Bessa

Hard Hunger - 1/4

My sister's artwork. The title Moose...the caption if you don't like where you are, move...you are not a tree...

LOVE HER...

Follow Sarah on Instagram for all of her creations at sarahscribblez. 

The air lacks warmth this morning.

Barefeet melts the frost that layers the ground leaving behind our footprints.

My feet are cold, and I'm hungry. I've never been this hungry before.

"We will eat after, Bessa." The Savage opens the door to allow me in first.

The teachers wait for me.

There is a moment of not moving forward, stuck still because I understand what's coming to me. A hand on my shoulder with the barest of a squeeze calms my trepidation.

"Did she ever have to fight the teachers?" Waiting for his answer.

"She was never good enough for them to get off their chairs and train." His sound presses into the silk just above my right shoulder.

"The middle one is the strongest, get her left wrist and break it. Don't let go of her, because she will still fight. You're going to take a beating, but don't let go of her. Make her feel the pain to the point she will understand fighting you will always cause her pain." The silk holds his lowered voice against the shell of my ear.

The vapor of his scent, trails between the pores of silk.

Warmth waves itself within the sternum of my chest.

"Bessa, from across the sea it has been a long time since we have had anyone from the land I was birthed on." The middle female says with a humble bow.

"You are not of my Lineage." Looking at the fur she wears instead of Silk, she has lost her Heritage. Her hair is braided behind her head, rich brown beads the color of the almond nuts decorates the ends. There is old worn black ink that holds symbols on her forearm.

"No, I'm not. I'm more from the South, where the desert gives way to the Mountains. Your Kin is from the Dunes that give way to the Ocean." Her voice trails where her eyes are looking at the pictures on the Silk I wear. My Kin's tales of heritage, territory and wealth.

"You're right. I am from the Dunes." The dress reads as if it's a map of the land. The native birds embordered on the edges, the flowers are weaved within the silk strands. The fig tree holds the bounty of the land and is the central piece of the skirt that's weighed down with the ripening fruit.

It showcases our abundance.

"Once you're more at home here, we can do tea. I would love to catch up on any news of my birth land you might have."

Smiling, "That could be arranged." For me to open my mouth to tell her what she wants to know will cost her.

"Let us begin." The middle female is the one with the voice, the other two have been following the conversation with their eyes. The rest of the females back up against the walls.

When I take off my coverings, I can feel the inner gasp of him.

The Savage always stills when he views my uncovered face. The length of my neck holds his complete attention as the color of cinder spreads across his face.

Flushing his tone of skin.

Dilating pupils engorge themselves in the small space of his eyes.