Page 10 of The Song of Sunrise
Leaf finally gathers himself after a few minutes of hearty laughs and mumbling something about “spirit fingers.” The soft pattering of rain fills the silence. If I wasn’t emotionally andphysically exhausted, I would appreciate the rhythmic pattern of the droplets.
“Can you help me with this?” Leaf asks, struggling to untie the saddlebag strapped to the side of his horse.
“Sure.” My nimble fingers untie the knots with ease, making me wonder if Leaf’s hands are that large, or maybe he is just trying to find ways to make me feel helpful.
He pulls on the bag and takes out a set of tightly rolled tarps. His giant, glossy white horse stomps its hooves in agitation.
“Easy goes it, Tiny.” Leaf pats the horse a few times.
“Tiny?” I ask with a squeak before thinking. I swear I hear the massive horse snuff in disapproval.
“She’s in denial,” he stage-whispers to me from behind his hand. “She was the smallest little thing when she was born. Tiny, really. I guess I wasn’t very clever with the naming, was I? Before I had the chance to rename her, it stuck. She won’t respond to anything else, right Tiny?”
Tiny raises her head high, peering one eye over to us skeptically.
“She’s beautiful,” I acknowledge.
“She is, and she’s mine.” He smiles broadly at Tiny.
I look at Leaf, really observing him for the first time. He is frighteningly beautiful. High cheekbones, square jaw, and dark almond eyes. His hair is shaved on the sides right above his ears. Down the center, his long hair is pulled back into loose braids atop his broad shoulders. He’s wearing the customary blue Watcher cloak, but underneath is an ominous smattering of weapons peeking out from various hidden pockets. The “W” Watcher sigil intertwined with an image of a rising sun is gleaming proudly on his chest. From a distance, he is quite intimidating, but the closer you get, the more you notice his quick smiles and warmth. It’s hard to describe why, but I instinctively feel safe around him.
Castor emerges from the darkness, jogging back toward us. A few dead rabbits and squirrels bounce limply in each hand.
“Dinner is here!” Leaf claps his hands together.
“I’ll make the fire,” I say.
The Watchers exchange a glance.
Perhaps they assume I can’t make a fire? Little do they know, I’ve made hundreds. It feels like just yesterday I was living in a small, abandoned, single-room cabin in the outskirts of Ashwood. Out of necessity, I learned how to do many things during that time of my life, fire-making being one of them.
You become resourceful in creative ways when you have nothing.
While I begin with the fire, Castor works on skinning the catches and Leaf puts together a makeshift shelter with the tarps.
The rain slows to a light drizzle. A welcome reprieve.
Sweat dampens my forehead as I aggressively twist a piece of wood between my palms. I can feel the friction growing between the pieces. A whisper of smoke swirls out from the sticks, coiling around my fingers.
There we go.Come on!
The smoke dissipates and disappears.
“Sun burn me!” I throw the stick aside and sink to the ground.
I am a failure. I failed at making a fire. I failed to remember my Tale, resulting in Marrow taking my spot… only to be killed moments later.
I wish I wouldn’t have moved… that the red wax-tipped arrow went through my chest instead.
I bury my head in my hands, hiding the angry tears streaming down my cheeks.
A hand softly touches my back.
“Let me help,” Leaf offers quietly.
I prop my head on my knees and blink rapidly, so tired of crying. Of feeling this way. Like I fell into an enormous cavern of grief that is impossible to climb out of.
He seems to understand my silent admission. His fingers begin to glow a combination of orange, yellow and gold. This close to him, I can feel it—the warmth and heat. Small tendrils of light weave and knot in intricate patterns.
