The rocky crags at the base of the mountains were cool to her touch and were a welcome relief from the hot rays of the sun. Morana turned to look back down the slope of rocks broken from those crags by the freezing of the snows that covered the land of Anatalia every winter. It was summer now, but the sun did not heat the rock quickly. It would be nearly the time when the leaves of the forest blazed with reds, oranges, and yellows before the small cave where she sat became warm enough to not cause her to feel chilled. When the snows fell again, that same warmth would be welcome.
She had been here many times, having found the narrow opening under the overhanging rock on one of her secret trips from the village of Nitara when she was but a girl of twelve. Her mother had scolded her one morning for forgetting to feed the hens and gather their eggs. Morana had then done those tasks, but when she finished, ran from the village and up through the forest. Her intent was to never return, for such works the mind of a child.
As the sun rose higher over the forest, Morana had walked through the trees that shielded her from the rays that would soon sear the earth. When the yellow orb was high overhead, she reached the jumble of crags and broken rock at the base of the mountain. After walking a bit more, she discovered the opening. It seemed large at the time, for Morana was just then developing the curves of a woman and was quite small for her age.
She looked inside the opening and saw nothing, for the sunlight only reached inside a small distance. Morana did not enter the cave that day, for she knew there were wolves in the forest that might call the cave their home. Instead, she sat outside and thought of her future.
She had not thought for long when her stomach reminded her it had been some time since her breakfast of oats and cream. It was then she realized the folly of her plan to never return to the village. With a sigh, she started back down the slopes of the forest toward Nitara. She would be scolded again for running away, but she would have food to eat and a bed upon which to sleep.
Over the next seven years, Morana matured from a slender girl into a woman. She was still small in stature, but now her full breasts and wider hips spoke of the ripe woman beneath the rough woven dress that was the accepted garment for women. She matured mentally as well, and performed her daily tasks that the family might have food to eat and a clean home in which to live. Only one vestige of the girl remained -- her love of the cave at the foot of the mountains.
Over the years, Morana had retreated to her cave when she needed a place to be alone. She had first brought candles to light the interior, and having discovered no animals living inside, brought other things to make it more comfortable.
Today as she eased her body through the narrow opening she stepped on the wooly hides of sheep. She found her flint and steel in the dark as well as the supply of fluffy bark from the cottonwood trees that grew near the village. A short while later a small fire blazed in the circle of stones near the opening. From this fire, Morana lit several candles and placed them in small nooks around the cave.
She had come here often, sometimes to just escape the noise of the village, but other times to think. As her body matured, the boys who had been playmates had begun to see her differently. Her mother had explained the reasons for this change, and Morana had been taken aback by the knowledge that one day, a man would penetrate her body with his organ and plant a child in her womb. She did not believe she would enjoy such a thing, and especially not when her mother explained that the first time there would be pain.
Morana had retreated to her cave to contemplate this new knowledge and had resolved such a thing would never happen to her. On this day she was there to contemplate another such thing. One of the boys she had grown up with had asked her father if he might begin seeing her.
It wasn't that she did not like Sord, for she did. She just could not bring herself to welcome what she was certain would be the inevitable outcome. They would marry and on that night, Sord would spread her slender thighs wide, guide his manhood to her entrance, pierce her maidenhead, and make her a woman. In a month or less, she would be with child.
She thought of her mother. She had sometimes heard the creaking of their bed and knew her father was stroking his manhood in her mother's portal. She would hear the low moans her mother made, and sometime later, the quiet cry she made as her father groaned. Surely such a thing was painful or else her mother would not make such sounds.
The sun was low in the sky when Morana blew out her candles. The small fire had burned itself out sometime before, but Morana felt the ashes to make certain they were cold before leaving the cave. She had not yet decided if she would welcome Sord's advances or if she would shun them. She would have to talk with her mother again and ask her why she made the sounds on some nights.
As she looked over the treetops toward Nitara, a chill ran down her back. From the direction of her village, she saw thick clouds of smoke wafting toward the sky. She quickened her pace and reached the village just before the sun dropped into the trees.
There was no village left. Every house and every other structure lay in smoking ruins. As she walked closer, she saw the bodies of the men and boys of the town. Each had been slashed by a sword or run through by an arrow. She found her father outside the house that had been their home. He lay there with an arrow in his chest and his lifeless eyes stared at the sky. Just inside what had been the door, she saw an arm protruding from the ashes. The copper bracelet her father had given her mother told her the worst.
Stunned and unable to believe, Morana walked through the village. She found no one alive, not man, woman or child. No sheep, goats, cattle or horses grazed in the pastures. They all lay still on the grass with blood stains on their throats.. The village smelled of burnt wood and death. Morana numbly made her way back to what had been her home, sat down beside her father's body, and let the grief in her heart come to the surface.
She wept until the sun's rays were only the twilight of evening before standing again, but the tears of grief had been replaced by the tears of rage. She did not know who was responsible for the massacre of her family and the other villagers, but she would find out one day and they would pay a like price. She gave no thought to the fact she was but a small woman. The goddess Dumene would make her quest possible, for Dumene was the Goddess of Morana's birth month as well as the protector of the innocent and the avenger of injustice. Morana looked to the sky and prayed to Dumene for guidance and help.
The four men had ridden for hours and were tired, but pleased with themselves. They had no gold or silver in the bags that hung from their saddles, but riches had not been their quest. Their purpose that day had been to secure the village of Hanro for the King of Enzach. The village was very small, only six families, and the farmers had no idea of how to defend themselves. The battle had really been no battle at all. The few men who had not fallen clutching the arrows in their bodies had died from the slashing swords of the four as they rode through the village.
The women of the village had cowered in the houses as the four finished with the men. Only one, a young woman with two children behind her had stood to face them. She looked ripe for the taking, but the four were not about to face the jabs of the hay fork she held. An arrow through her heart ended the threat. The two children were likewise silenced. The four then went from house to house. When they left, the women's faces stared with vacant eyes at the sky, their naked bodies a testimony to the animalistic minds of the four horsemen.
As they sat around their campfire, the four jested about their exploits of the day.
