Afraid to Know

                The wind swept up from the village to the tops of the snow capped mountains surrounding it. The wind brought with it the scent of wood fires and a warm draft that washed over Fanira as she sat on a snow covered ledge. The breeze passed too quickly for Fanira, though she was bundled tightly in her thick furs, the cold still bit to the bone. She looked around her and knew that, were it not for the cold, she’d stay in these foreboding mountains forever. Their brisk solitude and calming strength filled her with a deep serenity whenever she walked within them. However, the setting sun herald that it would soon be time for her to leave.

                She stood and sighed, glancing once more at the seemingly peaceful village nestled in the bowl of the mountains. She resituated her quiver and bow to a more comfortable spot on her shoulder, then scanned the environment around her. The snow up ahead looked as though it had been depressed. She walked over and knelt down to examine the print. It had the look of mountain lion and was fresh, very fresh. The snow around it, light and powdery, barely had time to fill it in. She followed the prints as quickly as possible without making a sound.

                The prints led her through the trees, coated in glistening icicles, to the mouth of a dark cave. The sharp scent of urine clung to the air. Fanira knew this was where her quarry lay. She sat low in the bushes silently pulling an arrow from her quiver and nocking it to her bow. She pulled back on the bowstring and waited. Her wait wasn’t long; the mountain lion lumbered out of its den to stretch itself and yawn in the small patch of sun that found its way through the clouds. Its coat glistened as its large muscles bunched beneath it. Its vicious yellowed teeth showed boldly within its blood reddened mouth. When the lion turned to enter the cave once more, Fanira let her arrow free. The bowstring snapped and the arrow soared through the air with a satisfying twoosh, to thud into its target’s chest, slicing between the ribs to pierce the lungs. The lion had been knocked over by the force of the impact. It clumsily jumped up again and whirled itself around to locate the source of its pain. Its breathing became more labored with each passing second. The lion slumped over, its legs buckling as the last of its energy flowed away. It writhed in pain, its blood spreading, dark crimson, on the snow. It let out one final roar as it fell over itself into death.

                Fanira waited until she could no longer see the lion’s chest move and then approached it slowly and crouched low over the body. This was the same lion that had dragged a child from the village the night before. She reached to her right hip and withdrew her dagger. She cut through the neck and severed the head from the body; she placed the head in a pouch at her belt. She pulled her arrow from the body and snapped it in half. She dug through the snow until she found the soil beneath and then buried the arrow so that none of the lion’s kind would hunt her down.

                She was just about to leave when she heard a small squeak issue from inside the cave. She furrowed her brow and walked cautiously towards the mouth of the cave. Another tiny squeak forced her inward until she found the source. Three tiny mountain lion cubs lay on the floor huddled together for warmth. They cried out piteously for their mother and squirmed, their eyes not even open. Fanira shivered with the knowledge of what she had to do. She knelt down and quickly sliced through each of their tiny necks with her dagger. She knew that killing them at this age they would be thought of as good spirits and would move on to greater existence, instead of letting them grow to be killers like their mother. She picked up the tiny bundles and carried them outside to lie next to their mother, in the hopes that their purity would save their mother’s spirit as well. She looked up at the sun, its position told her that she shouldn’t linger much longer, else the Pass would close and she could find herself in great peril.

                The sun now touched the crested top of the horizon as Fanira approached the final leg of her treacherous journey. The few miles of the Pass were the most dangerous and life threatening, for the pass had a mind of its own. Those arrogant enough to think they could navigate their way through were never seen after their speech of daring and master will. Fanira scoffed at who ever entered the pass with such pride, she herself, as a young child, got lost in the pass, and fortunately she found her way back (though she hardly remembered how). But now, as the sun sank lower and lower in the sky she smiled to herself and entered the Pass.

                Branches thrust out at her, scraping through her hair and snatching at her clothes. She walked straight through or glared at them when she saw their advance. The branches curled back as the Pass

realized she wasn’t scaring as easily as hoped for. But it still tried to trick her. The path she was walking veered suddenly to the left, but Fanira kept going straight into a stand of trees. She knew that the best way to get through the Pass was to go due East, the path that veered more often led you straight off a cliff or disappeared deep in the woods. Her intuition proved right, as usual, for her path picked up again as though it had always been there. But today the Pass was pulling out all stops to have her once more. A large wolven beast lumbered out of the forest and onto the path. It snarled and stared at Fanira; she stared back and crouched down while reaching into a pouch at her belt. She pulled out a large bone and, without breaking eye-contact, threw it to the side off the path. The beast still stared. Fanira slowly reached for her dagger, but just as her fingers brushed the hilt, the beast ran off to get the bone. She straightened herself but didn’t remove her hand from her waist until she was completely out of the Pass.

                She entered the edge of the village just as the sun set behind the mountains and the stars started to poke through in their black backdrop. Windows glowed yellow and orange as candle flames flickered within. She walked up, first, to the chief’s house.

                “Fanira?” He asked groggily, apparently he had been sleeping.

                “Yes, Maclan, I’m sorry to have awakened you sir-”

                “Oh no it’s fine. Did you find the lion?”

                “I wouldn’t be here if  I hadn’t.” She said with a smile. She reached into her pouch and presented the chief with the head of the lion.

                “Good,” he said accepting the head and holding it up for inspection, “It won’t return the Cellin’s baby but it will at least give them rest. I shall give this to them in the morning. They’ll no doubt be in your debt.”

                “You know I never collect on those debts, I don’t mind going into the mountains.”

                “I know and I’m glad you don’t because if you ever got the mind to, you would replace me as chief.” Fanira let out a little halfhearted laugh, knowing that though he joked about it often, the chief feared her much as many people in her village did. She was the only one who dared enter the Pass and returned, that alone startled them, but the fact that she never brought any attention to herself was beyond their comprehension.

                “Well goodnight,” the chief called over his shoulder as he turned to go back to his bed, the head tucked neatly under his arm. Fanira left the chief’s steps and followed the road back to the edge of the village to her home.