Silence before the storm

The grass in the meadow shimmered under the scorching heat of the summer sun. A few yards away, six-year-old Rose squealed as she tried to outrun her older sister in a game of tag. The little girl flung herself over the fence, torso draped over the top rail like a damp towel, legs kicking at the empty air for leverage. As she got up, her older sister Iris had gained on her. With a triumphant grin, the older girl lunged, scooping the child up mid-stride. They collapsed into the long grass with an ungainly landing.

Iris found the hollow of her sister’s underarms, the ultimate tickle zone. The little girl doubled over, her face flushing a bruised purple as she tried to gasp for air that never came. Her giggles came in desperate, wet wheezes. Each time her sister’s fingers found a rib, a fresh peal of laughter tripped over the last. Leaving Rose unable to catch enough air to scream.

The flurry of limbs stilled. Iris rolled away allowing her sister to catch her breath. The frantic shrieks made way for their synchronized ragged breathing. Rose didn’t wait, her lips curled into a lopsided, mischievous grin, her eyes sparkling with the kind of trouble only a younger sibling can manage, and she was gone. Iris let out a mock-exasperated groan and took off after her. Her longer strides cut through the tall grass with a rhythmic tap.

They reached the gnarled roots of the massive oak at the centre of the meadow, its base covered in moss. The momentum of the chase gave way as Iris snatched her sibling and they tumbled on the ground. Iris slid back-first into the ancient tree, Rose landing on top of her.

The massive oak provided a sanctuary of shadow for the two sisters. At age sixteen, Iris never thought of herself as a protector. Until Rose, warm and heavy in her lap, made it simple. As she gently stroked some of her sister’s hair behind her ear, the thought arrived without asking. This little girl was the gift she never wished for and at the same time the gift she didn’t know she needed. Her little cricket. Rose despised the name, which only made it more fitting. Whenever emotion overtook her, happy or furious, a sharp little chirp escaped before words could.

The balm of a summer breeze played gently with the tips of Rose’s hair. Its cool touch offered a sweet reprieve, cutting through the stagnant midday heat. The light filtering through the oak canopy was fractured and thin, casting a mottled pattern of shadow across their faces.

Iris closed her eyes and took a deep breath, only the soft rustle stirred the dry grass. When she finally allowed herself to breathe out again she could make out the thin voices of crows in the distance. The crows sat like plump, ink-dipped pears along the canopy's edge. Her rigid posture gave way, and she slumped against the bark of the tree, her back losing tension at last.

The breeze did not die so much as fade, slowly and surely into silence. The grass no longer rustling. The otherwise so vocal murder of crows paid their respect and joined the silence. Leaving only a thickening stillness behind for Iris to sit in.

As she tilted her head down she could see Rose in peaceful slumber, the first time in ages. She kept stroking her sister’s hair gently, tracing the curve of her head, her fingers skimming the surface. Her hand catching the crust of a single speck of dried dirt on Rose’s cheekbone. A remnant from their earlier tickle session. The sound of her breath escaping her slightly open mouth broke the silence. Her weight pushing down on Iris’s lap somewhat uncomfortably, but it mattered not.

Her eyes felt raw and stinging. Though she kept her touch as light as a feather so Rose wouldn’t feel her shaking. With a sharp sniff, she blinked against the burning in her eyes shifting her gaze to their parents’ farm. The farm sat heavy in the distance, sun-bleached and tired, its fences sagging where they needed mending, its yard dry where it needed tending. The stable roof had been leaking since before Rose was born. The promise to fix it never honoured.

The only break in the afternoon silence came from the steady rhythmic tear of grass and the soft huff of their family’s horse Ben’s breath. His eyes half closed during the motion, left hind leg cocked, resting on the tip of his hoof. The animal’s majestic mane looked luminous as the deep brown reflected the sunlight.

The serenity only lasted a moment as Ben raised his head high, tossing it from side to side. Pawing at the ground beneath him. His heavy hoof caught the grassy ground, tearing it back like a carpet. Revealing the dark loam underneath. The smell of crushed grass and damp earth lingering in the air.

At the very edge of the meadow a ragged explosion of black wings burst from the canopy. The treeline seemed to exhale a cloud of black ink that dissipated against the clear blue sky. As the black cloud surged upward, Ben recoiled, sidestepping, his eyes fixed on the empty space beneath the trees where the crows had emerged from.

Still leaning against the oak, Iris could feel the vibration of Ben’s steps through its roots. Her spine snapped taut against the bark of the tree. Her shoulders stiffening and her right hand balled up instinctively. Her knuckles turned white from the clenching.

Iris kept stroking Rose’s face with her other hand. She would let Rose sleep for a while longer. Not because she could, but because her little sister deserved the peace. Rose could sleep, but Iris prepared for what was coming. Her gaze darted between the path to the entry of the farm and the treeline. Her jaw worked a silent rhythm, her breath hitching in time with the turns her mind took. She straightened Rose’s position instinctively, making sure Rose was settled before having to move.

Then reality announced itself. The fence gate slammed shut.