There was once a lady, a lady of loss and sadness. A lady who wandered the barren snowy lands of the North-Eastern mountains alone under the uncaring night sky as she searched for something she had lost long ago, something she dreamed of finding some day again. This is the story of that lady, the Lady Edurne Hartza...
It takes a hearty breed of soquili to survive in the bitterly cold mountains, families such as the Snaerblod Tribe, hearty and robust with a deep, hidden strength. It is a land of tribes, of clans and families that fight and toil against the odds, against the elements, the land, and yes, the very gods themselves for survival, yet for every family that thrives against the elements and creatures that would end them, there are others that will flounder. That will disappear into cautionary tales to be told deep into the night.
She remembers her Papa, a massive stallion with fur the color of fresh fallen snow and a voice that could make the mountains themselves shake. She remembers his gentleness with her and her siblings, whom he called his treasures. She remembers her mama, a slender mare the color of the frozen lakes, who never spoke above a gentle whisper but ruled their clan with a hidden strength that few could deny. She remembers her siblings, her beloved twin Argi, who had their papa's coat and mama's ice eyes, the babies Matie and Nahia barely emerged from their baskets to wobble about, and Ibai...Ibai, the eldest. Ibai with their papa's size and mother's bravery. Ibai, their papa's joy and mama's pride. Ibai, the river, the one who would doom them all.
She had been too young then to understand what Ibai was doing out on his long hunts, too young to understand what the pelts that smelt of darkness and blood meant when he would bring them back, triumphant to present to their papa as proof of his prowess. She knew papa's pride at his son's strength, at her twin's jealousy that he was not yet the warrior Ibai was. She was too young to understand the worry that touched their mama's gaze as she watched each bloody trophy make its way into their home. Usoa knew the stories she had learned at the feet of her own mother and grandmother. She knew what was coming for them the moment the first pelt was placed before her husband by their proud son.
And come for them they did. In waves of hate and loss that started with a strike to the very core of the family. Late in the night, Edurne could still hear her mama's wails when they found little Matie's body. Papa had not let her or Argi see, but they never did fine little Nahia. It wasn't long after that that Ibai, who swore to hunt those who had taken their little sisters, disappeared for months, only to return and bring the end with him. He who had once hunted those of two shapes now wore his own. Cursed and broken by the very monsters he had hunted, the shifter clan brought him home to them to release their vengeance.
She remembers blood and screams, she remembers watching the light fade in her twin's eyes. She remembers her papa, he who was as big as a mountain falling to lie forever still under his joy's claws and jaw. She remembers her mama telling her to run, remembers the biting cold as she fled into the night. She remembers hearing her mama's once soft voice rise in a bellow of defiant rage, only to fall silent, the sound replaced then by the wind over the snow-swept plains. She remembers the following nights, running from sun's rise to sun's fall, hearing them behind her, remembers their taunting calls as she was hunted through the forest and fjords that had been their home. She remembers finally falling through the ice, being swept down, down, down into the icy darkness. She does not remember washing ashore somewhere else nor does she remember staggering from that foreign shore to begin her lost wanderings.
She is alone now, with only the snow and stars for company as she wanders in the pityless darkness. Is he still alive? He who was once her beloved elder brother? She doesn't know, nor does she know what ever happened to baby Nahia, but one thing she does know is she must continue on. She may be the last but she is still alive and so she must walk on.
(FWC: 762)
