A gust of cold wind whistled through the soaring firs and blew through one of the shattered windows of the battered little homestead sweeping strands of dark hair across her face. Raising a work roughened hand she took a strand between two fingers and began to twist it dreamily, gazing out at the net of tiny lights that twinkled from a distant mountain slope in the serene twilight. The house was dark and silent. An old clock ticked on one wall of the tiny room that seemed to be a cross between a sitting room and a kitchenette. A few worn chairs and a little wooden table, which had obviously been broken and then hastily repaired, sat in one corner of the room while the other was occupied by a make-shift stove fueled by wood. Next to it stood a pile of crates filled with mismatched plates, bowls, cups and assorted cutlery.
Steam issued from a pot bubbling on the stove and created an illusion of warmth in the frigid darkness that engulfed the house. An owl hooted in the distance not quite shattering the silence but somehow adding to it. The faint sound of a galloping horse echoed through the mountain and her mouth twitched at the corners as if to attempt a long forgotten smile. Maybe that is my prince, my knight in shining armor, come to save me. He'll ride up the little winding path up to my prison and pledge his undying love to me and then, he shall pull me up in the saddle and take me away to his castle to cherish for the rest of my life. He shall be handsome, of course, just like I always imagined him to be..She sighed and shook her head indulgently at her own foolishness. Two loud male voices broke her reverie and she shot to her feet, her heart banging wildly in her fragile torso. Hands trembling, she swiped the length of coarse, black fabric, slung across the back of her chair, and tied it sloppily around her head and face. Stumbling over to the simmering pot she began to stir it's contents just as the door slammed open and a rough voice thundered through the room "AMINA!"
Ducking her head and lowering her gaze she turned from the stove towards the giant of a man filling the doorway. Akbar. Her husband, her jail keeper and, in every sense of the word, her master. She murmured a greeting to him with gaze still downcast but turned back to the stove when she realized that he had a man waiting just outside.
"I'll be inside in a minute and there had better be food on that table when I do." he growled stepping outside and slamming the door shut before she could answer. The thinly veiled threat in his voice made her shudder as she hastened to do his bidding. Her fingertips gingerly traced the large bruise across her cheekbone from the last threat that he had issued and then followed up on, two nights ago. Akbar never bluffed. Whatever he spoke, he followed up on. Amina quickly swallowed her own small bowl of scalding broth, before he could come in, and went to stand dutifully in a corner.
To be continued..
