Obsidian
by Veritas
Rated T
Warnings: Violence and very subtle mature themes due to sensitive subject matter. The rating is for later chapters
A/N: Hey guys, thanks for taking the time to read this! I was reading some of my favorite fantasies and stories (Inheritance Cycle, Lord of the Rings Trilogy, Percy Jackson Series) and I realize that I've never read a good story or fantasy based in Africa. In fact, the only famous African-based story that comes to mind is the Lion King. And so, being a writer like the rest of you, I felt compelled to make up for this lack of diversity. And thus Obsidian was born!
This is just a short prologue....tell me what you think, por favor!Prologue
Obsidian: A stone dark as night and as beautiful as the dawn.
He cracked his eyes with the coming of the dawn and his dreams were immediately shattered. He snapped his eyelids shut in a futile attempt to reclaim the reality of the dream but it was gone. In remembrance he sighed. It had been a good dream, the likes of which he had not been blessed with in some time. Bird-song floated through his open balcony doors and graced his ears. He cherished the soft and joyous melodies of the birds and took pleasure in imagining they were speaking to him alone, telling him of all the wondrous things they%u2019d seen and the places they%u2019d been. They told of him of the great wonders of Africa beyond the borders of his tribe. The only other sounds to fill the room were his own heartbeat and breath and the steadying inhale and exhalation of his wife snuggled against his side.
He looked down his chest to the top of his wife%u2019s head that had made its rest there. A fond and tired smile took over his features and for a mere moment he entertained the thought of staying all day in the bed that he and his beloved shared. But that was a moment quickly passed. It was an impossible desire, a remnant of a lingering dream. It was with this wistful thinking and the utmost care that he slid out of bed, careful not to disturb her slumber. She stirred slightly and then turned over onto her side and curled into herself, subconsciously aware of the loss of warmth that his body had provided her with. For a time, he sat peacefully on the side of their shared bed and watched her sleep. He watched how her eyes would occasionally flicker back and forth beneath her eyelids and wondered what dreams had enraptured her. He hoped it was a pleasant one. He observed the steady rise and fall of her chest beneath the blankets and found himself breathing to the rhythm she%u2019d unknowingly set. Thus he did every morning and every morning the sight of her was just as breathtaking as the morning before. She was as dark as night and as beautiful as the dawn. She was his greatest treasure, his precious stone. She was his obsidian.
Reluctantly he rose and turned from the captivating sight of her. He dressed silently as he did every morning as not to disturb her. She tied his burgundy-dyed waist wrap about his hips as well as his leather belt to which he strapped his two bone-handled hunting knives. He slipped a golden band around each forearm, a symbol of his status. His torso stayed bare as was custom beneath the blistering African sun. A longing look back at the woman on the bed and a deep breath to savor the peace of the morning and he was gone, off to answer the call of duty his heart beat for.
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