The Wolf and The Blossom

Chapter 6

Anne

The harvest festival is today. I've been here for weeks and not much has changed. The villagers still hate me, all except Waya and the older woman, Inola. Running away would be futile, I have nowhere to go, I'm all alone.

Waya and I communicate much better now but he is usually withdrawn and quiet but he does lower the guard sometimes and I get a glimpse of him. A week ago he visited my destroyed village and when he came back, he gave me a bundle of novels and a stack of parchment along with a quill and ink pot.

Now I it on the pile of furs with my knees drawn up, the book propped up on them, reading an adventure novel. Waya sits on the other side of the room whittling wood, taking careful time.

"Are you going to the festival?" I ask, closing my book, sitting it aside.

He looks up, hair tied up in a loose bun. "We have to go. Elder Inola demanded you be there."

My brows furrow. "Um, no. I don't want to go."

Waya turns back to his whittling. "You don't disobey elder Inola," he says, as if that ends the discussion.

"I'm not going to a festival where everyone hate me. They'll be talking about me! I am a pariah, Waya, don't you understand that?" I argue.

He sighs. "Anne, we are going. You'll get over it."

Anger flares inside me and I toss the book away from me and roll over. What is he not understanding? How can I go to a festival where I'll be constantly ridiculed? Anxiety turns my stomach and I get up and go over to the drinking bucket, filling a clay cup, and slowly drink the water. The cold water relaxes me and I close my eyes, taking a deep breath.

Waya sidles to my back and for a moment he is silent. "Anne," he murmurs, breath tickling the back of my neck.

Shivering, I turn and look up at him, warmth rippling off his body and seeping into me. "Yes?" I raise my eyebrows, a headache pulsing in my head.

"I'll be right there with you. Even if all those things happen, I'll be there." His voice is soft and deep, resonating in my bones.

Something eases and a small smile tugs my lips. "Thank you."

-~-

The weather is warm with a cool breeze, the wind brushing my navel and arms, sweeping stray strands of hair off my face. Waya stands beside me, arm brushing mine as we look upon the crops they've been working on. I can't deny it's a bountiful crop. Pride flows through the crowd and they dance and sing. Excitement courses through me.

"This looks amazing," I whisper.

Waya looks down at me and grins. My chest flutters and when he makes his way towards the food, I pause by the bonfire where men and women dance and laugh. "I'll wait there," I say confidently.

He looks at me and then our surroundings. His jaw tenses. "I'll be quick."

I nod and tap my foot, smiling, letting the joy of the festival fill me as I dance in place.

"What are you so happy about, white dog," a voice says in their native language.

My heart stops but I keep my face forward. "Leave me alone." I steel myself, taking a deep breath, balling my fists.

Two women circle me. "You know Waya isn't yours, he belongs to the women of the tribe," one continues.

"Why would he want white trash when he has us?"

"He likes to visit us while you're asleep."

"He's quite handsome, isn't he?"

Tears prick my eyes and an odd feeling squeezes my heart. "Ahiya'a," I hiss. "Go away!"