The river was chill, but not cold. The current was swift, but not torrential. Sabit made her way quickly toward the bank.
Finding purchase on a boulder half-submerged, Sabit's eye caught something out of place, reflecting the sunlight from beneath the murky water's surface. Swimming closer, she grasped a necklace of finely-wrought silver chains as thick as her thumb. It felt like a month of warm food, perhaps more.
The bauble was wedged between two large rocks, held there by the force of the current for years without number. Sabit fished a bit of twine from a drenched pouch and secured the necklace to her wrist. With legs braced against one stony surface, back pressed against another, and the skilled application of her spear as a lever, Sabit pushed.
The rocks held still. Water surged over her face.
The rocks held still. Sabit strained until stars spotted her vision.
The rocks rewarded such effort with the tiniest of budges. It was enough.
Clambering onto the shore, Sabit found the shelter of a fallen tree and hung her wet skirts and drenched belongings to dry in the afternoon sunlight, clear and strong. The necklace she kept close. Its constellation of seven-pointed charms and minute chain links had tasted wilderness. Sabit was sure they would rebel against her continued possession, given half a chance.
The day was troubled, but not ruined. Her journey was delayed, but not despoiled. In the sunshine, Sabit considered her options.
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Wayfarings of Sabit: Blossom of Ruin is copyright (c) 2016 by Michael S. Miller. All rights reserved. New chapters post every weekday. You can support this and other stories on Patreon: https://patreon.com/michaelsmiller
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Blossom of Ruin: A Wayfaring of Sabit
FantasíaA world of dark sorcery-an age of sharpened bronze. Sabit lives by her wits and her spear. When a cutpurse makes off with a bauble, what will Sabit risk to regain what is hers? What bitter, uncanny fruit will bloom from her thirst for vengeance, or...
