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Weekly Contest #96
When I was younger, my father called me his little nest—his little heir. My earliest memories were of him holding me close, like he couldn't bear me being too far away, like I was the lightning rod that kept him grounded in the middle of a thunderstorm.His skin always smelled of freshly tilled soil and mint leaves, his hair of the honey-and-fruit scented pomade that my An'na specialized in making. Other warriors reek of death but father is different. I remembered sneaking in with the farmers after hunts to till the fields.For the longes...
A'an never let his mother's words drift too far away when he wandered through the Lif, though she was right there cradling his head between her breasts. The heady mix of clay, sweat and musk always accompanied her.It wasn't often that she could sneak off to hold him.Caution, caution, she liked to whisper in the middle of the fairy tales she recounted when his were the only ears there to listen, and it was always then that his heart would race, galloping like wild Hesin horses left to their devices.His pulse thumped in his throat; fear on its...
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