I idolized my older sister. I would follow her everywhere. During a hunt, I would follow her, keeping quiet. She would talk when no prey was around. She spoke of the mountains north, the Solune kingdom east, and sometimes of a kingdom lost in the desert storm to the west. I took only minor interest. I preferred the hunt, not these foreign places. My sister, Reyla, proved through these conversations that she felt the opposite. On one hunt she said to me, “When you can take up this post as your own, I will likely leave it behind myself.” I was devastated; was she planning on leaving me? I would worry of this overnights, while the two of usslept in our bed. Reyla had been my sole caretaker for as long as I could remember. She spent a lot of time with Jan who also helped take care of me. Would she leave me with him? Or wait until I was an adult myself?

Years passed, and my worries faded.

Then one morning our village was hit by a sandstorm. Reyla shook me awake, telling me to run toward the east, toward the Solune wall. I did. I do not question my sister’s judgement. She helped nearly everyone out of the village, Jan and her together. When the homes finally got hit, she was there, with my very young friend Marisa. Reyla pulled her from the stone brick house and bodily threw her to us. Jan ran to help, and caught the flying child, and did everything he could to shield her from the fall. Reyla ran toward us yelling for us to run, run!

Before she could finish her third shout, she was taken by the sandstorm. Everyone except me heeded her calls. I stood there, looking at the swirling sands before me. I searched for her with my eyes, I searched for me dear sister as the storm drew closer. Jan ran, still carrying Marisa. He took me up in his other arm and ran. I did not resist him. I was not stupid.

We never found her buried in the sands. She did end up leaving after all, but not how she had wanted.

Daniel Triumph.

This is an old narrative. I haven’t written a lot in the past, so you won’t see much older works. As you can tell, the sense of tension is weaker, but I’m satisfied with the overall story. I might do a complete rewrite of this in the future, but for now, there’s this.

For more on Yaska and Marisa on this blog, try this poem. For more art of Yaska Rheya May Dawngale, mostly older, check out my DeviantArt page.

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