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For this you were born.
•••

"You're stronger than you think. Don't be too hard on yourself."

"I know you always say that but help make sense of this mom." I said holding back tears threatening to break bank from my lids.

"You should understand that my reserves are nothing at this point and truly brace yourself, you are no child.  Remember, at your age I'd already been given into marriage, not to say that this should be the case for you." Mama sighed. "Lord knows for this, for such a time as this, you were born." Her voice cracked, glassy eyes shimmering against the fading morning moonlight. She'd silently embraced me for a minute and vanished back into her smoke filled kitchen to ready breakfast for the rest of the household. The memory of her faint resign I'll have in mind forever.

"Ouch," I muffled as my head bonked itself against the metal bars again. Bulwark apologized for missing the bump and carried along the rugged marram road before us. Their chatter had ceased, he tapped his cigar betwixt his fingers ridding the ashes afloat through the open window. Cold currents enveloped me, I was puzzled, I'd never seen any proper smoker apart from him. My brother Jack was always warned of some sort of horrific disease, a cancer to the lungs, mama always suspected he sneaked out to Ashunyil a nearby town, to scratch his nicotine itch with his cool friends. I wondered about Papa, if he had ever tried a cigar in his lifetime.

"Is everything alright kid?" He inquired watching my nose crunch on his rear view mirror. I felt caught, shy, unsure of what to say, I thought older people were wise, wise enough to make bona fide choices, like avoid cancers¿ "Nope, I'm a little cold," I said, rubbing off the goosebumps riddling my skin. It was twice as frigid in this part of the country, I doubted Bulwark took note of my plea. His front window didn't shut; I leaned back disgruntled about the atmosphere and foreboding sentiments settled in the core of my heart.

"You shouldn't be upset kid, it will be far worse where you're headed." He snidely stated, "It's icy cold mornings in Ashanaiv, in any case, you wouldn't want to suffocate from my smoke plumes, now would you?" I shook my head dismissively.

Papa was snoring, I was convinced he'd barely gotten any sleep after what seemed like an acrimonious night back home. The tension was still cut through this morning and it dawned to me that Mama was livid. She was grieved he'd walked away from their hush-shush discourse last night. I perceived from his Colgate scented breathe that he'd probably drowned his rage in few mugs of beer at Dickson's shoddy village bar. Dick, the infamous neighbor who doubled as a jack of all trades. Today during the farewells she'd looped her arms and creased her frontlet when Papa planted a goodbye kiss on her forehead.

Another shudder and sneeze, seven a.m. today was eerie, I'd usually be waking set to fetch water from the river. My nightmares were materializing and they were unlike the pipe dream of futures I'd envisioned. From where I sat, my entails stayed formidable, I wiped a tear and glanced out the back window of the squeaky old Jeep.

It had been a seven hour drive with one stoppage to fill up on gasoline. I understood that Bulwark was doing Papa a solid favor driving us all the way. They were somewhat kindred spirits in ways I for one, could never understand.

The sun was peeking above the horizon, we turned left taking an abrupt diversion onto an idle hilly road. I looked up and saw it, saw the vastness of dry grasslands beyond the large barred black gate and my heart thumped. "This is it." I thought.

This really is it.

"Edinah¿"

"Forgive me Papa." I said sniveling, wiping my sweaty palms, too terrified to meet him, embarrassed he'd take note of my puffy eyes. His tall frame curved towards me, a minty breath wafting into my nostrils.