Chapter 1: Prologue
Yamina trudges through the dense forest, each step heavy with exhaustion; the cold has gripped the land for two moons, biting through layers of clothing and turning her cheeks crimson. Her arm aches from the fall — she barely escaped a hungry wolf. A gorge opens up at the perfect moment; she leaps, heart in her throat, only to land on slick, treacherous ground and almost topple.
“There’s the big rock already…” she whispers, relief flooding her as the familiar silhouette of her cave comes into view. Just being near it soothes something raw inside her. She exhales shakily.
“Hey! I’m ho—” She chokes back the words. The cave is empty save for a few blankets, a bowl, and some worn clothes. She kneels, strikes flint to ignite a fire, and collapses against the cold earth.
“Hmm… not so bad,” she murmurs, forcing a smile. Today’s foraging yields half a sack of chestnuts, a handful of pine nuts, and a hare.
“Sorry, little guy,” she whispers, skinning it with care before cutting it into manageable pieces. Chestnuts roast beside the fire, filling the cave with a warm, nutty scent. She skewers the meat on sticks she carved herself.
After washing her hands, she examines her upper arm. The bruises are dark, blue-green. She rubs in the last bit of aloe vera she has, the coolness a small comfort. Curling up in her blanket, she sips cold water, stomach twisting in protest.
“Why didn’t I ever learn to make clay pots, or salves, or anything useful?” she mutters, voice barely above a whisper. What would she give for a steaming cup of tea, a proper meal, a warm touch? At least her mother taught her to weave fabrics from agave and tree bark.
Tears prickle her eyes, blurring the firelight. Memories come unbidden — tender, painful.“Mama… Papa… Khasar…” she whispers, pulling the blanket tighter around her, hugging herself like a shield against the ache in her chest.
She jolts awake with a scream, heart hammering. Only the image of the small, lifeless body and the face of that bastard remains, vivid and cruel. For four solstices, these nightmares haunt her, ripping at her guts. Not only did the vile feeling in her stomach return, now even the hare makes her nauseous.
“Urgh!” She presses a hand to her mouth, tasting bile. She never digests meat well. When was the last time she ate something as simple as a banana or a date? Why even consider venturing down into the open savannah? The thought is absurd. Most predators have already migrated south, but how could she survive in her weakened state?
And if even one tribesman sees her… Guchu will reclaim her. A shiver runs down her spine at the mere thought of him. She has been running from him for an entire summer, and she knows, without a doubt, he will make her life after that humiliation worse than any day spent out here.
Her trembling hands rummage through her bag. Carefully, she draws out a long, ornate flute, its surface etched with delicate patterns. She presses it to her lips, and a soft, mournful song drifts into the stillness — a lament of loneliness and fear.
Hours pass, each one heavier than the last. She stalks through the underbrush, but hunger gnaws at her; the last nuts do little to sustain her. A squirrel darts up a tree in the distance. Adrenaline surges. She lifts her slender slingshot, breath held.
Suddenly, the cawing of startled ravens erupts behind her. She spins — a tall figure, cloaked in black, stands among the shadows. The hood conceals his face, yet danger radiates from him like heat from a flame. Panic claws at her chest. Without thinking, she bolts, crashing through branches and thorns.
Her heart hammers as if it will burst from her ribcage. A blackberry bush tears at her legs. “Hey!” The shout of the man echoes through the forest, sharp and chilling. She stumbles on loose stones, banging her head against a tree. Stunned, she wipes away splinters and scrambles to her feet.
The footsteps follow, relentless, closing in. She pushes forward a little further, every ounce of strength threatening to abandon her. Escape seems impossible. Every breath burns her lungs, every muscle screams. And yet… she runs, driven by a single, desperate thought: survive.
The moment he grabs her arm, she reflexively yanks her spear and swings it in a swift, twisting arc. He ducks with impossible agility beneath the blade, leaping backward in one fluid motion, drawing his sword from its sheath in an instant. Her pulse pounds so violently she can feel it hammering in her ears.
The man towers over her, two heads taller, his calm, unshakable expression freezing her in place. Her legs wobble beneath her, betraying the surge of fear that races through her. Every fiber of her body screams to fight, yet the sheer presence of him makes her doubt even the strike she just made.He raises a hand, dismissive.
“Give up, or die. You’ve no chance. Your pitiful state makes this fight meaningless.”
Her grip on the spear tightens until her knuckles turn yellow. The wood feels alive in her hands — her father’s weapon. His strength flows into her.
“I’d rather die than crawl back to him!” she spits.
For a heartbeat his expression falters, surprise flashing in his eyes.“Him? What do you—”
She lunges. A flurry of strikes, fast and furious — he slips through them with ease, his body bending, twisting, flowing like water. He smirks for a second.Then, with sudden speed, he pivots, blade slicing through the air.
She reels back, horror flooding her. Too fast!“Uwahh!”
A searing pain tears across her throat. Warm blood spills down her chest. Her vision wavers. If she had been a blink slower, her head would be rolling in the dirt.
“Jin! Hey!” a voice shouts, cutting across the clash. Someone is running towards them.
Despair grips her like iron. Her knees threaten to give out. She forces herself upright, spear trembling in her hands.Jin meets her desperate strikes with effortless parries, batting them aside like the flailing wings of a dying bird.
“What’s going on? Why are you fighting?” The voice cuts sharply through the echo of clashing weapons. Samana stands behind Jin, confusion etched across his features.
“At first I thought she was following us, but when I tried to question her, she immediately attacked me,” Yamina snaps, anger sharpening her words.
“You followed me! Guchu sent you! Don’t lie now!” Her accusation rings out, trembling with both fear and fury.
Samana raises his hands, empty and placating. “I swear, no one sent us. Come on, Jin, put your katana down!”
Jin remains unmoved, like a shadow carved in stone. Samana grips his shoulder, but Jin shakes him off with a sharp, irritable motion and sheathes his sword. The tension in the air is thick enough to taste.
Yamina watches uncertainly, heart hammering. Her forehead is bruised, her legs scraped, and her clothes torn. Samana’s gaze sweeps over her carefully, assessing without judgment. From his belt pouch, he draws a small box. “I’m sorry! Jin was a little hasty. Luckily, I got here in time. This is a paste for your wounds.”
For the first time, Yamina notices the scrapes and bruises she’d been ignoring. Samana smiles gently, the kind of smile that holds a promise of safety. After a moment’s hesitation, she lowers her weapon, the adrenaline ebbing from her limbs.
Jin ignores the moment entirely. “Samana! Come on, let’s keep going!”
Samana waves him off dismissively. “I’ll catch up. Go ahead.”
Jin shakes his head, irritation flickering across his features. “Hmph, as you wish.”
Samana leans slightly toward Yamina, his voice softening. “He doesn’t mean it. Jin is pretty much my best friend.” A playful laugh escapes him, and the tension around her begins to unravel. She nods, offering him the box. “Thank you, Samana.”
“It’s the least I can do. Somehow, it’s my fault too. What’s your name?”
She glances down at the ground, hesitant. “Yamina.”
“Do you live out here alone? You’re not from the valley, or Cornwall on the other side of the mountains, I know that.” She nods silently, cautious despite a flicker of relief at finding a friendly face. Her stomach growls loudly.
Samana chuckles, shaking off the momentary awkwardness. “Let’s see…” He removes his backpack, producing two avocados, an orange, and a small jar. “There’s some honey left in there, if you like. I can make you some fruit porridge. I should have some cashews somewhere, too.”
Yamina stares at him with wide, astonished eyes. He laughs. “There U go!”
He mixes the ingredients in a large clay cup, sprinkling in a powder. “What’s that?”
“Ah, a carob flour and maca mixture. Here, smell it!”
“I haven’t eaten the pods in ages.” Her face lights up with simple joy, and as she tastes it, the tension drains from her shoulders. “Oh wow, it tastes like caramel and yet it’s fruity.”
A fresh breeze flows through the forest, teasing her hair. “Super delicious, but brrr, the avocados are really cooling, don’t you think?”
“Here, take this!” He hands her a large, soft, red-patterned shawl. She stares, disbelief mingling with gratitude. “What do you mean? For me?”
He winks, a smile that radiates warmth and trust. Yamina snuggles into the scarf and grips her bag tightly. “Thank you so much for everything, Samana, really! It was very nice.”
She rises with renewed strength. Samana clasps his hands together. “Do you want to come with us? Murg, our village, isn’t far away. We’ll be there tonight!”
Her chest tightens, speechless for a heartbeat before she shakes her head. “I meant it. I’m wanted. No one would take me in.”
He hits the tree trunk he’s perched on. “Nonsense! I’ll take you in! You’ll be safe with us, don’t worry!”
Yamina glances around, uncertain. “I mean, you’re really cute. But becoming your wife… I don’t know…”
Samana scratches his head. “Huh, become my wife?”
“You want to take me in as your wife, right?”
He laughs briefly. “What? No, that’s not what I meant.”
She frowns. “As a kitchen maid?”
“No! Just as a friend… part of the family.”
Her breath catches. “Are you serious?”
“Of course I’m serious! Otherwise, I wouldn’t say it. So come on!”
Yamina reflects on her life in the wilderness—the restlessness, the constant hunger for her lost family. A soft exhale escapes her lips. “Okay Samana, I’ll just get my things from the cave and then we can go.”
Yamina turns, catching a fleeting glimpse of the setting sun through the dense canopy of branches. The distant sea glimmers like liquid gold through the slanting rays. Her chest heaves; the climb had been far more grueling than she anticipated.
“Didn’t you say we’d be there by tonight at the latest?” she pants.
He flashes an amused gesture, eyes twinkling. “I didn’t know we were so slow together.”
She frowns, offended. “Oh, so now it’s my fault, is it?”
“No… it’s obvious that life outside drains you after a while. It’s only logical that you can’t keep up.”
A silence falls between them, thick and charged.
“Shall we—”
“Shh!” Yamina freezes, pointing to a large hedgehog sneaking through a sorrel bush. She grips her spear and approaches cautiously.
Samana’s hand gently covers hers. “If you’re hungry, just let me know!”
“I’m not so weak that I can’t even hunt a hedgehog,” she snaps, trying to pull away, but his grip holds firm. Irritation flashes across her face.
“Hey!”
“This has nothing to do with you! I don’t like it when people kill unnecessarily.” His calm, unwavering gaze melts her tension, and she slowly relaxes. He releases her hand.
Her spear, cleverly divided into two screw-together halves—a short one with a decorated blade and a long ribbed handle—is divided and secured at her waist.
“Samana, don’t you use any weapons?”
“No, only Kami-Fuego.”
“What’s that?”
He reaches into his backpack and retrieves something mysterious. “You’ll find out soon enough. Here, have some bread first!”
It’s golden, soft, made of oat and coconut flour, sunflower seeds, dried figs, and prunes. She bites into it and chews slowly, savoring the rich flavors.
“What a delicacy! Did you make this yourself?”
“You can bet your life on it.”
“Your life?” She raises an eyebrow, uncertain.
He chuckles warmly. “It’s just a figure of speech.”
She wipes crumbs from her lips. “Oh, uh, didn’t you want some too?”
“No, I’m not hungry right now. Come on, let’s keep going. It’s not far now.”
The moon spills silver light over the path, illuminating their way. “Murg is behind the hill.”
The valley unfurls below, bathed in lanternlight—a sight she has rarely seen. Samana strides ahead. Her pulse races, hands slick with sweat as the village comes closer.
They reach a large archway, adorned with leaves and flowers. Below, the village spreads out like a living tapestry. Stone houses nestle between gardens and towering trees. The calm, cozy atmosphere stirs something strange inside her—part awe, part unease.
Samana removes his coat, revealing shoulder-length black-blond dread matted under his hood. “It gets warmer from here on; the valley is a sunny, wind-sheltered spot.”
He takes a few steps, then turns.
“What is it?”
Yamina pulls the red shawl over her head, voice trembling. “I don’t know… I can’t do anything except hunt and knit a little. I’m no help to you. All those people—when they find out you’re taking in a wild nomad—it’s not possible! Your family… what will they say…”
He smiles gently, wrapping the shawl around her neck like a protective scarf.
“See that red house up there? That’s where my grandfather Rohen lives. My parents died when I was still a child. Rohen took me and my sister Ilana in. Not my biological grandfather, but he’s family all the same.”
He points upward. “I built those two brown huts on the hillside myself. Took all spring and part of summer to finish the first one.” He laughs softly. Yamina gazes at the steep hill. The red house stands on a wide platform surrounded by trees, terraces brimming with vegetation. Samana’s huts crown the highest terrace. Towering conifers, deciduous trees, and palms crown the hilltop.
“You can stay in the one on the left as long as you like. The hill provides more than enough food, even for your appetite.”
“Hey!… Samana, I don’t know what to say.”
