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Where The stars take us

by Rachelle Wolf 2 years ago in literature
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Prologue

a rough cover design

My jaw ached from the cold as I pushed through the snow, my legs threatening to give out from under me. My joints were so stiff that I felt them crackle and snap with every step forward. I wasn’t built for the cold and neither was my light attire. Tree branches slapped me, stinging and going numb time and time again against my face- the only thing that reassured me I was still alive. I didn’t even know where I was anymore. All I knew was that every step took me another step farther from home. I felt my horse’s breath against my neck. She was my only companion now. I let out a sigh and stopped searching for any sign of another living thing in the dense forest.

I deserve this, I reminded myself. I deserved this.

Part of me wanted to just lie down in the cold white flakes and never get back up. It looked so comforting at the moment--like a blanket of wonderful feathers. It wasn’t as though my body would know the difference as numb as I was. My will to keep living was decreasing. How long had it been since I had eaten? The last time, I believe, was on the edge of the sandy desert that led to the “greener” part of the world two days past. I shook my head getting the cool flakes out of my hair. I willed myself back into the saddle of my horse and wrapped my arms around her neck clinging limply to her chilled body.

“I’m sorry, Svia,” I whispered. “I’m sorry, girl.”

She stumbled on as I fell in and out of consciousness on her back. It wasn’t till morning that I became alert to the sound of a flute in the distance. I took her reins in my hand and willed her to the right of us. My whole body was shaking drastically trying to warm itself. I kept following the sound of the flute until my horse stumbled into a clearing and I saw before me a girl, not much older than myself, perched on a rock. Her hair was fire red and made me ache all over for warmth. Her skin was fair and her thin body was dressed in black breeches and a white shirt that made her stand out against the blank background. She looked up from her delicate fingers and cast her eyes on me.

“Papa!” she called. “Papa!”

I barely registered what she was saying as my world tilted.

literature

About the author

Rachelle Wolf

I'm an avid writer, photographer and gamer. My usual genre for my writing is medieval fantasy. I usually do photography while I'm out hiking.

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