Flowering. Approach. Part 14: Close Encounter
Listen, my son, to your father's instruction and do not forsake your mother's teaching.
Reader discretion is advised: This series contains death, violence, and sexual content. Flowering is not a lighthearted series. Flowering is meant for a mature audience. It is not my intention to mislead those who read it, thus misleading the perception of the series itself, leading your hearts astray.
Please, "take this lesson to heart." - LaRha and Wetah
“If I didn’t build it,” his heart leaped, “if Dad didn’t build it,” his heart pumped, “then who built it?” Looking over to his right, he saw who. “Her!” His heart pounded.
The woman was quiet as a deer, and as shocked as one too. She thought that she had been found out, for a moment, but upon taking closer notice, she found out that he was alone. “He’s closer!” Her heartbeat raced faster than her mind, her fingers started to move before her arms. “I can catch him!”
Being on the other side of the river, she almost fell in when she ran after him. Too frightened, he couldn’t speak any words or scream. She was beautiful, but what if she was stronger than him? He couldn’t allow her to catch him. He would never see his family again. Not Dad, not Xelu, not Zaria, and certainly not Mom. Every instinct in his body told him to run.
Scrambling while on a full belly didn’t suit him well, but he didn’t want to puke, but knew that a little bit of burn now would mean he could wash it down with water later. That is if later was guaranteed. Stopping quickly to lean on a tree, he retched and tried to remove some of the berries from his stomach, yet nothing seemed to come out. He couldn’t puke when he ran, but he didn’t need to puke when he was still. He was stuck between being slow, or trying to become fast while being stopped.
Trying to vomit didn’t get him anywhere. His fear only escalated inside of him. It reached its peak once she grabbed a hold of his wrist. Finally having the right trigger to empty his stomach, he hurled up his secret snack from before. Yet, his biggest problem was no longer his stomach, but the woman.
“My wrist!” His mind raced back to the memory of last night. He didn’t want to lose his fingers, hand, or wrist. She already got his wrist. He didn’t want to give her anything else.
He had a stone knife on him at the time, but he couldn’t yank it off the string wrapped around his hips. Reaching for the next best thing, he grabbed one of the apples from his pockets and threw it at her. Missing completely, it did get her to back up, but not loosen her grip. The next throw would definitely have to connect.
Grabbing a hold of the second apple, first he acted as if he were going to throw it. Getting her to flinch monetarily, he reared back, and whipped his arm through the air. Bull’s eyes, or in Zephyr’s case, woman’s eye.
Letting go of him, she screamed as her hands went to her eye. Falling back into the leaves, he rushed to his feet and ran away. Once he realized that she wasn’t following him, he stopped behind a tree and watched her. She was crying, sobbing, and weeping.
He felt bad for her. Looking down at his wrist, he saw that she left no marks, but he still felt the pressure being relieved from her grip that was there. He didn’t want to hurt her. All he wanted was to have his wrist back. He didn’t want to make her cry. All he wanted to do was to keep his distance.
Remaining hidden behind the tree he watched her as she wiped up her tears and sniffles. Looking around, he saw her pick up the apples and walk away. Not taking his eye off of her, he stared as she sat down behind a log. Not just any log, it was a log where he saw his first deer, the doe.