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Life ends. Death awaits.

Eleni has a purpose to fulfill, but she doesn't know it yet. She's only a girl, and once her life is abruptly, and literally, brought to a standstill, her path becomes increasingly complicated.

All she knows it that this rugged, ancient man named Darke wants her to follow him, to trust him and to fight with him.
She doesn't have time to think - this is a matter of life and death - whatever they may be. View table of contents...


Chapters:

1

Submitted:Mar 21, 2008    Reads: 125    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   


They say dying is tough, but it isn't. Not really. Maybe it comes down to practice, and maybe I'm just a little too well-versed; dying is just like falling asleep. Just make sure you know where you're going to wake up.
I remember the first time it happened. It was the earliest life I lead, when I had a mother, a home and a whole world to explore. The world of sun, sand and heat; a land of no water, and endless war with other tribes, each fighting for ownership of the remaining pools, the remnants of a time awash with life. It is ironic, really. I died of a time so overwrought with the taxes of existence, that in the end, it was more like being born again.
I remember her face. My mother was a soft soul, a tender sort, and bless her, she did love me. I was nothing like the other children, and although the fact did very little to perturb me, it seemed to unsettle her slightly. I often used to think that had I looked different, things would have been changed. They seemed to sense that I wasn't in the right place; if only I had had the inherent wisdom to do the same. On the day that I died, one particularly unspectacular girl ran from me as I offered her a leather flask, as dull as her weathered skin. I didn't offer it twice - stupidity never deserves a second chance.
We had packed in the morning for an especially long journey, with some of the elders saying it was seventy miles at least. I listened from the backs of the last tents, the others since dismantled, whilst my mother rolled the fleeces. Their husky voices, a product of lives endured in the desert, reverberated through the sheets…words of a last hope, a final oasis.
I knew of many evil things, but nothing more evil than hope.
I think I knew I was going to die that day.




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