Peacebringer

Chapter Three- Asha

Asha Moto felt the sun before she saw it. She curled her body, hugging the blankets tighter in that last sweet moment of sleep. Her brain slowly started to register that the sun was up, and therefore she needed to be up. She groaned loudly, sounding like some variety of farm animal.

Her senses slowly came into focus, feeling the woven blanket, the softness of her pillow. She smelled something of the breakfast variety, hot and greasy, and heard something hissing in a pan. The backs of her eyelids glowed a warm yellow orange from the sun streaming in through her small window.

She rolled over onto her stomach and groaned again, uneager to awake despite the sudden growling of her stomach. She slid off the bed with as little effort as possible, slipping her feet into a pair of woven house shoes. Her night shirt hung off of her wiry frame, although not as long as it used to. She stretched and slowly ambled towards the kitchen, her slippered feet shuffling down the hallway.

The farmhouse was small, but cozy. Evidence of her mother's craftsmanship was all over the house. She was a weaver, making blankets and clothes from fine threads. She traded eggs from their chickens with the neighboring farm for wool from their sheep, but always saved enough eggs for a hearty breakfast for the two of them. Her wares hadn't been as profitable lately, but summer was on its way out. The mornings were increasingly crisp, the air had the barest hint of a refreshing bite to it. Asha thought they would be selling more very shortly.

As she neared the kitchen, her nose was able to distinguish the smell of frying spiced sausages and the traditional eggs. Her mother stood over the stove in a matching night shirt, stirring eggs. Asha plopped herself down in one of the worn kitchen chairs, legs sticking out and shoulders hunched.

"I swear, you could sleep for three days straight and still be tired!" Her mother chuckled, well accustomed to Asha's morning routine. "Eggs?"

"Scrambled." Asha replied sleepily. Mornings were not her specialty. It didn't help that she had spent most of the night reading in her treehouse by candlelight. Reading was by far her favorite pastime, sometimes to the point where it impeded her daily functions. It was hard to do farm chores when books were so close at hand.

The treehouse was in an ancient apple tree that the neighbors said had been there for generations. Even though the treehouse had been there since before Asha and her mother had come, it still didn't show any sign of wear. The wood was glossy and strong, a perfect place for nighttime reading. Upon my own inspection years later, I found it to be enchanted, probably by the previous owner. Asha was thinking she should get one of those fancy lamps from the marketplace, the ones that came from the northern desert. They would run all night if you left them in the sun all day. She knew that they were also probably enchanted and therefore illegal, but it seemed like a worthwhile risk. Rangers didn't come out her way that often. If they did, they would have probably confiscated the whole house by now.

Asha's mother soon handed her a steaming plate of eggs and sausages. The smell of the spices her mother always used tickled her nose and made her stomach rumble. Asha's mother was from my homeland, the deserts of Sayreen, with dark skin and coarse hair that she kept so short she was almost bald. The people in Karda would have thought this a little strange, so she usually covered her head with a scarf when she went into town.

She often wore woven or metal circlets around her head, as was customary to her people. Asha had always thought that her mother's hair and circlets made her look like a queen. She held her head high and always looked elegant. Today she had a simple woven one that she had made herself. Asha had several of them as well. With all the weaving that went on in that house, there were always scraps available for this small luxury.