Making peace

macro of white feather

The campfire burnt low, its glowing embers sacrificing no warmth to the ebony night. Long shadows stretched toward the treeline, reaching out bony fingers towards the deepening darkness.

The moonless sky, stippled with pinpricks of light, hung like a shroud over the woods.

Kia sat cross-legged by the dying fire, humming her tribe’s funeral song.

The valley clans were making the trek to Kia’s village to honor her father Ronan’s spirit. She needed to make her peace with him before they arrived.

A sudden wind fanned the flames to life revealing Ronan’s silhouette across the pit.

“I’m here, Father.”


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