Finally (A Paul Lahote love story )

1. The Beginning

  (Naiyah's POV)

1940

    Fire is calming. It's warmth. It's life.

   I've always enjoyed it, the fire that is. It has never caused me any harm before.

   I watched as the flames danced into the night sky. Night has always been my favorite part of the day, even when I was younger, my mother would tell me that I lived to love the night. And I do.

   It's ironic really, I love the night so much that now I'm destined to forever roam it. Cause of what a monster I am. Cause of the monster I've become.

   I looked up at the sky, the stars are as bright as ever. I sighed, "Another night alone." I whispered to myself. I looked up and saw what the white eyes call the milky way. But my people had called it something else, it told a story of how we came to be. How the sacred one came down to earth and how he left his white paint in the sky for us to see every night.

   A small smile came upon my lips as I remembered my life before all this wondering. I remembered my family and friends, the stories the medicine men would tell us younger ones. Just my life in general.

   "Nzhune', Soonts..." I whispered my sister's names as I look at the stars. I couldn't tell you how many times I named the stars after my family, I do it so I will never forget. I don't want to forget them. I don't know what I would do if I did.

   My thoughts were broken when I heard a twig snapped. I quickly turned, my hand automatically going to my belt where my knife was. Though it was dark I still saw the three figures in the distance, my golden eyes narrowing slightly as I saw them walking towards me.

   I could tell that they were white eyes, but they weren't normal. Most would be afraid to walk this far in the woods at night. 

   Then I noticed it. No heartbeats. No warmth coming from them at all.

   Cold ones

   My defensive stance disappeared as they stood only a few feet away. That's when their red eyes looked into mine. A female and two males.

   "Your eyes, " the woman spoke, though she couldn't be older than 18 or 19, "they are different from ours." The southern accent very noticeable as she spoke. I noticed she held hands with one of the men on her right. The other man was on her left with no emotion on his face what so ever.

   I nod, "And yours are red." I say calmly. My voice strong and clear, like every Apache woman should sound. Over the years I perfected my english so I spoke it effortlessly.

   I smiled to myself as I saw her eyes widen slightly in shock. I wouldn't blame them for being surprised, I was in my traditional camp dress, my long skirt came to my ankles, the designs on the material were sewed on by hand, the turquoise and yellow standing out against the black. The top a beautiful turquoise material, the sleeve coming down to just below my elbow, like a traditional dress should be. The design simple but beautiful at the same time. My traditional moccasins were made of buckskin hide and a curved tip on the toe, like all Apache boots had. The rest of the boot was double layered, with traditional designs paint in black, but most of it was hidden by my skirt. My belt was made of leather, with real silver in it for design, it hung on my waist showing that I had a figure. And on my belt hung my medicine bag, also made from buckskin, on the right side. It was full of yellow pollen, it was only used to bless things in your life, whether it be food or the people you love. But on my left held me knife, it was given to me by my father when I turned 13. My hair was down, it came down to my waist. It was straight and long, healthy looking. My hair was like the night sky, that's how dark it was.