Daughter of the Northwest Tribe

A Story by Steph Morgan

Ross knows he shouldn't get involved with her kind, but he feels he owes her a debt after she saved his life.

His heaving breathing came out in clouded puffs, his aching chest burning as the cold air rushed in and out, in and out. His left eye was closed, a cut he couldn't even feel bleeding down into his vision. His lip was split and bleeding, and his entire body was battered and bruised. Three bodies lay sprawled on the snow-covered ground around him, unmoving but not dead. Just unconscious.

He dropped to the ground, exhausted. He'd been caught off guard in the forest, which was his own stupid fault, honestly. He should have known better than to take the shortcut through the forest by himself, but of course he hadn't been thinking. He normally handled it without trouble, but with that new tribe that had settled in the far northwestern area, everything in the forest, animal and person alike, were much more violent.

He set his sword down, turning to examine his right arm. It was bleeding and twisted awkwardly, and he cursed under his breath. One stupid little brawl, and he'd broken his arm? He sighed, frustrated with himself. He needed to get back into his routine, back to fighting and sparring and honing his skills. These stupid politics were killing him, literally.

He heard the light crunch of footsteps in the snow, and he whirled around, his hand reaching for his sword. But the one standing there surprised him, and his hand stopped just short of his weapon.

She was not human, but he’d have been more surprised if she was. She was taller than his roaring 6 foot 4, but looked much younger. Her thin shoulders and painfully narrow waist would have made him worry with anyone else, but he knew her species was designed like that. Her pale-skinned face was round, and she had large, shiny eyes, a shade of brown light enough to be called gold. Her hair fell in shiny locks of blood-red scarlet around her shoulders, and her simple, silver gown swept the ground as the wind blew.

Her full, pink lips were shaped in a curious O, and her eyes had a look of surprise and curiosity in them. But she stayed completely still, as if he were a deer that would run at the slightest movement from her.

He grunted, leaving his weapon where it lay. “What do ya want?” He asked.

Her golden eyes widened for just a second, as if surprised he could speak properly, before she hesitantly raised her thin arm and pointed with delicate fingers at his arm. “Blood.” She said quietly. “You... You’re bleeding.”

“Yes, I am.” He replied, looking her in the eyes.

She gave a startled, almost silent little gasp. She closed her mouth and swallowed, and then her hand traveled to the leather cord tied around her little waist. Hanging from it was a leather pouch, which she gracefully untied and opened. Hesitantly, she took one step, and then two towards him, gliding over the snow as if she were flying. He noticed her petite feet were barefoot, but just as clean and pale as the snow. She dropped to her knees beside him, and he tensed slightly. She cradled the object she’d pulled from the pouch in her palms, staring at him.

Finally, she opened her hands to reveal a small, crystal vial full of a silvery blue liquid. His brows furrowed, and he looked up at her. One of her perfectly white, and slightly sharp teeth bit her bottom lip, but her golden eyes stared at him intensely.

Neither of them moved for several minutes. Then, so quickly he almost didn’t see, she ripped the white cork off the vial with her teeth and drank the contents down. When she dropped the vial, he noticed her swollen cheeks and realized she hadn’t swallowed. Her golden eyes never once leaving his, she bent down towards his arm, which still rested awkwardly in the snow. Her lips parted and she blew, but instead of liquid a frosty breeze came from her lips, running over his arm and decorating it with silvery blue runes as it passed over his injury. He shivered, goosebumps covering his body.

When all the frost had left her, she closed her eyes and began to sing. He didn’t understand the words, but her soothing voice and lilting melody cast some kind of hypnosis on him, and when she finished and he’d snapped out of it, he looked down to realize his arm was completely healed.

He gave a startled yell, and she shrunk back with a small squeal of her own. He stared at her, breathing heavily. “W-What? W-What did you do?” He demanded.

“I healed it.” She replied, hiding part of her face with her hands, as if she were afraid she’d done something wrong. “Is that not what you wanted?”

He gazed at her in bewilderment, looking between her and his arm. He flexed it, swung it, clenched and unclenched his fist. It was perfectly healed, as if it had never been broken.

When the shock had mostly drained, he looked at her again and said, “Yes, that is what I wanted... Thank you. But... But how?”

She smiled at his gratitude, coming out from behind her hands. He noticed the way she smiled brightly like a little kid, showing all her teeth and lighting her face up beautifully as her cheeks flushed a soft pink. “A secret of my tribe.” She said, and then she pointed to the northwest.

She looked back at him. “You call us violent and trespassers, but this land has belong to our kind for far longer than you’re kind has even existed.” She explained. “You overran it and chased us out. We’ve only come back to our home.”

“Why did you help me?” He asked.

“Father says not to.” she said simply. “He says you’re all the same, all bloodthirsty barbarians who will only kill us all in the end.” She leaned in close and whispered in his ear, “But I don’t believe him. I wanted to prove him wrong, and find out what you’re like on my own.”

She pulled back and smiled brilliantly at him, and he felt a warmth blossom in his chest and spread.

But her expression turned quickly, her head snapping to the west as if she’d heard something important. She rose to her feet, clutching the empty vial. She looked at him and breathlessly said, “I have to go.”

She turned and began to run, but he reached toward her and called, “Wait!”

She stopped, looking at him with her head tilted curiously.

“I...” He faltered, his hand sinking. “I must thank you properly. How can I find you again?”

She smiled once more, and he struggled to fill his lungs with air. “I’ll be around these parts.” She said. “My formal title is Delatchiia Kirithra wo Tæriitweiht. You may call me Kirithra.”

“I’m Ross.” He said, trying to remember the string of syllables she’d just rolled out for him. ‘Kirithra. Kirithra. Kirithra.’

“Farwell, Ross. I hope to see you again very soon.” She glided back over and gave him a swift kiss on his cheek before turning and disappearing from sight.

*0<~>0<~>0<~>0*

The loud noises of the tavern fell on deaf ears to Ross, who simply stared into his mug of mead, lost in his own thoughts. A heavy fist pounded on the table in front of him, the liquid in his mug jumping in little droplets.

“Ross!” The deep, booming voice roared, grabbing his attention. He looked up to see his long time friend, Barrett, gazing at him questioningly. “Ross, you’ve barely said a word all night! Have those damn politics gotten to you already? I told you, it was a bad idea to take over for that flaky mayor. Those townsmen can take care of themselves, they don’t need you! Have a drink, eh?”

Ross chuckled, downing his mug in one long gulp. "It's not those people that are doing me in just yet." he said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "But I do miss sparring with the guys. I'm afraid I'm losing my touch. I almost lost to a group of thugs in the forest on my way here." He shook his head, disbelieving that he could really have become so lax in skill.

	Barrett and the others howled. "The great Ross is losing his touch?" One of them, a giant of a man named Gord said. "I won't believe it 'till I piss myself watching it!"
More laughter. Barrett clapped him on the back, saying, "Ya know what you need, my friend? A Hunt!"
	The others cheered loudly, and Gord yelled, "Yeaah, let's get a few more trophies for the wall! Have ya seen my newest one, Ross? Just got her this afternoon, actually." His voice held all the cocky pride Ross expected of his other friend. Gord pointed to the wall behind him, and as Ross looked, his stomach churned and he felt sick.
The head was female, and young. Her features were frozen in terrified horror, her golden eyes desperate. They looked more haunted now, her pink lips stretched in a silent scream. Half her long hair had been hacked away, leaving one side of flowing, blood red locks to frame her round face.
	And as the others laughed and bragged and drank, Ross just stared at her. He felt sorrow and grief, but that was only his to know.

*0<~>0<~>0<~>0*

That night, the tavern was broken into. Mysteriously, the only thing missing was Gord's newest trophy. It was never officially located, but if they'd have thought to travel to the northwest area of the forest down the road, they'd have found a crude little grave. A patch of newly dug dirt with a single flower laying over it, and a cement blocked propped up. Two simple words were carved into the stone: 'Thank you.'