Morning all. I woke up from a dream where I was one of the Wacky Racers from the old Hanna Barbara cartoons in what looked like Mario Kart. I’m sure that says something about me. It probably also says something that my assistant was Mugsly the Dog. It was an odd thought to wake up to. Anyway, to the Prompt! Timers set and off we go.
This is one of those prompts where I feel like i need to sit down and construct a map and a brief history before I write the story. it has some interesting components though.
Wednesday, September 6th: She saw their approach from a long way off.
She saw their approach from a long way off. Dust rose in great big clouds obscuring the end of the caravan. She imagined that it was like riding through a dust storm for the wagons towards the back of the caravan. Still there was plenty to see in the front caravans. The wagon’s were painted in bright colors, many of them with a shimmery sheen to them. They flew flags from their home provinces declaring their origins as they went. She couldn’t help put stare.
They were too far away to make out any faces but the bright colors and the flag details were enough to start people chattering.
“Won’t look quite so shiny in a month or two,” was Haveran’s only comment regarding the paints when she mentioned the glimmering shine.
She frowned at him. Haveran shrugged. “I’ve been in the Westfold a time or two, just towards the edge mind you, but still there. It’s an empty space but that doesn’t mean it’ll be easy living. The shine will be knocked off more than their paint soon enough.”
After that he fell silent. She knew it was better not to push him on it. He thought the resettlement was foolish. It gave several groups that felt they had no stake in the empire a place where they could start a new life and be an asset to the empire while still getting their own territory. Geran said it was a good solution to a thorny political mess. Heveran claimed it was just a way to get people to commit suicide rather than go through the trouble of killing them out right. He claimed that the only thing the settlers would finds in the Westfold was death.
She hadn’t made up her mind. She could see the political sense of it. Tensions eased since the resettlement plan merged and the Westfold became open. But there were memories. Old memories that came from when she was very young. She didn’t like to mention them as she knew the others liked to pretend that she didn’t have any memories from before she came here. They liked to believe she was too young to remember. But she remembered. She just didn’t talk about it.
Since the Westfold opened the others had often favored her with looks to see if she said or asked anything that might give a sign she remembered. She kept her old memories and whisps of memories buried, but lately they visited her in her dreams.
Haveran was different. She occasionally found him watching her but it wa a different sort of watching as if she stirred old memories in him rather than him wondering about hers. She took a look around and noticed that no one was around. She decided to take a risk. “Haveran,” she asked, trying to sound casual. “No one lives in the Westfold right?”
He looked at her and slowly lifted one eyebrow. It nearly reached his hairline before he again lowered it even with the other. “So it’s said,” he replied.
“Never?” she asked.
“Not that people say.”
“Why?”
“Why don’t they say or why don’t they live there?” he asked.
The question was a challenge and she turned to look at him. “Both I suppose,” she asked.
“There were stories of the Westfold,” he said after a moment. “The older tales tell of …beings living out there. Beings that those who live here aren’t too comfortable hearing tales about. The Church rolled most of the stories into their talk of demons. And Demons live somewhere other then the Westfold so clearly no one lives in the Westfold.”
Ten til Midnight 