
Aethel had thrown fuel into that fire, and trained her into a living weapon sharp with determination.

Now she was a wildfire.

A wildfire directed straight towards the new King, who according to Aethel was more cruel then even Adalwolf. She'd heard rumors of Adalwolf's cruelty already, killing off servants for accidentally dropping his fork, hanging one for saying one snide remark behind his back and then the five that heard the mildly rebellious words.

Whoever stood between her and the King, whoever tried to stop her, was in the wrong and irredeemably evil. Those who are evil must be eliminated.

This she repeated in her mind, as she quietly ran through the shadows of the setting sun cast beside the main long road that ran through the Kingdom. Her scythe was strapped to her back, the blade covered in a black cloth. Three serrated side daggers, no longer then two or three inches with elaborate designs on their handles together clinked right under the hem of her cloak, concealed for quick access.

Her black and white cloak billowed around her, the two colors zig-zagging around in wild patterns, durable black pants and thick shirt with a sort of chainmail down into the fabric feeling sturdy and supportive. Her hair was tied back simply by a black ribbon.

Her eyes, covered by fake lenses, were an orange not found in eyes. Like the most vibrant of the autumn leaves or a prized pumpkin of the fall. This plus the black ashy dust in her hair, made her practically unrecognizable to her old farmer self.

As news begun to spread through the Kingdom of the volatile changes to the crown, a shadow seemed to fall over the townspeople, so that most spoke in low voices, walking meekly from place to place.
Except this wide and shouting throng of rioting servants outside the Palace gates, equipped with torches and pitchforks, Madelief noted.

A man stood on top of a barrel in the midst of them all, square sturdy jaws and green eyes. Blonde hair matted with mud and dirt.

Actually, his whole body was covered with dirt and clothing made out of the same material of the sacks Madelief would to stuff potatoes in at the farm.
Madelief lingered by the edge of the last house, the slightly chill Autumn breeze gently flowing around her, before having to cross the road to the Palace.

She watched Ewald shout and throw his fist in the air, and the crowd roared. It was clear that he had found a purpose, a direction to go in life, and had grown into the role perfectly.
With the time apart from him and the Palace, Madelief had realized that he had been genuine, though definitely not equipped to deal with a mourning soul.

A small grin crept onto her face as she noticed Amber standing right beneath Ewald beside the barrel, shouting and pumping her fist along with him with one arm, the other wrapped supportively around his leg.
Clearly, Amber had found her direction as well.

Madelief headed towards the crowd. As she approached, the outer layer of servants turned to look, which had brung Ewald's attention to her.

He fixed his gaze onto her, his steely gaze warming at the sight of her, "Greetings! I assume you are a friend...?" He narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously, eyeing the covered scythe on her back, but then noticed her face. And he could never forget that face, even with different eyes.