Mahariel's Sabrae: A Short Story

Back when she used to travel with clan Sabrae, one of Mahariel’s oldest and most cherished rituals was when she’d sneak away from camp to escape into the forest. She’d just stand there, in the middle of pure vegetation: wind rustling her neatly braided hair, trees moving in perfect harmony, leaves brushing against her legs and arms, sending tickles through her whole body – sometimes, the hint of rushing water from a nearby stream and the sweet melody of birds chirping through the branches, invisible to the eyes of anyone but a trained huntress. In a long inspiration, she’d take it all in, releasing the stubborn weight in her shoulders and the ache in her tired muscles. As much as she adored life in camp, being cramped in such a small camp was sometimes a little bit much, and the young girl she was then always relished in a little time to herself.

Mahariel couldn’t possibly remember the last time she’d felt so good, so free – the last time she’d just stopped whatever it was she was doing and took a breath. Her clan was long gone now, and took with it her only hopes of ever finding this kind of peace again, it seemed.

The Blight
The offer was tempting, very much so, but it felt wrong, deep in her bones, to pretend the last year and a half never happened. She wasn’t the same, be it mentally or physically, and while anyone who knew her was aware of the endless love she had for her clan – her family –, it was not something that could ever be fixed with denial. She felt it, always, the Taint running through her veins, skin scarred by the claws of a creature bigger than a dozen of bears, the missing tip at the end of her right ear, and the very absent clan mate at her side when hunting. It was just more comforting to say that as a Warden, she had a duty to the