Tent is rather a large word for the structure that Snow finds herself in. It is tall enough for her to sit upright in, but not to stand and has barely enough space for two people and two packs. Looking down at the robe she holds, she smells it and wonders just how well her mother knew this man.
Left with nothing else to do she closes her eyes, breathes deep and tumbles into dreams.
She is standing outside of a temple watching two people fighting with short knives. One pair sickle-shaped, the other thin, straight and flexible. Creeping closer she sees a younger more human looking Myron sparing with her mother. Snow had almost forgotten how beautiful she was. Alabaster and obsidian, crowned with azure and finished with touches of red. Her mother, breathless, happy, strong. Myron, taller, broader, with hunter green hair. They cease sparring and begin a training Form moving seamlessly, the love between them a taut, golden cord braided with complication. Myron’s head snaps around and his eyes fix on her. She stumbles back even though she knows he can’t see her.
“Someone is here. We must go,” says Myron hurrying to gather their things.
“I sense nothing.”
“Too risky. Quickly.”
Her mother glides after Myron frowning, swallowed by shadow.
Snow’s eyes snap open. The light and wind indicate that darkness is near. As she changes into travel clothes and packs away her things the seal to her door breaks and a bronze hand sticks in, scales ending at the wrist.
“You have my Turrak?” Snow can’t help smiling as she hands the yellow silk to Myron. “My thanks.”
“The least I could do.” Coming out of the tent and seeing the newly robed, scowling Myron only makes her grin more.
“You are very much like her,” says Myron dryly.
“The sands showed you things.”
“You loved her. She loved…”
Myron cuts the air with a vicious diagonal slice, “Forbidden.”
“The prophecies diverged in dangerous ways. Strong fear made the Scryers cripple me from warrior to priest.” Myron’s bitterness burns Snow no less than the deadly wind. “My heart threatened my people.”
“Quiet! Everything here whispers and listens. Everything.” He gestures to the sands.
Snow has travelled far and yet so much remains the same. Taking great care with her next few words she asks, “Are you he?”
The anguish that swirls in the glitter gold depths of his eyes answers her question but he says it nonetheless, “I truly wish I had been. Truly.”
Inspired by: This week we asked you to flip freedom upside down and write about the forbidden or the taboo. The word limit was 450.