War of the Territories - lyleherf (2025)

War of the Territories

The young girl moved with deliberate care, her slight frame—just one hundred and ten pounds—shifting inch by inch beneath the massive fallen tree that served as her fragile shield. The air was thick with tension, every sound amplifying her fear. She couldn’t say exactly how many enemy warriors surrounded her, but she knew there were far too many for her to face alone. With every passing moment, the war party drew nearer, their numbers swelling like an unstoppable tide.

Their approach was marked by the dull thud of heavy footsteps and the occasional bark of orders. The warriors bore the grim, mud-streaked colors of war, their faces grotesque with streaks of clay and earth that had turned to a sickly sludge in the morning’s relentless rain. Even so, the markings were unmistakable. These were not strangers—they were her people’s hostile neighbors from the far north, a group her elders often warned of in hushed, fearful tones.

At first sight, through the veil of rain, they had seemed like something out of a nightmare. Their distorted, beast-like appearances had sent shivers down her spine, dredging up old fears from the nights she’d lain awake with a guilty conscience, haunted by things she couldn’t name. Their stench—musky and feral—now hung heavy in the damp air, making her stomach churn. She couldn’t believe her sharp senses had failed to warn her sooner. Her nose, usually so attuned to the scents of the forest, had betrayed her.

Rises With the Setting Sun, as she was called, prided herself on being one of her people’s finest providers. Her sight was sharp, her tracking skills unmatched, and her ability to find and secure game was a source of pride. But today, she’d failed to stay vigilant. She cursed herself for letting her attention waver, for focusing solely on the massive moose she had been tracking—a prize she had hoped to bring home to feed her ailing family.

Her family needed her now more than ever. Her parents were bedridden with illness, her younger sister growing frailer by the day. With her brother away for over a year, serving in the army, the burden of survival had fallen squarely on her shoulders. The memory of hunting alongside him was bittersweet; together, their skills had been unstoppable. Alone, the weight of responsibility felt almost unbearable.

Yet here she was, crouched in the cold, wet forest, hiding from enemies who would show no mercy if they found her. Her hands clenched into fists, not from fear, but from determination. She had to survive—for her family, for her people. Quietly, she shifted her position beneath the tree, her mind racing with plans. The hunter within her stirred, ready to face whatever lay ahead.

Rises had been lost in a daydream, her mind drifting far from the dense, wet forest around her. She hadn’t noticed the enemy warriors until they appeared—suddenly—out of the shadows of the trees. They were almost directly in her path, emerging as if summoned by her wandering thoughts, just as she was crossing a small clearing. She had been so close to her prey, the large moose, that she hadn’t expected to find anything else.

The sight of them made Rises shudder. Their grotesque forms twisted her stomach, and her mind flashed back to the bedtime stories her mother had told her when she was young. Wild bush men—creatures who lived in the deep woods and sometimes ventured into The People’s Territory to scavenge. The bush men, according to her mother, weren’t dangerous. They were just nuisances, sneaking away with whatever they could find. But these weren’t the bush men from her mother’s tales. No, these were something much worse. These were her enemies.

The girl had been tracking the moose, the wet ground making it harder to follow the large animal’s trail. The heavy rain made the forest thick with mist, and the terrain was rugged, but Rises didn’t mind. She had been imagining herself on a calm lake, surrounded by the warmth of a summer day, when she first saw them. The warriors. Her heart leaped in her chest, and without a moment’s hesitation, she dropped to the ground, her small body curling under an uprooted tree, hiding in the wet grass. She had been so focused on her thoughts that she almost hadn’t noticed them until it was almost too late.

But Rises wasn’t easily spotted. At just four feet eleven inches tall, her body blended seamlessly with the woods around her. The rain, the mud, and the dark brown hides she wore—camouflaging her small frame—helped her remain unseen. The enemy, on the other hand, stood out like ghosts in the storm. Their pale, painted bodies were as stark against the forest as if they had been born from the storm itself.

Her rabbit skin shirt was the only thing that didn’t blend in, but her dark cloak of tanned hides covered it, hiding her from view. Her leggings and moccasins, crafted from soft brown leather, kept her silent as she moved. She was a part of the land, invisible and patient.

But those warriors—those figures, pale and eerie—frightened her. It was as if they weren’t just men, but something otherworldly. Rises imagined them as demons—creatures hunting souls in the storm, searching for anyone foolish enough to be caught in their path. She was a mere girl, a solitary soul on the edge of their stormy domain, and they had almost found her.

Her mind screamed in terror. They’re going to eat your body—and your soul!

Rises felt the weight of that thought squeeze her chest, and her breath caught in a sob. Fear surged within her, a panic so deep it made her hands tremble.

You better run, Rises... You have to run...

Her heart raced, and in that moment, every part of her was consumed by the urge to flee. But she stayed frozen, her eyes wide, praying the storm would hide her long enough for the danger to pass.

"Shut up! I know what I’m doing!" Rises hissed at herself, her voice barely above a whisper, muffled by the damp earth and the rotted tree trunk she crouched under.

Rises With the Setting Sun clung to her precarious hiding spot, heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird. The fallen white spruce, once towering and proud, now lay as a decaying relic in the forest. Its massive trunk had been her salvation, but for how long? She had no idea.

She would have preferred to rely on her own skills—her training as a hunter and fledgling warrior—to outmanoeuvre the enemy. Instead, here she was, pressed against the wet, decomposing wood, hoping the tree’s decay would camouflage her from their searching eyes.

The warriors stalking the woods around her were no ordinary foes. She had glimpsed them as they passed, their hulking forms silhouetted against the gray drizzle. They carried weapons—bows, axes, spears, knives, and war clubs. Some of them were so massive, they made her Uncle Big Tree, the largest man she knew, seem almost small.

Uncle Big Tree, whose name she always used in full, loomed in her mind now as a comforting figure of strength and size. Yet even he would not have seemed so mighty against these giants. And if Uncle Big Tree wasn’t enough, what hope did she, a girl just turned thirteen, have?

Her father, Light-Hearted Warrior, was also tall, broad-shouldered, and powerful, but Rises had always imagined she could one day surpass him. It was a fanciful thought, the kind of dream that belonged to a safer, simpler life—a life that felt far away now.

The spruce’s bark was rough under her fingers as she climbed into a hollow at the base of the trunk. The hole, once carved out by time and decay, had become her sanctuary. The tree, she realized, had died long ago when its roots tangled and failed to dig deep into the earth’s nourishing soil. Starvation had claimed it, and now, its death might save her life.

Rain pattered on the forest floor as Rises squeezed deeper into the rotted cavity. The air inside was thick with the smell of damp earth and decay, and the crumbling wood flaked against her skin. She froze, every muscle taut, as she listened to the warriors’ voices outside. Their words, sharp and guttural, grated on her ears.

To Rises, their language sounded like the growls of hungry wolves or the squawking of crows. It wasn’t real speech—not like the language of The People, which flowed like water over smooth stones. Could they even be communicating? Or were they just snapping and grunting like animals?

She fought the urge to cough as fine dust filled her lungs and clung to her face. Her throat burned, and her nose itched, clogged with particles of wood. She pressed her hand to her mouth, suppressing a gag, but it was no use.

“Blah... Ack... Blahhghh!”

The sound escaped her lips as she spit out the dust, her nose dripping with mucus and flecks of wood. She wiped her face with her sleeve, trying to clear her nostrils of the irritating debris. Dark snot, specks of blood, and crumbling wood clung to her fingers. Her stomach twisted with disgust, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t afford to let the discomfort overwhelm her.

Finally, she stilled, her breath slowing as she settled into the hollow once more. Despite the dust and the cramped space, the tree provided a fragile sense of security. She was hidden, at least for now.

But the warriors were close—too close. And if they found her, she knew there would be no mercy.

"Yuck!" Rises scrunched her face in mock disgust, her lips curling at the sight.

Blood had never bothered her—why should this? Thick, black mucus clung stubbornly to her fingers, its texture unpleasant but not unbearable. Except, of course, when some of it ended up tangled in her long, dark brown hair.

She had spat to the side, her head tilting sharply to avoid the mess, but the strands of her wet hair betrayed her, sweeping into the sticky mixture. Rises winced, then gagged. Her hair, usually her pride, now dripped with snot and spit, an ugly, viscous mess.

Muttering under her breath, she used her fingers to comb and wring out the bile from her damp locks. Once satisfied with her impromptu cleaning, she returned her hand to its position, gripping the jagged edge of the tree hole where she hid.

Hanging within the rotted trunk, Rises felt the strain seep into her legs, shoulders, and lower back. The effort of keeping herself elevated was starting to take its toll, but she welcomed it. Pain was a familiar companion, one she relished for its promise of strength.

The Warrior Princess—that was how she thought of herself—thrived on pushing her limits, whether physical, mental, or emotional. This, she knew, was no different.

Her ears pricked at a sound: low growls, sharp clicks, and strange, guttural murmurs. Were those voices? Or the cries of animals? Wolves growling... or a rabbit’s panicked scream?

No. Rises clenched her teeth, forcing herself to focus. The enemy was near, their harsh, alien tongues breaking the forest’s natural rhythm. They weren’t the fools she had dismissed them as. They were communicating, and that made them dangerous.

"Animals communicate too," she thought, her mind racing. "Their gibbering doesn’t mean they’re clever."

But another voice in her head argued back. They’re monsters. I wish my father and uncle had killed them all when they had the chance!

Rises’ stomach churned at the memory. Her father and uncle had stood with the great Northern Army when they defeated the enemy, driving them back to their stronghold. Yet, in an act of mercy, The People spared them—women, warriors, and children alike.

Her fists tightened around the rough bark. Mercy. It boiled her blood. That mercy had come back to haunt them all. The enemy had broken the truce mere months later, attacking The People’s northern border like the predators they were.

Her vision blurred with tears of frustration. "If they catch me, they’ll kill me," she whispered. A shudder ran through her. "And they’ll probably eat me too."

Her brother, Dream Killer, had told her stories—gruesome tales of the enemy feasting on entire families, even their dogs. The thought turned her stomach, though she doubted they’d eat dogs. She’d tried frozen dog meat herself once, in the dead of winter. It had been foul, even in her desperation. Surely, even monsters had limits.

Adjusting her position, Rises spun herself to face the ground. She looked every bit the predator now, coiled and ready to strike. Her heart pounded with adrenaline, her fingers itching for the chance to drop down on an unsuspecting foe. She dared them to crawl beneath her hiding spot. She’d kill them. Every last one.

But her vengeful fantasy was cut short by a sharp sting on her left hand. Then another. Before she could pull her hand back, a flurry of bites erupted across both hands.

Ants.

She gasped, her heart leaping as the realization hit. She wasn’t hiding in just any hollowed tree—she had invaded an ant colony. And the inhabitants were furious.

"YEOWCH!" she screamed, her voice ringing through the forest.

She let go of the tree’s edge, her body tumbling out of the rotten, insect-infested hole. The ground rose up to meet her with a bone-jarring thud.

Rises rolled clear of the tree’s roots, her hands flailing to swat the swarming ants. Pain seared her skin where their jaws clamped down, relentless and unforgiving. She scrambled to her feet, furiously brushing and crushing the invaders.

Her breath came in ragged gasps as she stomped and clawed at the ants, every bite a fiery reminder of her mistake. In the chaos, one thought surfaced above all others: she wasn’t out of danger yet.

And now, her enemies had heard her.

The sting of sharp bites pierced her skin, and Rises felt a wave of panic as the black ants burrowed beneath her clothing, biting relentlessly at her back and neck. She could hardly breathe for the intensity of their assault.

In desperation, she tore off her light brown cloak and flung it to the muddy ground, the damp fabric slapping against the earth. Her bright, colorful undershirt quickly followed as she shook it violently, trying to dislodge the angry, territorial creatures. But the ants clung stubbornly, forcing her to pull the shirt over her head and toss it aside.

Her heart pounded as she ran her hands over her exposed skin, frantically brushing off the last of the biting invaders. Relief washed over her when she realized the ants hadn’t made it into her dark leggings or laced knee-high boots—at least she wouldn’t have to strip completely in the middle of this downpour.

When the final ant was squashed and flicked away, she froze, her senses suddenly snapping back to the danger surrounding her. The rainstorm, though steady, had begun to ease, and she could no longer rely on it to mask her movements. Holding her undershirt tightly against her chest, she scanned the area with sharp, darting eyes.

Her belt, still strapped around her slender waist, held her weapons—thank the spirits for small mercies. Her bow and quiver lay beside her discarded cloak at her feet, mud creeping up their edges. Rises clenched her jaw, her dark brown eyes, flecked with glimmers of gold, narrowing as she searched the rain-slicked forest for any sign of movement. She couldn’t afford to be careless. What if one of the enemy warriors had seen her frantic struggle?

Standing there, damp and vulnerable in the midst of the slowing rain, Rises steeled herself. The ants might be gone, but the true danger was still out there, lurking in the trees, waiting for her to falter.

Rises winced as she glanced into the relentless downpour, scanning for any watching eyes. At first, the clearing seemed empty, but then a figure shifted from behind the northwestern cluster of trees. An enemy! And he had seen her.

The boy was about her age, small in stature like herself, clad in tanned hides and leathers. His rain-smeared war paint gave him a muddied, almost childlike appearance. But this "child" had a bow aimed directly at her. From fifteen feet away, Rises knew he could kill her with ease.

Her own bow lay beside her on the soaked ground, her axe and knife within reach. She clutched her thin hide shirt tightly to her chest, her breath catching as her body began to tremble. Tears blurred her vision. For all her training and bravery, the Warrior Princess was afraid.

She had only moments to decide. Should she dive for her bow or remain still, waiting for an opening that might never come?

Their eyes locked. Her heart thundered in her chest, the fear growing unbearable. The boy smirked, his mocking laughter piercing through the rain. Humiliated and enraged, Rises made her choice.

She dropped to her knees, letting her shirt fall. In one swift motion, she snatched up her bow and a crude arrow from her quiver. But her heart sank—bird-hunting arrows. She had lost her stone-tipped ones and had been forced to settle for these makeshift projectiles.

Before she could act, the boy loosed his arrow.

THWACK!

The bone-tipped arrow struck her rib cage, slicing into her left lung. A scream tore from Rises’ lips as pain erupted in her chest. Blood bubbled from her mouth, staining her chin and trickling onto her rain-soaked body. Each wheezing breath was agony, her vision blurred by tears and the relentless rain.

Gritting her teeth, Rises ignored the searing pain and nocked her arrow. She steadied herself, aiming through the haze as the boy prepared his second shot.

THWACK!

Her arrow flew true, piercing the boy’s chest. Though not fatal, it struck his heart, sending him sprawling. He lay gasping on the ground, his weapon slipping from his hand.

Rises surged to her feet, snapping the arrow shaft lodged in her side to ease the pressure. Groaning, she pulled her shirt back over her bloodied torso, shielding herself from further humiliation.

“Ants,” she muttered bitterly, recalling how the biting insects had forced her to strip earlier.

Gripping her war axe, Rises approached the fallen boy. He struggled weakly, his face twisted in pain and fear. Straddling him, she glared down with a predator's grin.

“Not laughing now, are you?” she hissed, her voice dripping with venom.

The Warrior Princess felt no pity. She yanked the arrow from his chest, eliciting a scream as blood spurted over them both. Stunned by the spray, she paused momentarily before raising her axe high.

With a feral cry, she brought it down. Again and again, she struck, until the boy lay still, his face frozen in a mask of terror.

Panting, Rises wiped the blood from her face and searched his body. One arrow. A dull knife. Nothing else of use.

She slung her bow over her shoulder and began to limp away, her wound throbbing with every step. But just as she neared the edge of the clearing, a shrill scream froze her in place.

Spinning around, she saw a woman—short and mud-streaked—rush to the dead boy’s side. His mother.

Rises raised her bow, aiming at the grieving woman. But before she could release the arrow...

WHUMPH!

A sharp blow struck her back, sending her sprawling forward. Pain shot through her as the broken arrow in her ribs dug deeper. She groaned, pushing herself onto her knees, searching for her attacker.

Through the rain and tears, she saw another boy, as small as the first. His face was etched with fury, his war club clutched tightly.

The Warrior Princess gasped for breath, her wounded lung struggling. This boy was no less determined to kill her, and now he was charging straight at her.

The wooden weapon struck with a deafening CRACK!

The enemy boy’s club collided with Rises’ face, sending her crashing to the ground. Blood dripped from her nose and mouth as she pushed herself painfully into a seated position, her vision blurred with tears. Helpless, she watched the boy as he danced and sang mockingly around her.

"He’s cursing you!" her mind screamed.

Rises startled herself by yelling the thought aloud. The boy paused mid-dance, staring at her like she had lost her senses. But her outburst bought her precious time. As her head cleared, she steadied her breathing, ignoring the pain, and prepared for her next move.

The boy smirked, misjudging her resolve. To him, her apparent confusion and emotional outburst were signs of weakness. Dropping his club, he pulled out a crude knife, more tool than weapon, and lunged at her with overconfidence.

Rises was ready. Blocking his clumsy attack, she swept his legs out from under him and tackled him to the wet grass. Grappling fiercely, she managed to pin him beneath her, her small frame fuelled by adrenaline.

She grabbed his hair and pummelled his face with her fists, her strikes small but devastating. When he dropped the knife, she seized it, gripping the handle tightly in both hands. With all her strength, she drove the jagged blade into his face. He screamed in agony as she struck again, the blade puncturing his eye and tearing through flesh.

“You were laughing at me before," she hissed, her voice low and menacing. "Laugh now!"

Her fury overwhelmed her. She plunged the blade repeatedly into his face, long after his screams had faded. By the time she stopped, his once-human features were unrecognizable. Drenched in his blood, she sat atop the lifeless body, trembling with exhaustion and disgust. She spat out the gore that had splattered into her mouth, gagging at the thought of swallowing any.

Letting out a triumphant war cry, Rises stood, taking the boy’s knife and his abandoned war club. Her eyes drifted to the nearby woman, weeping over a severed head—the first enemy Rises had slain.

The woman cradled the head, singing a sorrowful lament. As Rises approached, the woman neither fled nor resisted. She only looked up with tear-filled eyes that mirrored Rises’ own, their golden speckles eerily familiar.

For a moment, pity stirred in Rises' heart.

But only for a moment.

CRACK!

The club shattered the woman’s skull. Rises continued striking until the lifeless body lay motionless at her feet. She didn’t cry out in triumph this time. She didn’t feel the need. These were enemies, not victims, she told herself.

Suddenly, the forest erupted with voices and movement. Six enemy warriors emerged from the trees, blocking her path. She turned to flee, but their arrows struck true.

THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!

Rises collapsed face down, pain exploding through her small frame. Three arrows pierced her back, one driving into her lung. Gasping, she rolled onto her side, her breaths shallow and ragged.

The warriors surrounded her in an instant. One drew a blade, slicing her throat with cold precision.

Darkness closed in.

But her mind remained restless.

“And… and?” her thoughts pressed.

“And I died,” Rises answered softly.

“No! Why are you still thinking? Why are you still here?”

“Because I can do whatever I want. And now… I’m dead!” she growled defiantly.

She felt the itch of insect bites across her skin but ignored it, closing her eyes as the rain fell on her upturned face. She welcomed the numbness, willing herself to fade like the storm.

“Rises! Auntie Clear! I found her! I found Rises!”

A familiar voice pierced the haze. Faith Floats, her twelve-year-old sister, emerged from the trees, her face alight with relief.

“Auntie! Over here!” Faith called again, rushing to her fallen sister.

Rises With the Setting Sun opened her eyes, blinking at the sight of her radiant younger sister. Faith’s smile was warm and bright, a stark contrast to the storm Rises had weathered—both within and around her.

For a fleeting moment, Rises thought of her family, her friends, and her people.

Although the Warrior Princess wasn’t ready to rest just yet, her mind focused itself on her closest friends.

Rises With the Setting Sun had three best friends, though one stood out as her closest companion: Autumn Flowers. Autumn wasn’t just Rises’ sewing mentor and crafting partner—she had been her very first friend. Long before their partnership in needlework began, Autumn had been the first person among The People to speak to Rises who wasn’t family. That bond was unshakable, and their friendship had only deepened with time.

Rises’ other two closest companions were known as The War Brothers. The three of them had been inseparable for over six years, their relationship forged through countless hours of training and shared adventures. In their first year as friends, they were nothing more than playful children, creating games like hide-and-hunt to sharpen their survival skills. But what started as innocent fun evolved into something far more serious—a rigorous training regimen, a shared lifestyle, and, ultimately, a warrior’s creed. Their imagination ran wild with visions of what it truly meant to be a warrior, and together they built a world shaped by their dreams.

Autumn Flowers had not been spared from their enthusiasm. With a bit of convincing from Rises, she became the fourth member of their "prestigious" training school. Proud to join such illustrious company, Autumn vowed to train her hardest and, if it ever came to it, face death with honor. Though a seamstress by trade, Autumn’s imagination matched that of her warrior friends, and she dove into their fantasy wholeheartedly.

While Rises was bold and disciplined, her younger sister, Faith Floats, was her opposite in almost every way. Faith had a spark of shyness at first, but it quickly faded once she grew comfortable. Her cheerful chatter and easy charisma made her beloved among friends and family. She was the sunshine to Rises’ quiet determination.

“What are you doing? What’s wrong with your hands? They’re all red! Glaaghhh! Look at your neck!” Faith cried, recoiling in exaggerated horror as she noticed the swollen insect bites dotting Rises’ skin.

Faith Floats stood radiant in her new outfit, a light brown dress adorned with smoke-colored stones stitched in elegant patterns along the collar and cuffs. It was meant for spring and summer, not the damp, chilly weather they currently endured, but Faith wasn’t about to let practicality get in the way of showing off her new dress. She had tucked her heavy cloak under her arm, determined to model the outfit for her sister. Faith loved nothing more than bringing a smile to Rises’ face.

Beneath the dress, Faith wore dark, decorated leggings that matched her festive gown. Her black moccasin boots, trimmed with bear hide, completed the look. Though Faith and Rises were nearly the same height, Faith carried more weight—though not in a way that worried her family. At four foot ten, the young girl weighed one hundred and forty pounds, her sturdy frame hinting at the growth spurt that had just begun.

Their father, Light Hearted Warrior, often reassured Faith about her changing body. He had been much the same at her age, he said, gaining weight before shooting up in height during his own adolescent years. Faith wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to be as large as her father, though. She dreamed of resembling her petite mother, Smiling Sadly, or perhaps her aunt, who stood just a bit taller. Still, her mother’s stories of how slim and wiry her father had been as a teenager brought some comfort to Faith as she adjusted to her new shape.

For now, Faith focused on the joy of twirling in her new dress and basking in the admiration of her sister, knowing that no matter what changes came, Rises would always be there for her.

Rises With the Setting Sun had begun her growth spurt a year ago, but all she had to show for it were two inches in height and seven more pounds. The People whispered knowingly that she was growing into her mother’s and aunties’ small, sturdy frames. But Rises refused to believe it.

In her heart, she was destined to be different.

The Warrior Princess, as she called herself in her daydreams, would grow as tall and powerful as her father—maybe even taller than him and Uncle Big Tree combined. She would be the largest, strongest warrior The People had ever known.

If only she would start growing again.

Faith Floats stood nearby, her long, wavy black hair damp from the rain, clinging lightly to her youthful, glowing face. Even with the storm, her beauty was undiminished. Her light brown skin, speckled with golden undertones, seemed to radiate warmth, and her calm demeanor gave her an almost ethereal presence. Their mother, Smiling Sadly, often said Faith's spirit glowed with kindness, as if she floated through life on a soft breeze.

But Faith’s wide eyes narrowed as she surveyed Rises’ skin, dotted with angry red bites. “What happened, Rises?” she asked, concern laced in her voice.

Rises sat up, brushing herself off. She noted the simple gear her younger sister carried: her bow and a quiver of stone-tipped arrows, each lovingly crafted by their father. A pang of jealousy stung Rises. Once, she’d had just as many fine arrows, but her father refused to replace the ones she’d lost “playing little warrior,” as he called it.

“Faith,” Rises whispered urgently, her voice trembling, “I died! There are enemies everywhere. We need to leave!”

Faith’s lips quirked into a smirk. “Oh, shut up, Rises. You’ve never had a vision in your life.”

“Yes, I have! Don’t you remember at Dream Killer’s celebration?” Rises insisted, referring to their brother’s send-off to join the warriors.

“You were sleeping!” Faith countered, rolling her eyes.

“No, I wasn’t! It wasn’t just dreams—it was a vision. There are enemies coming, Faith. For all of us. Someday!” Rises’ voice was heavy with conviction, her words carrying the weight of belief.

Faith sighed, her patience waning. She threw her cloak back on, her mind already dismissing her sister’s wild tales. Faith knew better than to argue. Rises never backed down from her stories, no matter how far-fetched.

“Fine,” Faith said, shifting the subject. “Where did you get all those bites? They’re ant bites, aren’t they? Do they hurt?” Her eyes scanned the trees. “Where’s Auntie? I wish she’d hurry up. I... might have left my medical bag at home.”

“And your war belt too, huh?” Rises quipped, her lips twitching into a sly grin.

Faith ignored the jab. “Where were you hiding?”

“Under that fallen spruce,” Rises replied, pointing behind her to the decaying tree. Faith squinted and frowned. It was covered in black ants, their hill spilling from its hollow trunk.

“Rises, seriously?”

Before she could say more, the underbrush rustled, and a figure emerged from the trees.

“There’s Auntie!” Faith called, her voice bright with relief. “Auntie Clear Ponds, over here! Rises got attacked by ants!”

Clear Ponds moved toward them with her signature grace. At thirty-five, she carried herself with the vitality of someone a decade younger. Her long, golden hair framed a striking face, and her lean, muscular frame attested to years of physical labor with The People. Whether as a healer or a hunter, she was known for her quiet strength and unwavering dedication.

As she approached, her piercing gaze took in Rises’ predicament. “What happened here?” Clear Ponds asked, her voice calm but commanding.

Faith wasted no time explaining. “Rises thought hiding in an anthill was a good idea.”

Rises groaned. “I didn’t know it was an anthill!”

Clear Ponds crouched beside her, already opening her medicine bag. “Well, let’s see if we can’t fix you up. Next time, maybe look before you leap, hmm?”

Rises sighed but nodded. As her aunt’s gentle hands began tending to her bites, she stole a glance at Faith, whose knowing smirk said everything.

Even as she winced under Auntie’s care, Rises couldn’t help but think: Someday, they’ll all see. Someday, she would be the Warrior Princess.

If she ever started to grow again.

Auntie Clear Ponds had earned her name long before she could even understand its meaning. It was given to her by her husband’s father, who, upon meeting her as a little girl, declared her crystal-blue eyes were like twin forest ponds—clear, calm, and mesmerizing. Anyone who spoke with her had to fight not to lose themselves in those eyes, their depths seeming to promise a passage to a better time and place. This natural gift of hers was more than just captivating; it became a quiet strength she carried into her work as a healer. Her patients often left her care with spirits uplifted, the weight of their troubles eased without her needing to try.

Auntie Clear Ponds dressed simply but purposefully. Her thick black fringed leggings and bear-trimmed moccasin boots mirrored the practical clothing of her nieces, Rises and Faith. Over her body, she wore a plain, sturdy brown dress made of toughened hide, concealed beneath a heavy, dark cloak. The cloak served a dual purpose: protection against the elements and shielding her ample figure from prying eyes. Though her beauty was undeniable, she preferred not to invite attention.

Her clothing, like that of The People, was crafted from animal skins. The spring season’s attire featured tanned hides, both thin and thick, mostly stripped of fur and hardened into supple leather. Her only adornment was a slim black leather choker around her neck, a subtle nod to personal expression amidst her otherwise understated appearance.

Rises noticed something as her eyes roved over her aunt: like Faith, Auntie Clear Ponds was not wearing her war belt. But unlike with her younger sister, Rises would never dream of rebuking her aunt. Among The People, showing disrespect to adult relatives was unthinkable.

Auntie Clear Ponds was a paradox: a woman of breathtaking beauty who carried herself with quiet humility. She and her brother, Light Hearted Warrior, had long heeded their stepfather’s advice to keep a low profile, never drawing unnecessary attention. It was a practice born of necessity, safeguarding their families from prying eyes and potential threats.

Even without finery, Auntie Clear Ponds radiated an elegance that turned heads. Her long, light-colored hair, usually tied back to blend with the crowd, had loosened in the rain. Now damp and wavy, it framed her face in a way that accentuated her ethereal beauty. The rain matted her hair, just as it had with her nieces, yet the wet weather seemed only to enhance her natural glow.

Her face, youthful yet etched with traces of worry, lit up when Faith arrived with the missing teenager. Relief softened the tension in her features, and the radiant joy she exuded was enough to warm even the coldest northern rain. Though her concerns for her nieces and nephews often consumed her, she bore the burden without complaint.

“It’s never too much, Boy!” she had once scolded her son when he dared to suggest she worried too much.

To Rises and Faith, Auntie Clear Ponds was more than an aunt; she was a beacon of comfort and resilience. Her magical eyes seemed to transform the harsh realities of their world into something more bearable, a glimpse of beauty in an unforgiving land. The stories she told—of distant kingdoms, noble princesses, and towering castles—offered them a temporary escape from the grim truths of their lives.

For the northern border they called home was perilous. Though enemy raids had grown less frequent after the northern army’s campaigns, danger still lurked. War parties could rally without warning, leaving devastation in their wake. It was this ever-present threat that fueled Rises’s fierce desire for vengeance, her warrior’s heart yearning to see their enemies destroyed once and for all.

Auntie Clear Ponds carried these fears alongside her own, always vigilant for her family’s safety. Yet her presence, her beauty, and the soothing strength she offered her nieces provided an anchor in the storm. In her, Rises and Faith found not only a protector but a symbol of hope—proof that even in a world of brutality, there could still be grace, love, and stories worth telling.

Auntie Clear Ponds’ stories had a magical way of weaving dreams into reality. She had a gift for making the children believe they could be the beautiful heroines and brave heroes who triumphed and ruled kingdoms of their own. It brought her joy to be an important, entertaining, and guiding figure in their young lives.

But today, her soothing voice carried a thread of concern.

“Ants? Did you say ants?” Auntie Clear Ponds asked softly, her tone calm but laced with worry.

The source of her unease became evident as she approached. Rises’ arms and neck were dotted with angry red welts, swelling grotesquely as the bites became infected.

“She was bitten by ants! Look, Auntie!” Faith exclaimed, pointing at Rises’ neck. She looked up at her aunt with wide eyes, full of both fear and expectation.

Rises gave a faint, almost sheepish smile before quickly averting her gaze. She bent her head, pretending to check her bootlaces. But Auntie Clear Ponds wasn’t fooled. Kneeling beside her niece, the healer’s crystal-blue eyes widened as she got a closer look at the bites. Her years of experience told her just how much pain Rises must be enduring, even though the girl’s stoic expression betrayed none of it.

The bites were no ordinary nuisance. Dozens of swollen red marks stretched from Rises’ neck downward, each bite puffed and oozing faintly. The ants’ tiny jaws had done their work well, leaving behind wounds that spoke of both ferocity and sheer numbers.

“Are you going to give her your lotion? Or maybe Mom’s?” Faith asked as she knelt beside her sister and aunt.

“Both, I think,” Auntie Clear Ponds replied thoughtfully, encouraging Faith with a nod. She always valued the girls’ opinions, treating them as partners in their own learning.

Faith’s response was immediate. “Both!” she declared, carefully lifting Rises’ hair to reveal the full extent of the damage.

Auntie Clear Ponds nodded again. “Rises, lift your shirt,” she instructed gently.

The treatment took only ten minutes, but it felt longer under the weight of worry in the air. Once the salves were applied, Rises shrugged her cloak back on and began gathering the weapons she’d left scattered during her earlier daydreaming battle. Faith and Auntie Clear Ponds moved toward the fallen white spruce where the attack had occurred, keeping a cautious distance from the massive ant nest.

“How did they get you?” Faith asked, her voice trembling. “Did you get too close?”

Rises hesitated but didn’t answer. Faith’s pale face betrayed her terror as she stared at the swarming black ants. Thousands of them marched over their damaged nest, each one a reminder of the agony they could inflict.

“What if they had... eaten you?” Faith whispered, her words trailing off as she grabbed Auntie Clear Ponds’ hand tightly. Her small body quivered as her imagination painted gruesome pictures of her sister being overwhelmed.

Suddenly—CRACK! CRUNCH!

Auntie Clear Ponds and Faith both screamed as a large rock smashed into the nest. Startled, they turned to see Rises standing a short distance away, hefting another stone.

CRACK! CRUNCH!

Rises hurled another rock with all her strength, shattering an outer layer of the nest. Ants spilled out in a frenzy, their dark forms writhing and scattering as if the earth itself was alive.

Faith hesitated only a moment before picking up a rock of her own. With a fierce yell, she threw it into the chaos.

She would always stand by her sister. Whether Rises was fighting ants, enemies, or arguments, Faith was there. Her loyalty was unwavering, even when it got her into trouble with their parents. Though Auntie Clear Ponds and Uncle Big Tree were exceptions—Faith obeyed them without question—the bond between the sisters was unbreakable.

As the girls waged war on the ants, Auntie Clear Ponds stood back, watching with a mix of amusement and pride. This moment, chaotic and oddly triumphant, was a small reminder of the strength the girls shared—a strength she had no doubt would serve them well in the adventures to come.

Faith Floats was the kind of girl who couldn’t sit still when something felt unfair. She didn’t mean disrespect by it—her actions came more from an overflowing heart than from rebellion. But her parents sometimes struggled to keep up with her fire.

“Faith was… Faith,” her mother would sigh, half-admiring, half-exasperated, whenever someone brought up her youngest daughter’s latest escapade. Whether it was an impossible dream or a wild scheme, Faith always found a way to become part of it.

A year ago, she’d stood up for her friend Heavy in one of her boldest moves yet. Heavy had been barred from joining the army—not for lack of bravery, but because his appearance didn’t meet the standards of a young Army Captain. Faith had marched in to act as his lawyer. She argued fiercely, but the case was dismissed when it came to light that she owed Heavy a life debt. As such, she couldn’t legally represent him.

Still, the Army Captain was so moved by Heavy’s story—how he’d saved Faith’s life in a moment of bravery—that he recruited Heavy on the spot. Heavy, ever loyal to Faith, hoisted her arm high in victory and let out a war cry that turned heads and drew smiles from onlookers. Faith had never felt prouder.

But now, standing with her cousin Rises With the Setting Sun, her actions were less noble. They had spent the last hour pelting an ant nest with rocks to avenge Rises’ sting from the little creatures. They had destroyed the ants’ home, killing dozens, perhaps hundreds. As the ants carried their wounded and dead into the nest’s depths, Rises remarked with fascination, “They’re going to eat them, you know. They’ll feed their babies with their dead.”

Faith nodded, her fiery spirit dimmed as she watched the ants’ grim determination. The sisters shared a glance, an unspoken understanding passing between them. They hurried towards their auntie’s side and walked in silence back onto the thin trail through the heavy forest.

After an hour of walking, they reached the open area of home, and a familiar voice called out, “Annabelle! Rose! Turner! Where are you going? Your—Up! Maybe?” Their cousin Rests in the Pouring Rain bounded into view, giggling at her own mischief as she teased Rises with her Christian name.

“Rests, not so loud,” Big Tree, her father, growled from behind.

Rests, only ten and full of defiance, looked momentarily chastised. “Sorry, Daddy,” she mumbled, though the sparkle in her eye remained.

Big Tree sighed deeply. His children, so full of life, were his pride and his torment. He worried for them, especially Rests, with her pale complexion and strikingly unique features that set her apart from the other children of The People. Her beauty was undeniable, but it made her a target for ridicule and threat.

He glanced at his approaching wife, his mind heavy with the Council’s recent rejection of their plea for their daughter to train alongside others her age. It felt unfair, isolating. His heart burned with anger at the thought of anyone hurting Rests.

But as his gaze fell on his youngest daughter, her head bowed in quiet apology, his anger softened. She was so small, so vulnerable, yet she held a spark of the long summer days in her spirit. Big Tree would protect her, no matter the cost. He would never ask her to hide under a cloak, as others might have demanded.

“Let them try,” he thought fiercely. “Let anyone who dares hurt my children feel the weight of their father’s wrath.”

His mind cooled as he reached out to pat Rests gently on the head. She looked up, her big, soulful eyes meeting his.

She was beautiful, like her mother—a petite girl with delicate features and an energy that burned brightly despite her small frame. At three feet nine inches tall, she was smaller than others her age, but her spirit was immeasurable.

And as his family kept approaching toward home, Big Tree knew one thing for certain: no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them together.

Big Tree steadied his breath, his pulse gradually slowing as he focused on his daughter. She stood before him in her chosen attire for the day—a hand-tanned, oversized moose-skin tunic paired with heavy leggings of the same material. Over her slender shoulders, she wore a thick fur-lined coat, its dark pelt visible on the outside, betraying its winter purpose. Though spring had begun to thaw the land, her mother had insisted she still wear it for warmth. Her moccasins, well-worn and sturdy, reached up to her small kneecaps, a testament to countless steps taken on the frosted earth. But what caught his attention most was the single feather hanging from her hair—a black-and-white-tipped plume tied carefully to her leather hairband.

It was her feather.

Rests in the Pouring Rain had chosen her most personal symbol, a sacred token marking her unique place among The People and her connection to the Creator. She could have adorned herself with other bright and symbolic feathers—tokens of her family or communal ties, like her father’s—but she had chosen the one that was solely hers. Big Tree’s chest swelled with pride. His little girl carried herself with honor, respect, and a deep sense of self.

But something felt off.

Rests had been unusually excited about the day’s events—her brother’s guests would soon arrive, and she had eagerly anticipated showing off her new outfit. Yet now, she stood in her simple winter garb, her hands busy holding the sticks he would soon craft into arrows. Big Tree decided to ask.

“Why didn’t you dress like your cousin Faith?” he asked gently. “Don’t you like your new outfit? You and your mother worked hard on it, Rests.”

“I like it,” she replied softly, glancing up at him with large, bronze-speckled eyes. “But Mommy said I can’t wear it till later. I wish I could.”

Her voice wavered, and Big Tree noticed the faint redness in her eyes and the moisture lingering at the edges. She had been crying. The realization hit him like a weight, softening his earlier frustration. He smiled down at her as she returned her focus to the sticks in her small hands.

They worked in silence for a while, father and daughter, the rhythmic motions of crafting arrows filling the space. Then, like a gentle breeze, her voice broke through the quiet.

Rests had begun to sing.

Her soft, sweet melody carried the words of an old, sorrowful song—a tale of a brave woman who walked alone after losing her family. The woman, burdened by grief, felt unworthy of help and carried her pain in solitude.

Big Tree’s heart ached as he listened. The song revealed the depths of his daughter’s feelings. She was lonely—perhaps for her brother, who hadn’t even left yet, or for children her own age. Or maybe, in some profound way, she was lonely for herself.

Rests had always been social, much like her cousin Faith Floats, who wore her confidence as naturally as her clothing. Big Tree had once believed Rests was the same, but now he wasn’t so sure. Something had changed.

And then he saw it.

From the distance, his keen hunter’s eyes picked out the stiffness in his nieces' posture and the faint red marks on her neck and hands—irritations that now looked like a rash. His chest tightened.

“Rests,” he said, his voice firm, “go tell your Auntie that Rises is back and needs her help.”

Her head shot up, her energy returning as she carefully set down the sticks. “Okay, Daddy!” she exclaimed before darting off, her small legs carrying her toward the lodge’s main structure.

Big Tree watched as she waved enthusiastically to her mother and cousins, who had just appeared on the trail. They waved back, but he noticed Rises wince as she raised her arm. His stomach churned.

Turning his gaze toward his son’s small lodge—nicknamed “Crayfish Manor” by his wife—Big Tree hoped the boy’s guests hadn’t overheard Rests shouting anything she shouldn’t have. The names of his wife’s homeland and heritage were not openly shared. They were secrets, known only to the closest members of their family.

Though his wife and her brother had long been accepted among The People, speaking their names in their original language or mentioning their homeland could draw dangerous attention. Big Tree had been taught this lesson as a boy, and he had passed it down to his children. Yet Rests, with her innocent heart and self-acceptance, hadn’t yet learned the gravity of such things.

As Big Tree returned to his pile of materials, his thoughts lingered on his daughter. Her skin tone, her songs, her joy—they shouldn’t have to be a source of worry. But in this world, he feared they someday might be.

He sighed, gathering more branches for crafting. Firewood was running low again, thanks to his wife’s habit of raiding his crafting supply during winter. Though it irked him, he couldn’t bring himself to complain. Clear Ponds worked tirelessly, and he had always believed it was a husband’s duty to provide.

Still, as he worked, a gnawing worry remained. His daughter’s song echoed in his mind—a haunting reminder of her tender heart and the challenges she might face as she grew into a world that didn’t always understand her.

The veteran warrior paused his morning crafting, setting down his tools as he heard the familiar sounds of laughter and footsteps on the forest trail. Rising, he stepped out into the sunlight to greet his wife and young nieces as they approached Cray Fish Manor, the family’s outdoor gathering space.

"Hello, Rises... Hello, Faith!" Big Tree greeted them warmly, his voice resonant like the low hum of a drum. He pulled his wife close, wrapping an arm around her slim, athletic waist. A smile touched his face as he leaned in to kiss her, the affection between them plain to see.

At six foot four and a solid two hundred thirty pounds of honed muscle, Big Tree was an imposing figure—a guardian and a provider. Together with his equally fit and graceful wife, Clear Ponds, they presented the picture of a strong and harmonious family. Yet, their story was far from ordinary. Clear Ponds was not originally of The People, and by extension, neither were their son nor their daughter. Difference wove itself into the fabric of their family, as it did with their nieces, Rises and Faith, and their father.

Big Tree and his sister-in-law, Smiling Sadly, were the last full-blooded members of their family lineage within The People. They had carried on alone since his father passed, shortly after the births of Big Tree’s son and, soon after, Rises. Only Dream Killer, Smiling Sadly’s eldest child, had ever met the old warrior. Though young at the time, he had brought a spark of joy to the elder's heart.

"Bah, tell that to my children!" Big Tree mused wryly, thinking of their proud, independent and, at times, reckless ways. His son, Second Suns, had always been a charismatic force, spinning wild tales and leading his younger sister, Rests, into all sorts of adventures. Today marked his ceremonial send-off into the warrior’s path, and the community’s young ones looked up to him, much like the Otter brothers—his first visitors that morning, who now played in Cray Fish Manor.

Faith bounded forward, her voice a flurry of excitement. "Uncle! Rises got attacked by ants! Me and Auntie saved her! Right, Auntie? We fought the ants, Uncle. Look at Rises!"

Big Tree shifted his gaze to Rises, who trailed behind. "Hi... Uncle," she murmured, a faint smile gracing her lips as she nodded. Her usual vibrance was missing. Both Big Tree and Clear Ponds noticed that she hadn’t used his full name, a small but telling deviation from her norm.

Clear Ponds placed a gentle hand on Faith’s shoulder. "Faith, can you help your Uncle warm up some water? Your sister needs a healing bath," she said, volunteering her husband to begin heating the large clay pots.

Faith nodded eagerly. "Okay! Can Rests help too?"

"Of course, unless she’s busy. What was she running inside the lodge for?" Clear Ponds asked, glancing at her husband.

Before Big Tree could reply, Smiling Sadly appeared from the lodge with Rests at her side. The medicine woman’s face held a quiet strength, her sharp eyes softened with concern as they met her elder daughter’s. Smiling Sadly’s intuition was keen, and it told her that Rises’ silence was more than discomfort from insect bites.

"Rises was bitten up! Ants got her!" Faith chattered as she tugged at Smily Sadly’s cloak. "Me and Auntie patched her up. Rests, come on! Let’s help Uncle with the fire!"

Smiling Sadly gave her younger daughter a reassuring nod. "Go on, help your father. He’s already at the fire pit," she said, motioning toward Big Tree, who was tending to the kindling.

“Daddy, wait! Don’t start without us!” Rests called out, her voice high and insistent as she darted toward the fire pit. Faith followed close behind, both girls eager to assist.

Big Tree paused, his massive hands steady as he adjusted the kindling. He watched with a small smile as the girls arrived, breathless but determined. Together, they lit the fire, their laughter weaving into the rhythmic crackle of flames.

As the fire grew, Big Tree used his strength to lift the enormous clay pot onto its tripod. The girls busily hauled wood from the pile, their energy contagious. For a moment, the clearing buzzed with the simple joy of shared work, even as unspoken worries lingered in the hearts of the adults.

Smiling Sadly lingered near Rises, her healer’s instincts attuned to the girl’s unspoken pain. The mother’s heart within her ached, knowing her daughter carried more than just the sting of insect bites. Whatever troubled Rises, Smiling Sadly vowed to uncover it—gently, when the time was right.

For now, they focused on the tasks at hand, the warmth of the fire spreading outward as the family prepared to welcome another day.

Smiling Sadly stood at the lodge entrance, her gaze warm but tinged with worry. “I wasn’t sure you’d come back,” she said in her steady, matter-of-fact way. “Your father went home looking for you.”

“I was coming back,” Rises mumbled, her voice low as she brushed past her mother into the lodge.

Smiling Sadly didn’t move, instead allowing herself a moment to feel the energy radiating from her daughter. It was... cold. A pang of unease rippled through her as she watched Rises shuffle toward the central fire pit.

Her eyes flicked to her sister-in-law, Clear Ponds, then to the fire pit where another relative tended to a steaming kettle of water. The tub in the corner was already half-filled with cold water for her own bath, but she knew she’d be letting Rises use it instead.

Clear Ponds joined her outside the lodge, whispering as they observed the crackling fire. “She’s so quiet... polite, but quiet.”

Smiling Sadly nodded, her brow furrowed. “I’ll talk to her. What about her bites?”

“Infected,” Clear Ponds answered grimly. “It didn’t take long. Those ants... their bites are practically venomous. You should’ve seen that tree! I wouldn’t have gone near it, let alone climbed into it like she said she did.” She shuddered at the memory of the ant-infested tree.

“What was she doing in an ant tree?” Smiling Sadly mused, her suspicion growing. “She wasn’t hunting, I’m sure of it.” She knew Rises had been training alone again in the predawn hours, despite warnings.

Smiling Sadly sighed, shifting the subject slightly. “I made the mix for the caribou, but not all of the moose. The roasted strips are sauced and ready. Your son’s first guests already had eggs, and Big Tree cooked fish for Raspberry Moon and her sons. She’s a good friend, that Raspberry. I like her.”

Clear Ponds smiled faintly. “So do I. Is she still here?”

“She’s with your son in Crayfish Manor,” Smiling Sadly replied, scanning the clearing.

“Go say hello,” Smiling Sadly urged. “I’ll handle Rises.”

Clear Ponds hesitated. “Do you need help with her?”

“No, just the moose... and maybe the mix later,” Smiling Sadly said, already thinking about the day’s work ahead.

Inside the lodge, Rises stood by the fire pit, stirring a pot of thick berry and root sauce. She had wrapped her hands in fur rags to avoid contamination. Smiling Sadly observed quietly for a moment, struck by her daughter’s uncharacteristic care. The word “polite” echoed in her mind again.

“It’s too thick,” Rises said suddenly, breaking the silence. “More water.”

“No, it’s meant to thicken. It’s a spread, not a pour,” Smiling Sadly explained, her tone firm but patient.

“It’s burning,” Rises countered, holding up the spoon to reveal a darkened glob of sauce.

Smiling Sadly’s eyes widened. “Arrrgh! It’s burning! Stir it! I’ll get water!” she exclaimed, darting to grab a pitcher.

Rises smirked, stirring the pot with a calm precision. “Better hurry, Mom. It’s going to be ruined.”

“Rises!” Smiling Sadly huffed, pretending to be annoyed, though the hint of a smile betrayed her.

She returned quickly, pouring water into the pot as Rises stirred.

“More,” Rises said, her voice tinged with amusement.

“I know,” Smiling Sadly mumbled, already heading for another pitcher.

Rises watched her mother with a faint smile, stirring the sauce until the aroma began to sweeten, signaling it was saved—for now.

Faith Floats burst into the lodge, her voice sharp with panic. “Rests spilled hot water all over herself!” she cried, her wide eyes darting toward the birch bark buckets with leather-strip handles they’d been using to haul boiling water for her older sister Rises With the Setting Sun’s medical bath.

The lodge belonged to Auntie Clear Ponds and Uncle Big Tree, the only home Faith and her siblings had ever known since their parents left the distant shores across the ocean. Stories of that faraway land lingered like whispers in the family, but they were little more than a dream to the Turner siblings' children.

Faith, Rests, Rises, Second Suns, and even the seldom-seen Dream Killer had clung to those tales, weaving the names of long-lost relatives into their imaginations. Yet, the vast ocean that separated them from that other life made those connections feel unreal and unreachable.

Smiling Sadly, their mother, was in the washroom behind the lodge’s leather walls, testing the bathwater with Rises. The shout from Faith jolted her into action. She sprinted out of the lodge with Rises close behind, fear gripping her heart at the thought of her youngest daughter in pain.

Outside, Big Tree knelt by the fire pit, cradling a sobbing Rests in his arms. Faith stopped short, tears streaming down her face, as her mother and sister rushed to the scene. Clear Ponds was already there, gently removing Rests’ small moccasin boots to inspect the damage. The little girl’s cries were a heart-wrenching sound, each sob punctuated by her repeated apologies.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Rests whimpered, her small body trembling with pain.

“Stop saying sorry, little one,” Clear Ponds soothed, rolling up her daughter’s leggings to assess the burns. “It was an accident. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Smiling Sadly dropped to her knees beside them, her heart heavy with guilt. Rises, standing behind her, felt the weight of responsibility settle on her shoulders. If she hadn’t needed the medical bath, Rests wouldn’t have been hauling the boiling water.

“This is my fault,” Rises thought bitterly, the words slipping aloud in a quiet sob.

“Know what?” Faith asked, glancing at her older sister.

But Rises didn’t answer. Instead, she turned away, tears slipping down her cheeks. She couldn’t bear to see Rests in pain or hear the soft cries that echoed her own guilt.

Clear Ponds poured cool water over Rests’ burns using Big Tree’s herb cup, the only container small enough for such delicate work. The child flinched and screamed as the water touched her raw skin, and the sound tore through Rises like a jagged blade. Unable to bear it, she turned and ran, disappearing toward the tree line that framed the clearing.

“Rises, come back!” Smiling Sadly called after her, but the girl didn’t stop.

Big Tree and Clear Ponds exchanged a knowing glance and turned to their son, Second Suns. The thirteen-year-old had been standing still, his protective instincts warring with his need for guidance. At a nod from his mother, he sprang into action, taking off after his sister with swift, determined strides.

The Otter brothers, visiting with their mother Raspberry Moon, instinctively moved to follow, but she stopped them with a firm word. She held them close, her arms tightening around their young shoulders. Raspberry Moon, a widow who had carved out a life for herself and her boys, watched the scene unfold with a quiet intensity. Her presence was a silent reminder of resilience, her plain attire and modest demeanor concealing a strength that radiated beneath the surface.

As Second Suns disappeared into the forest, the lodge fell into a tense quiet, broken only by Rests’ soft sobs and the murmured reassurances of her parents. Smiling Sadly knelt beside her daughter, her heart aching as she silently prayed that both Rests and Rises would find their way back to peace.

The Otter brothers, free from their mother as her assistance with Rests was called for, made a second attempt to follow Second Suns, their older brother so to speak. He was a hero and a mentor for the young brothers although hero might be an exaggerative opinion of theirs or more than likely, his.

Grey Otter, the elder of two brothers, ignored his mother’s sharp calls to return. His spirit burned with the heart of a warrior, and once the chase began, nothing—not even his mother’s voice—could hold him back. He raced after Rises and Second Suns, his young legs fueled by determination.

Red Otter, the younger brother, faltered. One glance over his shoulder was all it took. His mother, Raspberry, stood at the edge of the lodge clearing, her eyes filled with worry. He stopped, torn between loyalty to her and the temptation to follow his brother. With a pang of regret, he stayed, wishing he had never looked back.

Rises ran, darting through the dense forest. The early spring growth clawed at her arms, but she didn’t slow down. Behind her, Second Suns closed the distance with ease. His long legs carried him through the underbrush like a wolf on the hunt. At nearly six feet tall, lean and powerful, he was built for speed. Within moments, he was only a few strides away.

Rises skidded to a halt, tears streaming down her face. “It’s all my fault! I’m sorry!” she cried as Second Suns caught up to her.

He didn’t hesitate. Wrapping her in a firm embrace, he held her close. Her skin was icy, just as her mother had described, but he ignored the chill. He pulled her tighter, willing his warmth to reach her. Yet, the cold didn’t come from the forest—it came from within her heart. As he held her, Second Suns felt the icy tendrils creeping into his own body.

“Okay... let go... I’m alright,” Rises stammered, trying to push away.

Second Suns released her reluctantly. “Why do you feel so cold? Did you sleep outside without your gear again?” His tone was stern, but his eyes were full of concern.

Grey Otter’s worry deepened as he scanned the forest for any trace of Second Suns or Rises. The teenager had vanished into the dense springtime foliage, moving too swiftly for Grey Otter to keep pace. Now, he found himself lost amidst the tangled undergrowth, the towering trees hemming him in with their early-season greenery. He crouched to search the ground, hoping to catch sight of a footprint or a bent twig that might point the way, but no such signs revealed themselves.

His heart thudded harder as the realization set in—he wasn’t even certain how to get back to the lodge clearing where his mother and brother waited. Turning back, he squinted at the forest floor, trying to retrace his own trail. If he could find his own footsteps, he might at least reclaim his bearings.

A sudden rustle ahead froze him in place. Someone—or something—was coming straight toward him, the sound of snapping branches growing louder with each heartbeat.

Grey Otter’s small hand darted under his thick hide robe, drawing a hunting knife. His slender fingers trembled, but his resolve didn’t waver. He wasn’t just a boy now; he was a warrior of The People. He widened his stance, readying himself for whatever emerged from the brush.

With a thunderous crash, a figure burst forth—a man, large and powerful, with a familiar air about him.

Grey Otter’s breath caught, and his chest heaved as if his heart might break free. Then recognition struck, and the fear gripping him melted into a flood of relief.

It was Light Hearted Warrior.

The older man, with his silvery-streaked dark hair flowing freely and his broad smile alight with warmth, seemed almost otherworldly in the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees. His calm, steady presence was unmistakable, as were his piercing blue eyes that carried a kindness rarely seen in men of his stature.

“Grey Otter!” Light Hearted Warrior exclaimed, his cheerful tone cutting through the boy’s tension. “What are you doing out here? Are you looking for Rises, like I am?”

“Yes,” Grey Otter replied, his voice steadying as his pulse slowed.

The man’s reassuring grin widened as he listened to the boy recount the events at Big Tree and Clear Ponds’ lodge. Grey Otter felt his earlier panic dissolve under the man’s gentle gaze, though the sight of Light Hearted’s battle-ready attire—heavy hides and an array of weapons—reminded him they were not out of danger.

“Come on,” Light Hearted said after a moment, his tone shifting to quiet determination. “We’ll find them together. You know how to track?”

Grey Otter hesitated before answering. “Yes… but I lost their trail. I almost got lost myself.” He lowered his eyes, his cheeks coloring with embarrassment.

“Lost? You?” Light Hearted Warrior chuckled, a deep, hearty sound that somehow managed to soothe and inspire. “Don’t make jokes now. Let’s go! You lead the way—there!” He pointed toward a faint path, subtly guiding the boy back to the trail he himself had been following.

Grey Otter’s spirits lifted as he rushed ahead, suddenly spotting the faint traces he’d missed earlier. “Look, Light Hearted! I found it! I found their trail!”

“Good man!” the warrior said, his voice full of pride. “Let’s go get them!”

With Light Hearted’s confidence bolstering him, Grey Otter moved forward with renewed determination, the two of them disappearing into the forest, their shared purpose binding them like family.

As the two young halfblooded cousins strode side by side, Second Suns had continued his pestering of Rises and he said with a snort, “Do you need to stop and watch me make a fire?”

“I’m not cold,” Rises lied, avoiding his gaze.

“You’re freezing,” he countered. “Come on. We need to get back. We’re missing my ceremony.”

Rises nodded, and together they turned back toward the lodge. But Second Suns stopped suddenly, his hand pressing against her chest. His sharp eyes scanned the forest ahead.

“Someone’s coming,” he whispered. “Do you have a weapon?”

Rises shook her head, her voice trembling. “No.”

Without a word, Second Suns snapped a sturdy branch from a nearby tree. With practiced skill, he whittled it into a makeshift spear and handed it to her. “Here. Watch our flanks.”

Before she could answer, he hissed, “To the left—they’re close!”

They crouched, ready to strike, their breath shallow. The tension broke as figures emerged from the trees.

“Grey Otter! Uncle!” Second Suns exclaimed, relief flooding his face. “Rises, it’s your father and Grey Otter!”

Rises blinked in surprise. “Dad?”

Light Hearted Warrior strode forward, his calm smile breaking through the tension. “See, Grey Otter? I told you we’d find them.”

The little boy’s face lit up, his nervous energy dissipating. He laughed, and the sound was so infectious that even Rises couldn’t suppress a smile. Her father stepped closer, his piercing blue eyes softening as he examined her pale, tear-streaked face.

“Go on,” Light Hearted Warrior said to Second Suns. “Take Grey Otter back to the lodge. We’ll follow soon.”

Second Suns nodded, leading the eager boy away with a playful challenge to race. As their laughter faded into the forest, Light Hearted Warrior turned to his daughter.

“Rises,” he said gently, crouching to meet her eyes. “Are you alright?”

Her resolve crumbled. “No, Daddy... I’m not.”

She fell into his arms, her sobs muffled against his cloak. He held her close, his strong embrace sheltering her from the storm within. His own heart ached as tears welled in his eyes, but he stayed steady for her.

“Easy, my girl. Take your time. I’m here,” he murmured. “When you’re ready, tell me what’s wrong.”

Rises clung to him, her tears flowing freely like the rain that had fallen that morning. For now, words escaped her, but her father’s quiet strength was enough. Together, they knelt in the quiet forest, the warmth of his love slowly battling the chill that gripped her soul.

The lodge clearing came alive with joyful cries as Faith Floats spotted her father and sister emerging from the tree line.

“They’re back! Yay! Look, Rises and Daddy are back!” she shouted, her voice bursting with excitement.

Beside her, Rests in the Pouring Rain echoed the sentiment in her soft, high-pitched voice. “Yay!” Though she'd been drenched earlier, Rests was now dry and warm, her mother’s insistence on heavy winter clothing proving its worth. It had shielded her pale, delicate skin from harm.

“Hooray!” added Red Otter, joining in with his friends, Faith and Rests.

The three had been tasked with hauling water for Rises’ medicinal bath. Despite their teamwork—two sharing a single bucket’s handle while Faith carried her own—the buckets were only partially filled. Their uncle, Big Tree, eyed the situation skeptically, concerned the water would cool too much before reaching the tub.

Second Suns wasn’t assigned to help—it was his special day—but he and Grey Otter had volunteered anyway. Grey Otter, invigorated by his earlier race victory, raced ahead with a nearly full bucket of boiling water, only to be scolded by Raspberry Moon for his recklessness.

The three mothers were preparing a feast for the many guests expected to celebrate Second Suns’ send-off to his military career.

The young warrior himself couldn’t resist teasing his auntie Smiling Sadly when he noticed an unattended cooking pot over the fire. With a playful grin, he grabbed a stirring spoon and began singing a warrior’s song about savoring good food after battles. His antics didn’t last long; Smiling Sadly chased him and Grey Otter out of the lodge with a piece of firewood, both laughing as they escaped her mock fury.

“Your son drives me crazy!” Smiling Sadly said, catching her breath.

“I know, I know,” Clear Ponds replied, sharing a laugh with Raspberry Moon.

When Second Suns and Grey Otter returned with more hot water, Smiling Sadly surprised them with mid-morning snacks, inviting the rest of the hauling crew in for a break. Big Tree, ever appreciative of good food, looked particularly grateful as the crew gathered around the firepit to recharge.

Inside the main lodge, Faith’s mother, Smiling Sadly, heard the commotion and stepped outside to greet her family. From the flap of the lodge, Clear Ponds and Raspberry Moon waved before hurrying back to their cooking.

Meanwhile, Rises, still shaken, clung to her father’s hand as they approached the lodge. Smiling Sadly’s heart ached at the sight of her daughter’s tears, but she maintained a composed exterior. Inside the lodge, Smiling Sadly guided Rises to the tub room, gently helping her bathe.

“Are you ready to talk yet? Your father and I are worried about you,” she asked softly.

“I don’t know,” Rises murmured distantly. Smiling Sadly respected her daughter’s silence, offering quiet support instead of pressure.

Outside, Big Tree captivated the younger children with his storytelling. Second Suns, seated beside his sister Rests, requested a chilling tale: the story of the Poacher.

“Tell us about the Poacher! Please!” Grey Otter begged, his eyes wide with anticipation.

Big Tree hesitated but ultimately relented. As he wove the tale, the children inched closer, enthralled yet visibly shaken. Even Second Suns held his sister’s hand tightly, bracing her for the terrifying story.

Light Hearted Warrior emerged from the lodge, instantly recognizing the grim tale his brother-in-law was recounting. Though torn between stopping Big Tree and letting the children learn the harsh truths of their world, he stayed silent, keeping an eye on the lodge flap to ensure the mothers didn’t intervene.

When the story ended, tears streaked every listener’s face. Faith, pale and trembling, slid off her uncle’s lap and sought solace in her father’s arms. Light Hearted Warrior hugged her tightly, offering comfort.

Before the group could fully recover, Second Suns spotted movement on the trail.

“Look, Uncle! Someone’s coming!”

All heads turned to see Dream Killer, Light Hearted Warrior’s eldest son, striding confidently toward them. By his side walked Drum Talker, a close family friend.

“Dream Killer!” Second Suns shouted, dashing to greet his brother.

As the clearing buzzed with renewed excitement, the warmth of family and community wrapped around them, even amidst the lingering shadows of Big Tree’s haunting tale.

“Look, Faith! Your brother is here!” Light Hearted announced to his daughter with a warm smile.

“He is?” Faith asked, her head snapping around as she clung to her father in an embrace.

Her face lit up in an instant, her usual rosy glow returning as she exclaimed, “He is, Daddy! Dream Killer is here!” Without a moment's hesitation, she released her father and darted into the lodge to spread the news of the surprise visitors.

Moments later, Faith burst back outside, grabbed her father’s calloused hand, and urged, “Come on, Daddy! Let’s go meet him!” Her excitement bubbled over, pulling the rugged warrior along with her. Light Hearted couldn't help but chuckle at his daughter's infectious joy as she practically dragged him up the trail.

Ahead, Big Tree walked hand-in-hand with the Otter brothers, their strong grips echoing an unspoken camaraderie. One of his hands held his daughter’s as well, Faith having slipped in to share the bond. The sight brought a pang to Light Hearted’s heart. Memories of the Otter brothers' father surfaced—a dear friend from their army days. He’d been taken far too soon, falling in battle shortly after Red Otter’s birth. Light Hearted sighed, his eyes misting as he recalled the vibrant young man lost to war.

The moment was interrupted by the jovial voice of Second Suns, who greeted his older cousin Dream Killer with a hearty one-armed hug and a teasing grin. “Kicked you out already, cuz?” he joked while exchanging a quick, affectionate nod of greetings with Drum Talker.

As Drum Talker spoke in his measured, low tones, asking about the family’s well-being, Second Suns marveled. Though his speech was slow, his intelligence was undeniable—a truth once overlooked by many but now recognized and celebrated. The young warrior had risen through the ranks, his strategic brilliance commanding respect across the People.

Faith’s laughter rang out as Second Suns pretended to spar with the warriors, dancing and jabbing with playful bravado. Light Hearted glanced back toward the lodge, hoping to see his wife among the welcoming party. His heart sank when only Clear Ponds and Raspberry Moon stood by the lodge’s entrance. He guessed Rises was taking her bath. Despite his understanding, he missed her presence.

Faith, however, had no patience for waiting. Letting go of her father’s hand, she bolted ahead like an arrow, racing toward her brother.

“Faith!” Dream Killer greeted softly, his stoic demeanor melting into a warm smile as he embraced his youngest sister. “It’s good to see you. Where’s Rises?”

Faith didn’t answer with words, only with a tight, loving hug that spoke volumes. Light Hearted and Big Tree observed the scene, their seasoned eyes noting Dream Killer’s transformation. He had grown taller, broader, his features sharpened by the trials of military life. His plain soldier’s attire bore the mark of a man who had seen much—and survived.

Hanging proudly from his hair was the Feather of Valor, a prestigious honor among the People. Both elder warriors exchanged knowing looks, their admiration tempered with concern. They understood what the feather represented: a tribute born of sacrifice. Dream Killer had likely witnessed comrades fall, perhaps even saved others at great personal cost.

Smiling Sadly emerged from the lodge, her voice trembling with emotion. “Dream Killer!” she cried, rushing to her son.

“Mom!” Dream Killer called back, his stoic exterior crumbling as he ran to meet her. The hard edges of his face softened, his youthful warmth resurfacing as he enveloped her in a strong embrace, spinning her as if she weighed nothing.

“Oh, my boy, thank the Creator!” Smiling Sadly murmured, showering him with kisses. She scolded him for traveling without rest or food, only to catch herself and apologize. “I... I’m sorry. You’re not a little boy anymore.”

Dream Killer smiled, his voice gentle. “I’ll always be your little boy, Mom. Just... don’t tell anyone, okay?”

They laughed together, the bond between mother and son unbroken by time or distance.

Meanwhile, outside the lodge, Rests in the Pouring Rain scanned the clearing with sharp eyes. The stories of Poacher and his wicked deeds still haunted her young mind. Needing to feel safe, she placed her sacred feather near the fire and began to sing and dance—a heartfelt prayer to the Creator for protection over her family and her people.

Her voice was sweet and pure, carrying through the trees and harmonizing with the birds' song. It was as if the Creator themselves listened, proud of the young girl’s devotion.

When she finished, the sound of cheers and war cries startled her. Turning, she saw her family and friends gathered, watching her with pride and awe. Her cheeks flushed deeply, but she smiled shyly, her heart full of gratitude.

Rests in the Pouring Rain quickly snatched her sacred feather from its small stone perch and fastened it into her hair at the nape of her neck. The feather—a delicate blend of white, gray, and black—symbolized her spiritual connection, a gift she had clipped to her high, hooded cloak. She stared into the outdoor fire pit, its warmth unable to reach the coldness she felt deep within. Though the fire’s flickering light surrounded her with a sense of protection, a nagging pressure built at the back of her mind.

Fear.

Rests wasn’t sure if it was fear creeping from within or if something unseen was pressing against her. Her pale, skinny arms broke out in goosebumps as her father’s story of the Poacher haunted her thoughts. She tried to block it out but found it impossible. The tale felt too real, too near. This was no fanciful story of “Your-Up,” as her mother pronounced Europe—a far-off place filled with people and customs Rests doubted she’d ever see. Unlike her mother’s warm, distant tales, her father’s stories seemed to stretch long fingers into the present.

The youngest of five half-blood children of the People, Rests often found herself caught between worlds—listening, learning, and sometimes doubting. Her older brother and cousins spoke with certainty, leaving little room for the fanciful dreams her mother tried to instill. Europe, they said, was nothing more than a dream.

“Baby! Baby Rests! Your-Up’s for babies!” her older cousin, Rises With the Setting Sun, teased whenever the mood struck her to lash out.

“No, it’s not! Europe is for a princess like me! I’ll be a queen someday in Europe!” Rests shot back, her voice faltering before she could finish with the word “nothing.”

Rises smirked, her tone dripping with mockery. “Queen of wild animals in Your-Up! Look at you! You look like an ugly, smelly bear cub. Queen Smelly Bear, ruler of the wild beasts of Your-Up!”

“You are!” Rests yelled, her anger giving way to tears she didn’t want to shed.

“Queen Smelly Bear of the Kingdom of the Wild!” Rises taunted, laughing.

“Fuck you, Rises!” Rests spat, the unfamiliar curse erupting from her in her mother’s tongue.

The words stunned them both. Rises froze, her mouth open in shock, but her expression shifted when she glanced over Rests’ shoulder. Her teasing stopped abruptly.

“Shhh… I think she heard you,” Rises whispered, her eyes darting nervously.

“Oh no… it’s Mommy, right?” Rests’ anger dissolved into dread as fear gripped her. She never swore, and the realization of what she had done filled her with panic.

The day had already been a disaster for Rests. It had started with the humiliating realization that she had wet the bed, a rare accident that left her scrambling to change her blankets before anyone noticed. But her father had seen and unintentionally drawn the family’s attention to her plight. Embarrassed and shivering from a hurried bath in icy water, she had hoped to salvage the day—only to learn that she would not be traveling to the urban center with her family as planned.

Her mother’s explanation of a flu outbreak did little to console her. “It’s too dangerous for you to go right now,” Clear Ponds had said gently. “I can’t go either, Rests. You’re not the only one disappointed.”

But Rests couldn’t hear the reasoning through her frustration. She had screamed her protests until her mother, exasperated, sent her to bed with stern words and no sympathy.

Later, when her mother finally allowed her out of bed, the day only dragged on with mundane chores and quiet reprimands. Even Rises’ arrival, which usually meant adventure or mischief, had turned sour. Rests had spent hours with her cousin outside before the teasing escalated into their argument.

“Go home, Rises,” Clear Ponds’ voice cut through the tension as she stepped into the clearing. Her sharp tone silenced both girls. “Be grateful I don’t tell your mother about your behavior. You’re the oldest girl—you need to act like it.”

Rests looked down, her anger forgotten in the weight of her mother’s presence. The sacred feather in her hair felt heavier now, as though reminding her of the balance she was struggling to find in a world pulling her in opposite directions.

Rises With the Setting Sun turned and sprinted from the backyard of her aunt and uncle’s lodge, her footsteps echoing faintly in the stillness of the woods. She didn’t glance back at her cousin, Rests in the Pouring Rain, who stood frozen near the woodpile where they’d spent the afternoon playing. The air was heavy with tension, and her aunt’s voice, sharp as a blade, carried through the yard.

“Catherine Angel Tree! What did you just say? Come inside... right now!” Clear Ponds' voice thundered, addressing Rests by her Christian name, a rare and dreaded occurrence.

Clear Ponds was furious. Though she accepted her family’s path of following the Creator’s way, she clung tightly to her own faith—a devoted Christian heart navigating its own questions about religion. Yet, if there was one thing she could never abide, it was swearing. To her, the cursing words of her ancestors across the ocean were an affront, a poison she would not tolerate in her home.

Rests barely had time to protest before she found herself hauled inside and disciplined. Her mother’s anger stung worse than the thin switch she wielded, but what burned deeper was the injustice Rests felt.

“This isn’t fair!” she sobbed, her tears wetting the wooden floor. “It was Rises’ fault! She made me so mad! She’s the wild animal! I’m a princess!”

Rests blamed her cousin as she sniffled into her hands, nursing her bruised pride as much as her smarting backside.

That memory lingered, etched into Rests’ mind as vividly as if it had happened yesterday. Two years had passed, and still, the resentment smoldered faintly. Yet, today, as Rests stood outside near the fire pit, that old bitterness was buried beneath a strange unease she couldn’t shake. Her family’s laughter and warmth buzzed around her, but inside, a quiet dread gnawed at her spirit.

Rises approached, her white fringed dress glowing softly in the firelight, her black moccasin boots brushing against the earth with each step. Three feathers—black and white—swayed gently in her dark, damp hair, whispering of her spiritual ties to the world around her. She carried herself with a confidence far beyond her thirteen years, her beauty almost otherworldly despite the faint redness of ant bites marking her skin.

“Can you sing me a song?” Rises asked softly as she knelt by the fire pit, arranging the stones Rests used to brace her sacred feather upright. From her belt, Rises unrolled a small fur wrap, revealing her own sacred feather, a cherished symbol of her connection to the Creator.

Without hesitation Rests handed her feather over to Rises who planted it beside her own. There delicate shafts glowing in the flickering light of the flames. Rests felt her heart stir at the gesture.

“Only if you promise to join me,” Rests murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Rises smiled and nodded. Together, they began the quiet ritual, placing their feathers with reverence and settling into their shared breath. Each exhale and inhale synced, slow and heavy, until they could feel the invisible thread connecting their spirits.

Rests’ eyes closed as she reached out with her aura, feeling for the essence of her cousin’s heart. Rises mirrored her, their connection deepening until the boundaries of self faded, and their souls seemed to overlap. For a fleeting moment, all was warmth and harmony. Then, a chill pierced through Rests like a shard of ice.

“Yeow!” she yelped, her eyes snapping open. “What was that?”

Rises flinched, her expression tight with confusion. “I... I don’t know,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Before they could make sense of the moment, a familiar voice rang out, breaking their fragile connection.

“What are you two doing? Can I join? I’ll get my flute!” Faith Floats burst onto the scene, her excitement infectious. “And I brought your drum, Rises! Don’t start without me!” She disappeared into the lodge to retrieve their instruments, leaving the cousins staring at each other.

Rests searched Rises’ face, her earlier chill still lingering in her heart. “You’re cold,” she muttered, her voice barely audible.

Rises bristled. “I’m not cold!” she snapped, her defensive glare directed more at herself than her cousin.

Faith returned, her flute’s cheerful notes cutting through the tension. “What should we play first? The song about the lazy old dog?”

Neither Rests nor Rises answered, their connection fractured, their thoughts turned inward. The warmth of the fire seemed dimmer, the vibrant songs of the evening now tinged with a shadow neither could name.

Somewhere deep within their hearts, a quiet truth waited to be uncovered. And though they couldn’t see it yet, it had already begun to stir.

Faith and Rests exchanged nervous glances. Even without speaking, they both felt the tension ease slightly now that Rises' powerful, empathetic aura had faded into the distance. Rests lowered her gaze to the two sacred feathers lying before her. A chill crept up her spine as she swore she heard faint laughter echo in the back of her mind.

Faith, ever curious, followed Rests' troubled eyes and suddenly gasped with excitement. "Hey! I think this might help!"

The eleven-year-old dropped to one knee, digging into the small pouch fastened to her snakeskin belt. From within, she withdrew a simple wooden cross, worn smooth with age. It was the sacred heirloom of Rests' mother, Clear Pond—the last tangible connection to the faith of their parents, a fragile remnant of Christianity.

The cross had survived the storm that had destroyed their ship and brought them here to live among the People. Their clothes had disintegrated into tatters long ago, and memories of their homeland were fading fast. But this cross, small and unassuming, remained—silent yet powerful.

“Did you steal that?” Rests gasped, eyes wide with accusation.

Faith flushed but stood her ground. “No! I don’t steal!” she protested, her voice soft. “I borrowed it...for prayer. Your mom wouldn’t mind. She’s been teaching me about the Bible. She says if I want to lead a service one day, I need to practice.”

Rises, quiet until now, narrowed her eyes. “You’re lying.” Her words cut sharp, but her anger was already cooling.

Faith ignored them both and reverently placed the cross upright, just behind the sacred feathers. Then, with a determined glance at the fire, she grabbed more wood from the pile they’d hauled in earlier that morning. She tossed a log into the flames, the sparks dancing skyward.

Before long, Rests and Rises joined her. What began as a chore turned into a playful contest. They laughed and raced to see who could throw the most wood without missing the fire pit. Their laughter echoed in the crisp evening air, and soon the pile was gone.

Faith glanced toward Rises' small drum, a grin spreading across her face. Without a word, she fetched the drum and stick, handing them to her cousin with a flourish.

“BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.”

Rises struck the drum three times, each beat resonating in their chests.

“TOOT. TOOT.”

Faith followed with the high, clear notes of her flute. Together, the cousins stood tall, their vibrant hand-stitched outfits glinting in the firelight. Their mother had helped them craft these beautiful garments, rich with patterns that told their shared history.

Rests, however, felt out of place in her thick winter clothing. She tugged self-consciously at the fabric, wishing she could wear the new dress she had painstakingly crafted herself. But her mother had insisted she wait for a special occasion.

To Rests, her reflection was a constant source of doubt. Her light skin and features, so different from her mother’s, only deepened her insecurities. She couldn’t see the beauty others saw—the promise of someone who would one day grow into a striking young woman.

A faint, mocking laugh echoed in her mind again, and she shivered from head to toe.

“Rests? Are you okay?” Faith’s voice broke through the fog. “Do you need water?”

Snapping back to the present, Rests shook her head. She closed her eyes, squeezing them tightly at first before letting herself relax. Silence fell over the trio as Rests opened her mouth and began to sing.

Her voice was soft at first, weaving through the night air like smoke from the fire. Faith and Rises stilled, mesmerized. The song was an old one, a tragic tale of young maidens who perished in a brutal winter storm. They had almost made it home, their parents watching helplessly as the cold claimed their lives just steps from safety.

The song wasn’t merely a story; it was a warning and a lament. The parents, burdened with guilt, questioned whether their love had been enough. The melody carried the weight of those questions, and as Rests sang, it seeped into the hearts of her cousins, binding them in shared sorrow and hope.

When the final note faded, Rests opened her eyes, tears streaming silently down her cheeks.

“My mommy thinks I’m ugly,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

The words hung in the air, raw and fragile, as Faith and Rises moved closer. They wrapped their arms around her, holding her tightly in the glow of the fire, their silent presence speaking louder than any words ever could.

“Rests! Don’t say that!” Rises exclaimed, her voice trembling. She wanted to press further, to demand an explanation, but the word ugly clung to her throat, heavy and unbearable.

It was a word she had wrestled with too many times herself—especially whenever Clear Ponds, her aunt, was around. Rises kept her insecurities locked away, hidden behind her usual resilience, but deep down, comparisons gnawed at her. Her aunt’s serene presence and pointed comments about beauty often left her questioning her own worth.

Clear Pond’s bedtime stories didn’t help. Every heroine she spoke of—brave, kind, and beautiful—was described with light hair and radiant features, like sunlight captured in human form. Meanwhile, the villains bore hair dark as the midnight sky, their shadows casting doubt and danger.

“Am I bad?” Rises had asked her mother one evening after hearing another one of her auntie’s tales. Her voice had been small, trembling with the weight of unspoken fears. The story had featured a princess with golden hair and an envious witch named Midnight, her dark locks obscuring her face and her intentions.

Rises hated Midnight’s role in the story, but she couldn’t help but admire the name.

“Midnight!” she had declared the next morning, standing tall before her family. “I wish my name was Midnight! I claim it now! From this day forward, I am Midnight!”

Her bold proclamation was met with swift rejection.

“No!” her mother, Smiling Sadly, had said firmly. Her tone carried an edge that left no room for negotiation.

Rises had felt her pride falter, but she pressed on. “Why not? Midnight is strong. It’s bold. It’s me.”

Smiling Sadly softened her voice, crouching to meet her daughter’s tearful gaze. “No, my love. Midnight is darkness. And you are light. We all are.”

Rises shook her head, her voice breaking. “No, Mom. Don’t you see? We look like the darkness. In all of auntie’s stories, we’re always the bad people!”

Smiling Sadly’s face crumpled, and she reached for her daughter, pulling her into a protective embrace. “No, no, no,” she murmured, stroking her hair. “Those are just stories, my darling. Silly tales for children. They mean nothing.”

“They don’t feel like nothing,” Rises whispered, her body trembling.

Smiling Sadly pulled back and held her daughter’s face between her hands. “You are not darkness. You are Rises With the Setting Sun, my daughter, my princess. The most beautiful light in all our People. Don’t ever forget that.”

Rises had no words, only tears. She cried softly into her mother’s arms, her doubts momentarily soothed but not fully erased.

Now, standing before Faith and Rests, those same doubts stirred again.

“You’re not ugly,” Faith said suddenly, her voice breaking through the heavy silence. She looked at her sister, who seemed lost in her own thoughts, and then turned her attention to Rests. Faith’s heart ached at the sight of her cousin’s tear-streaked face.

“I mean it,” Faith continued, her tone more determined. “You’re the most beautiful of all of us.”

Rests sniffled, her eyes darting to Rises, seeking validation. “I am, right, Rises?”

Rises blinked, caught off guard. She hesitated, the weight of her own insecurities rendering her silent.

Faith frowned, sensing the hesitation. “Why did you ask her?” she demanded, her voice sharper than intended. “Do you two say that about me, too? About all of us?”

“What? No! I didn’t say anything!” Rises blurted, her voice defensive.

Faith’s eyes narrowed, and anger sparked beneath her usually calm exterior. She could see it now—Rises’ silence wasn’t just hesitation; it was guilt. Faith realized with a sinking feeling that her sister might have been fueling Rests’ insecurities all along, unintentionally or otherwise.

Faith took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. This wasn’t the time to lash out. It was the time to fix things. She was always the one who had to fix things.

But how could she make others see the light when they insisted on embracing the darkness?

She glanced at Rises, her older sister who was usually so strong, and then at Rests, her cousin who looked up to them both for guidance. Faith felt the crushing weight of responsibility settle on her young shoulders. She was only a child, yet here she was again, trying to mend what she barely understood.

“Listen,” Faith said softly, stepping closer to Rests and placing a hand on her shoulder. “You’re not ugly. You’re not bad. You’re...you. And that’s more than enough.”

Her words weren’t perfect. They weren’t even close. But in that moment, they were all she had to give.

Rests hesitated, her eyes lingering on Faith. The words meant to comfort her didn’t quite land. Faith had said she was beautiful compared to their family, but not compared to anyone else. That lingering omission stung. She appreciated Faith’s efforts, but a part of her wished Faith would simply stop talking.

And then there was Rises. Her silence earlier spoke volumes. By saying nothing, she had confessed her own feelings about how ‘ugly’ they must seem, especially when compared to Rest’s mother or their father. The unspoken truth weighed heavily between them.

Faith felt her frustration bubbling. She hated how Rises let her own misery seep into the group, dragging everyone down. For a fleeting moment, she even considered tattling on her older sister. Maybe if she told their mother, Rises would finally realize how her words—or lack of them—hurt everyone else.

But just as quickly, the thought fizzled out. A shift in the wind sent warmth from the fire pit washing over them, softening the tension. Each of them straightened, feeling the gentle heat settle into their skin like a small reminder of comfort.

“Maybe we should try another song,” Rises said, her voice cautious but steady.

“Yeah, another song!” Rests echoed, her tone suddenly lighter, almost childlike.

Faith beamed, her smile so radiant that both Rises and Rests couldn’t help but feel a little of her inner warmth. It was a quiet reassurance, as if Faith herself could rival the fire’s heat with the sheer force of her joy.

“Wait, I have an idea,” Faith said, her voice brimming with inspiration. “Let’s honor the Creator together. First, we’ll pray, and then we’ll dance. Double blessings for us all!”

The suggestion felt like a spark of hope. Rests and Rises nodded and followed Faith’s lead, kneeling beside her before the small cross and the sacred feathers. Faith took her place at the front, her heart swelling with purpose as she faced the only symbols of salvation they had ever known.

But then her smile faltered. Her breath caught in her throat.

“The feathers… the cross…” she whispered, her voice trembling.

The sacred feathers were gone. Worse for her, the cross was burning.

The fire pit had spread its flames across the scattered wood they’d thrown around earlier during their game. The blaze had reached the feathers first, reducing them to nothing but smoke and ash. Now, the fire consumed the old, hand-carved cross, its once-polished surface glowing a menacing reddish-orange.

“Ahhh! The feathers! The cross! It’s burning!” Faith screamed, lunging forward.

Rises reacted instantly, grabbing Faith by the wrists and yanking her back. With a swift movement, she kicked dirt onto the flames, extinguishing them with practiced precision. Her footfalls created a small hill of earth over what remained of the cross.

“MOMMY!” Rests screamed; her voice shrill with panic.

Rises turned on her, pulling her down onto her knees. “Shhh! Don’t call her! Just… wait! Let’s see it first,” she whispered, though her own fear was evident in the quiver of her voice.

Faith’s hands trembled as she carefully began digging through the mound of dirt Rises had created. All three girls held their breath, waiting for a miracle.

“Rises! It’s gone! Auntie’s cross is gone!” Faith’s voice cracked with panic, rising to a near scream.

Rises pushed Faith aside and took over the task. Her hands moved quickly, sifting through the dirt with desperate determination. But there was no miracle to be found. The cross was no longer a cross. What remained was an unrecognizable heap of ash and soil, crumbling under the weight of their stares.

“It’s okay… right, Rises?” Faith’s voice was barely above a whisper, laced with pleading. “It’s okay?”

But even as she asked, she knew it wasn’t. The sacred feathers were gone. The cross was gone. And with them, a piece of their connection to something greater felt irretrievably lost.

“Can’t she keep her hands off other people’s things?” Clear Ponds spat bitterly, her words laced with an unfamiliar venom as she glared at her brother, Light Hearted Warrior, and his wife, Smiling Sadly.

Clear Ponds was trembling from head to toe, her crystal-blue eyes aflame with a dark intensity that none of the family had ever witnessed before. Gone was the composed, nurturing figure they all admired; in her place stood a woman unraveling, her blonde hair wild around her tear-streaked face.

“That cross was all I had left of my faith, of who I was before we came here! And now it’s gone! Because of you, Faith!” Clear Ponds’s voice cracked, her grief spilling over as she pointed an accusatory finger at her young niece. “It was my everything, and now it’s nothing!”

Faith Floats could barely see through the flood of her own tears. She had been crying since the moment she realized the cross was beyond saving, and the sacred feathers of her cousins’ Creator’s symbol were lost too. The guilt weighed heavily on her small shoulders.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—I’m so sorry!” Faith’s words came in frantic gasps, her voice barely holding together under the weight of her sobs.

“Sorry isn’t enough! You reckless little—” Clear Ponds’s voice rose, her grief teetering dangerously close to fury.

“What? What did you just call my daughter?” Smiling Sadly’s voice was sharp as a blade, cutting through the room like lightning. In an instant, she moved toward Clear Ponds with the speed of a predator.

Light Hearted Warrior stepped in, wrapping his arms firmly around his wife’s waist before she could reach his sister. His grip was strong, but his expression was not. He looked at Clear Ponds with deep disappointment, his eyes silently pleading for peace.

Clear Ponds froze under her brother’s gaze. The dark glow in her eyes dimmed, replaced by the weight of shame. Big Tree, her husband could not hold his sad gaze upon her. Her shoulders sagged as she turned back toward Faith, who was still trembling and sobbing uncontrollably.

“Oh, Faith, I’m sorry,” Clear Ponds whispered, her voice breaking. She sank to her knees in front of the child, reaching out with trembling hands.

Faith hesitated for a moment but then collapsed into her aunt’s arms. The two of them clung to each other, their shared pain binding them together in that moment. Faith’s cries grew louder, her small body shaking with the force of her emotions.

Smiling Sadly, her earlier anger dissolving into guilt, began to cry as well. She moved closer, placing a hand gently on Faith’s back. “We’ve all lost something today,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “But we haven’t lost each other.”

One by one, the family members joined in, their shared tears blending into a palpable wave of grief and love. Clear Ponds’s earlier fury now felt like a distant storm as the warmth of familial bonds started to take its place.

Everyone cried—everyone except Rises With the Setting Sun.

Standing slightly apart, Rises watched her aunt with a guarded expression. Her dark eyes narrowed, her mind replaying the words Clear Ponds had almost said. “Dirty little…animal.”

“She was going to say it,” Rises thought bitterly, her small hands balling into fists at her sides. “I know she was.”

A faint laugh echoed in the back of her mind, sinister and mocking, but Rises couldn’t hear it fully—yet.

Cray Fish Manor looked disheveled and forlorn, Raspberry Moon thought, stealing glances back into its structure as she nervously lingered in the lodge’s front flap. The main house loomed in the distance, its silence amplifying her unease. No one had emerged in over an hour, not since her friends had taken their daughters inside to reckon with the aftermath of the day’s chaos.

She couldn’t forget the moment Faith Floats had placed two trembling handfuls of dirt and ash into Clear Ponds’ outstretched palms. Faith’s tear-streaked face had crumbled under the weight of her aunt’s grief as Clear Ponds realized this was all that remained of her sacred cross—the last tether to a home that she and her brother, Light Hearted Warrior, had long since lost across the ocean. A shipwreck had marooned them here, with the People, and now even the smallest relic of their past was gone.

Raspberry Moon shook her head at the memory, her heart heavy as she retreated fully into the small lodge that Second Suns and his family called home.

“Well? See anything?” Second Suns asked as she entered.

Raspberry glanced at him and her two young sons, Grey and Red Otter, who flanked him. They lounged on a battered pile of tanned hides, their edges worn and frayed, looking as though they’d been scavenged from a rotting carcass. Raspberry wrinkled her nose at the sight.

“Why use such old skins for furniture?” she asked, taking the only other seat left, between Second Son’s cousin, Dream Killer and their friend, Drum Talker—wedging herself between the two young men. Their presence made her acutely aware of her surroundings. Drum Talker, in particular, seemed uneasy, shifting slightly as if afraid to crowd her.

Raspberry suppressed a flicker of discomfort, unused to the attention of a man, even a younger one, since her husband’s passing six years ago.

“It’s quiet over there,” she finally answered, dropping her earlier question about the lodge’s state.

Second Suns tensed. His mother, Clear Ponds, had been an emotional wreck since Faith Floats had confessed to the fire that had destroyed the cross. Though Faith had admitted her mistakes, the damage couldn’t be undone. Second Suns’ jaw tightened as he weighed the cross’s spiritual significance against the weight of his family’s fractured emotions.

Dream Killer, his voice low and steady, broke the silence. “Our sisters’ connection to the Creator is broken forever. That’s what matters most. More than any cross. Don’t you think so, Second Suns?”

Dream Killer’s fingers absently toyed with the sacred feather hanging from his hair, mirroring the actions of the others as they reached for their own symbols of faith.

Second Suns hesitated, then placed his feather down gently and met his cousin’s gaze. “She’s my mother,” he said simply, his voice firm. “That cross was her feather.”

Dream Killer nodded solemnly, his expression approving. The others murmured their agreement, but the unity of the moment wasn’t enough to touch Rises With the Setting Sun, in the main lodge, who sat apart, simmering with rage.

Rises glared at Faith Floats from beneath her dark bangs, her gaze sharp as an arrow. Faith sat nestled on their uncle Big Tree’s knee, her face buried in his chest as he murmured reassurances. Their mother, Smiling Sadly, sat nearby, stroking Faith’s hair while Clear Ponds softly sang an old prayer through her tears. The adults’ shared grief and comfort seemed to exclude Rises and her cousin Rests entirely, and it stung like a blade.

“They care more about her than about what we lost,” Rises thought bitterly, her fists clenching.

The sacred feathers she and Rests had carried since their naming ceremonies—tangible connections to the Creator—had been reduced to ash, but no one seemed to notice. All their sorrow was reserved for Faith and that damn cross. Her anger boiled over.

“Liars,” she seethed silently. “You said the Creator’s path was everything, but you only care about her God—her cross. You’re all liars.”

Rises' body burned with suppressed fury. Rests edged away slightly, sensing the heat radiating from her cousin. The world around Rises seemed to blur as her thoughts spiraled further into darkness.

Clear Ponds’ earlier outburst replayed in her mind, twisted by her fury.

“She called Faith a dirty little animal,” Rises thought, though the words had never truly been said.

Clear Ponds had stopped herself, but Rises’ wounded heart wouldn’t allow for forgiveness. Rises wanted to scream at them all, to hurl the truth in their faces, to shatter the fragile harmony of their sorrow. And then, suddenly, she did.

“Fuck all of you and your fucking lies!” she roared, her voice cutting through the lodge like a thunderclap.

The room froze. Every face turned toward her in shock, their expressions a mix of disbelief and fear. The air grew heavy, thick with the weight of her words. For a moment, there was only silence, broken only by the echo of her fury reverberating in their ears.