Cloud Tempest

Solana

“Dammit,” I muttered under my breath as the thorn of the berry tree pricked my finger.

I removed my hand from the tree and inspected the tip. Slowly, a dark red dot of warm liquid pooled at the top of the injury and collected into a small sphere. Once the sphere could hold no more liquid, it spilled over and ran down my finger in a straight, clean line. The streak it left as it rolled was a lighter red due to the lack of concentration, and I briefly noted how beautiful a dress would be were it painted in that color. Those who didn’t know me would think me savage for such a thought, and those who do would understand that the idle thought was absolutely harmless.

I moved slowly to check my emergency pouch, and cursed again when I found it empty. I must have forgotten to replace the medical supplies in my bag the last time I was injured. I debated whether or not I should ignore the injury and keep working. It would be helpful to my village if I could continue to gather food, but should the prick become infected, I would be unable to work for at least a week while it healed. The cons of continuing outweighing the pros, I maneuvered my way back to the ground and landed safely on my feet. I had to move with only part of one hand, so the basket I carried lost a few berries on the way down. Despite my earlier argument, I figured it wouldn’t really hurt if I replaced the berries that were lost. If I was going to go home early, I should at least bring an acceptable amount of food with me.

The tree I came from was tall and steep with little to no branches I could use for leverage, so I walked a few paces away to another which would be easier to climb without the risk of touching my wound to the bark. Carefully, I made my way up and sat myself on a sturdy branch. It seemed as though it could hold my weight no problem, and I comforted myself by thinking how many more berries I could pick tucked in a place such as this without compromising my injury much. My father would surely scold me once I arrived, but a little discipline never hurt anyone.

As I picked the berries, a slight movement caught my eye. Fearing a large animal or a Siren, my head whipped around to find the source of color. A dark brown satchel hung loosely from a nearby branch and was pushed to a small swing by the light, afternoon breeze. Immediately, I thought that one of the other gatherers may have forgotten it, but it seemed to be made of a material I have never seen before and was adorned with shining strips of silver. Curiosity infiltrating my work, I shifted my body slightly to boost myself to a stand and work my way over to the lonely bag. Once I made my way there, though, I saw that the bag was not lonely at all.

Tangled within the tree some distance away from the bag lie a boy. His eyes were shut, and from his position it looked as if he fell from a higher point in the tree and was promptly knocked out by a whack on the head. His face, though partially hidden by foliage, wasn’t one that I recognized; a rare occurrence considering that Sirens usually don’t venture this far into the woods and there are no other villages close enough to share the fruit with. I wanted to shake him to see if he would awake, but I didn’t dare take that chance that he could be dangerous–or worse, dead. Instead, I left the tree as quickly as possible and took off running in the direction of my village, my injury and the berries long since forgotten.