Young Writers Society

I decided to take a walk in twilight, to try and clear my head you know. I stayed way clear of the forest and Orrin’s cottage, heading instead for Playman’s Meadow.

I hadn’t had Combat and Stealth since my suspension. The meadow looked blue and bare in the absence of members. I walked round the edges, stopping at the base of the hill.

Bevan hadn’t wanted to go over the barrier. He’d been scared, like everyone else in the village would’ve been.

But I hadn’t been scared of the hill and its borderline, and I hadn’t been scared of crossing that line either. Sure I’d been cautious, but the city didn’t scare me. At least it didn’t use to.

I looked up at the hill, with its grassy slope and wild flowers. It was a truly beautiful scene against the dusky sky. I took a step up the hill, wondering what the city would look like in the sunset. I wouldn’t cross the barrier; I just wanted to see it.

But before I could take another step, images of the last time I’d climbed Fiery Hill started playing in my mind. The fire and people being beaten, the dark figures sweeping around, the faces all turning to me and then to the sky. The sky, turning on its back and showering us with blood. The power that’d sent me flying.

My foot moved back and I was standing at the base, still looking up at the hill. Was it blood? That rained down on us that day? It didn’t fall beyond the line, yet I was soaked in crimson. If it was blood, where had it come from? It can’t rain blood in Sage Barrow, so why can it rain blood in Adwen?

I shook my head and turned back to the opening to the meadow.

A soft whistling started up behind me. It was quiet and single-toned, so it wasn’t a person or bird or anything. I felt myself draw in a gasping breath as I realized what it was.

I had just enough time to duck before an arrow hit the ground right in front of me. I twisted around fiercely in the direction the arrow had come from.

“What’s the matter Astrid?” a boy asked at the top of Fiery Hill. I breathed a sigh of relief. “You actually looked scared!”

The boy’s voice was loud and deep, full of playful laughter. His hair was brown and longish, curling slightly over his ears in a very Magorian sort of way. He was older than Bevan and me, eighteen by our standards. He was well built and another popular village favorite, at least among the girls, not so much among the mothers.

“People tend to look scared if an arrow misses them by thumbs!” I yelled up at him.

“Ah, but not the famous Astrid,” he said as he headed down the slope.

I smiled when he reached me, thinking how mistaken his comment was. I guess I used to be kinda fearless, but lately I can’t truthfully claim to be.

“Welcome back,” I said.

“Aw, so I don’t get a hug or anything now? That boy’s gotten to your head,” he said, nodding his head insistently and smiling broadly.

I laughed and stretched out my hands in mock lovingness. Perhaps it wasn’t mock lovingness, but I guess it looked that way anyway. He laughed again and accepted the hug readily, drawing me into his chest.

When he let go he was grinning broadly, looking me up and down.

“You’ve gotten tall,” he said, which made me snicker. It was saying something from his side, since he towered over me.

“Come on,” I said, leading him out of the meadow by the hand. “Diya would want to see you.”

Just before we left I turned briefly to glance at the spot where the arrow had hit, and found my smile broaden to see that the crisp grass was undisturbed.

*I've kind of edited most of the story before this. For those of you who's read the previous Smoke and Dusts posts:

Bevan doesn't kiss Astrid - that would've made it too weird between them.

I put in a few pieces that explain about an up and coming festival that Astrid has to wear this revealing but still kind of poofy-skirted ball dress in.

I can't think of what else I changed now.