Yuragwyn: Yours

---Chapter 2

∞Kaitra∞

The dawn peeks cautiously over the horizon, looking for my small figure as I mount the top of my mountain to get to my tree. I've brought the box today, and the secret it holds buries itself in the pit of my stomach. The smallest part of me hates this box, hates the hold it has on my family, me.

I find the familiar roughness of my tree and lean against it, this time pressing back and down to relive the ache that is in me. I decide to take care of this dagger first, so I can put my quaking heart to rest. My movements, though, become sluggish and restrained by fear, and it feels like an eternity before I have the key in the lock. Goosebumps prickle my arms in anticipation.

The key turns easily, and I stare at the hilt and sheath again. It really is beautiful. The sunlight catches on the stones, and I have to squint against the bright reflection of the cold morning sun. Is this a gift? A curse?

I pick it up. It is light, about nine inches from tip to top, and it fits comfortably in the palm of my hand. The leather sheath is all that prevents me from seeing the blade, but I hesitate when I wrap my fingers around it. Why not let this be a novel mystery that gathers dust in my closet instead of my parents'? Why not discard their heartfelt, pleading words, pretend to write until the full glory of mountain mornings, and return to life as it has always been lived?

I throw the caution the wind that howls sharply through the trees and brazes my face. The sheath is in my left hand, the dagger in my right. The blade gleams, still sharp. Then the blade hovers before me, not held by my hand or anyone else's. A spark of pain ignites in my left ring finger, and I jump up with a squeak of shock. Now the dagger is in its sheath back in my hand as if it had never left, never been unsheathed.

I watch a drop of deep red blood roll to the very tip of my finger and fall off onto one of the fallen white oak leaves. It soaks in almost immediately, giving the leaf a deep pink hue in the center. Something about the stain draws me to it, and my eyes become transfixed on the concentric circles of pigment that appear to be pulsating through the leaf.

Then the wind begins to blow again, sharper this time. Leaves swirl around me, blinding me, pushing me to the soft earth at the base of my tree. Everything fades from view, everything except the dagger and the stained leaf.

₰Traugott₰

A thump catches my attention, farther back towards the River Rapha. I pick my way towards it, sword drawn as a matter of habit. Several large creatures lumber through these woods, and not a few are rather stupid and prone to running into things. Hiltraud follows me, easing his own sword out of its scabbard. Erhard snorts and picks his way a bit apart from us through the underbrush to the noise. We walk along quietly; some creatures are more prone to charge when startled than others.

I emerge from the thick woods into a small clearing, about twenty feet in diameter and with a ray shooting out on the far side, crushed by an old oak tree that had been struck by lightning and torn off its stump. Then I see her, balled up under the split trunk of the tree, holding her knees so tightly to her that her fingers are white with the effort. Her hair covers most of her face and burns red in the sunlight piercing the foliage above. I study her for a moment. Where could she have come from? Why would she rest here and not in Cordina?

Then she sees me.

∞Kaitra∞

I find myself on flat ground, the tree above me torn about eight feet up, the top half thrown down beside me. I can hear a steady thump, two, three, all rhythmically advancing towards me. The dagger lies at my feet, but I dare not touch it, for fear of being thrown somewhere else.