Steps in the Snow

The crunch of the snow beneath his feet and the dragging sound of his latest kill were all he could hear. The buck struck down just recently, fresh blood staining the pristine blanket of frozen sky.

It wasn’t long before one of the buck’s horns got caught in a snowbank. A grunt left the man’s throat at the slight inconvenience. As he bent down to unhook the buck’s horns, he could see a slight movement, like breathing, buried underneath the bank. Hoping it was an extra meal for the night, the man dug out the half-breathing creature. Only to find, to his surprise, a young girl half frozen. Her once tan skin was flushed of all color, a clear sign she does not have long to live if he didn’t do something. Without haste, he wrapped the buck around his shoulders and tucked the young girl into his warm jacket, hoping to warm her somehow. Luckily, the journey to his home did not end with her fading.

“A powerful spirit in this one.” the man speaks into his cabin. Quickly discarding his kill in favor of bringing the girl to his bed and beginning the girl’s treatment. He laid his palm against her forehead. He could feel her burning up from fever. Carefully and with respect, he swiftly had her changed into a thin tunic and packed ice into her neck and armpits. He could see the young girl shiver, a clear sign she is responding to the treatment. Small whimpers filled his once quiet home. His buck laid unsalted and still needed to be skinned, but the man could not leave the child’s side, somewhere deep inside telling him to keep her safe. Her whines only grew as she became more uncomfortable. The young child unconsciously tried to find warmth wherever she could, tugging on the furs underneath her. The seasoned hunter continued to have to gently take her hands away, knowing that warmth would undo her progress.

After what seemed like eons, her shivering stopped and the young girl soon calmed. The man let out a breath of relief at the promising improvement. Resting the back of his hand on her forehead, he could feel the fever leaving her body. Satisfied with her improvement, he changed the now -soaked sheets in favor of new ones and laid her in bed. He then went off to do his initial plan.

“Time to make some kabab”

Wake up!

Wake UP!

The young girl’s body jolts awake. Her chest rises and falls quickly as she takes in her surroundings. This wasn’t right. She was outside recently, cold and afraid, waiting for Kaveh before becoming so sleepy.

“I am glad to see you awake,” a deep voice reverberates into her skull, her neck cracking as she looks toward the offending sound. She tries to sit up and instead sees stars at the edge of her vision. A large, warm hand guides her back to the soft fur bed.

“I found you half frozen in a snowbank. Well, I believe you were the snowbank, and brought you back to my home to treat you. I mean no ill will. You may call me Bayard. As soon as you are ready and healthy enough, I will guide you back home.” at the notion of home, the young girl’s lips ‌wobble as her eyes shine with tears. A chapped gasp of breath left the girl’s lungs before she wailed uncontrollably. Bayard was not expecting such a reaction but notes that she was nearly dead hours before. As her sobbing continues and grows in volume, Bayard knew he had to quell her somehow. He suddenly remembers his lunch from earlier and quickly grabs some leftover kebab he made for her upon her awakening, and unceremoniously shoves the food into her mouth mid sob. The young girl is pacified,chewing on the food slowly while letting out small sniffles. Bayard sighs in relief for what feels like the hundredth time that day. I am not made for this life. He thinks to himself. He readies another piece and hands it to her. Taking this moment of quiet, he finds this a good chance as any to get some answers.

“What were you doing so far in the snow?” He starts with. Waiting for her to swallow her last bite, hoping to get some answers. The girl looks up at him. He was able to see her face more clearly. Her skin was richer now without the tinge of frost and near death shrouding it. Her nose was slightly hooked. He noted that she could be of royal lineage by the rich blue of her dress and the gold thread used for the embroidery. She must have come from Persepoli, it's smoke by now.

What caught his attention the most were her eyes, reddened by her tears, yet he could see the difference clear as day. Her right eye was deep brown, yet the left was as golden as the coins in his pocket. Noticing his gaze, the young girl covers her face with her hair, thick and still somewhat damp from the snow. Bayard took this as a sign to return his gaze somewhere else. Looking behind her to the wall of his cabin, he waited for an answer. After some time, he got impatient. She could hear his low grumble in all corners of the room.

“kuchulu. I need answers,” she glared at him in response, clearly offended by his labeling of her. Bayard’s brows rose into his forehead, creating more wrinkles than there were before, clearly surprised by her reaction.

“My name is Nika, and I am not kuchulu.”