Rhoana burst out of the hut and broke into a swift run. She paid little attention to the villagers escaping their homes after the dying of the storm and ran toward the village’s great lodge which housed the council’s elder.
The lodge was nestled in a steep cascade of ice, curved like a bow. It was higher above the other huts and trading grounds of the village and far larger, consisting of many rooms and taking some of the most prized finds of Norsu tusks in its construction. Its door was vast and sat atop a stair made of worn bone and log.
On this day it stood clearly, the snow ladened skies had been hurried on by vicious winds, and so the air was filled with clarity. Rhoana stood at the bottom of those leading stairs which seemed to stretch further and higher in her sight, her heavy cloak flapped violently, providing little resistance to the wind. She crossed the ice and snow with relative, physical ease and ran up the bare log steps, fleeing inside.
The room was warm and filled with chatter, which abruptly stopped upon her entry. Rhoana didn’t spare a glance around the cavernous hall or to the on-lookers faces; her gaze was set solely upon a bound sleigh. It sat on its own in the midst of pillars and hides which were draped from ceiling and floor. A large fire set in the centre of the room shed cascading shadows across it, dancing and flickering against it. She walked across to the sleigh and dropped to her knees. It was tightly bound with leather straps over hides; not hiding the shape of what was bundled beneath. Rhoana slid her fingers underneath the knots and loosened their hold; she paused with baited breath and closed her eyes.
Her hand slowly moved to the tip of the sleigh, picking up the hide draped over it, her eyes held tightly shut; she began to shake. She passed the hide over what it encased and dropped it, running her fingers over what the sleigh bore; the features of a face which her delicate fingers traced, was one she knew well, she whimpered and lowered her head. Her body tremored and shook, as she ran her fingers across his cold eyelids and down to the bridge of his nose. She leaned forwards and pressed her lips to his cold forehead. For some time she remained like this, frozen and stationary as much as he himself, before she moved the hide back over him and finally opened her eyes. She looked over the sleigh and wiped the tears from her eyes.
To the right of the sleigh there lay a bundle of his belongings, two daggers and his bow; she picked them up gingerly and left the hut as quickly as she came. Greeted by the cold wind, she eyed the tundra and the select few homes littered amongst the drifts. It was at that moment she first desired to leave the place, in whichever capacity...
