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Description
“Daddy, don’t make that face, it’s ugly!”

Pino Villo Motara, shaman of a small village at the southeastern border of Baxash, unpursed his face, the muscles relaxing into a pout. “Mt dear, it takes great concentration to-”

“Yes, yes, become in synch with the balance and hear all of nature, you remind me every time!” she stated giving him a pout in return. “But I have no need for that face when synched with the balance,” she added with a mischievous grin. She had become sixteen a month ago, and Pino decided it was high time to develop her innate magic. Much to his amazement and slight annoyance, she was becoming even more adept than he.

“Respect your tutor, for more reasons than one, girl. I am your father after all,” he reprimanded, bustling past her in their small cramped cottage. His antlers, now reflecting the autumn leaves outside nearly banged into one of two pots hanging from the ceiling.

His daughter, already growing into a beautiful young woman, propped her elbow on the table, gracefully setting her delicate chin in her hand. “I don’t see why we live in the hold, daddy, not when we should be paid for our work,” she huffed.

“Money is of no importance! Besides, this house was built with the materials provided for us by nature-”

“Alright, alright!” she snapped, jumping to her feet. “I won’t complain about having to share a bedroom with my father, or having the stove right next to our bathroom while all the others girls my age have their own room, their own bathroom, and clothes that don’t make them look twelve!” With a twirl of her pale pink skirt dotted with white flowers, his daughter stormed from the house, leaving her stunned father at a loss for words, the first time he felt that sensation in his life.

“Ar-Ariadne!” he finally spluttered, his hand reaching out for her disappearing form. He lunged after her as if she was being swept away in a treacherous storm, and managed to stumble over a stool and knock down a pile of books before he pushed through the door.

Then he froze, like a deer stuck in headlights.

Three burly men from the village were there, most definitely blacksmiths, or something of the sort. And there, stuck between them, her pale arms clasped tightly in their meaty hands was his dear Ariadne.

“Wha-What is the meaning of this?” he shouted, summoning all the courage and dignity required of him as the village shaman. He straightened, showing off his impressive height, his antlers giving him a few extra inches. But something was prodding his brain, urging him to run.

“We’re sick, the whole village’s sick and yous sitting here doing nothing!” The man’s grip on Ariadne tightened. Pino couldn’t take his eyes off the hand, stained with soot. He didn’t notice a ragged cough coming from the owner’s mouth.

“I told you many times! I cannot stop this sickness! It must not be part of the balance!” Pino shot back, the small prodding becoming more insistent.

“Not part o’ the balance?!” Another man bellowed, his contorted face an inch away from his daughter’s pale orange hair. He couldn’t look away from the blackened teeth, so didn’t see the desperation in the man’s eyes. “Me daughter’s sick and we find’s yours healthy and squirmin’!”

“Daddy!” Ariadne called, tears streaming down her face.

“Unhand her!” he threatened, raising his hand towards the men, his magic hanging in the air poised to strike.

“Not until you make it right!” the man roared, spit flying from his mouth. Pino saw that his face was too close to her fragile neck. A surge of energy burst from his outstretched hand, the man sent flying off his feet. Pino heard his daughter scream, then the breath as knocked from his chest as he crashed to the ground. His arms instantly covered his head as his assailant pummeled him, sending sharp pains all the way down his body.

He felt one hand gasp an antler, ready to break it free of his head as his daughter came into view, her balled fists punching the man’s shoulder that was pinning me down. “Get off of him! Let him go!” she screeched, the beginning of a spell appearing as green light running down her arms.

Then she was picked up around the middle by the third man and taken screaming and kicking into their small cottage. “Ariadne!” Pino yelled, scrambling out from under his attacker as the man locked her in. His arms were yanked behind his back and he was forced to kneel, watching as the man he had knocked off his feet stalked to the cottage, a lit torch in his hand.

He turned to Pino, his eyes reflecting none of the light from the flame. “My daughter goes, so does yours. All part of the balance,” he spat the last words, the torch falling from his fingers.

“ARIADNE!” Pino’s scream was lost in the whoosh of fire eating wood as it ate hungrily as his cottage. He did not heat her screams.

-------------

He was left sobbing on the cold earth, the fire burning itself out. When he was silent and shaking, he couldn’t raise his unblinking eyes to the burnt crisp that was once the place he lived all his life. Only when the moon rose to cast an eerie light upon the damage did he manage to raise himself to his feet. He tripped, stumbled, the fell into the debris, all black and charred, the table undistinguishable from his bed. He could not actually see what he was looking at, but he knew who it was. He tentatively reached out a stark white hand, horrified at what he would feel, but determined to be certain.

But before he touched her charred remains, his fingers brushed against the smooth, cool, surface of unburned wood. As if he grasped to his last lifeline, he clenched his fingers and pulled a long length of wood from the ashes. It was a long staff made of a deep colored wood; the head of the staff shaped as many branches, similar to the antlers on top his head. He gingerly touched the soft autumn leave sprouting from the branches.
Then he obeyed the screams in his head and ran.

----------------

You abandoned me!

It is all part of the balance, you know that.

After everything I did for you, you STOLE her from me!

She is now a part of me, as you will be when you move on.

No! I will never be one with you! I will NEVER be what you are!

Everyone returns to me. That is the circle of life. The balance.

I CURSE THE BALANCE! I CURSE YOU!

Then you curse yourself, as well as her.

-----------------

He hated this robe. It was flashy. Too impractical. But the rest of his clothes were burnt to a crisp. He could run naked like the trees he’s practically become. He ripped open his robe, his mind devoid of any thought. Then he paused.

”Daddy? Why don’t you wear this?”
He looked up at his beautiful daughter, her hair a healthy summer green. Her eye glittered with the innocence of a child as she held up the colorful robe her mother had made for him. It depicted the four seasons, the movement of time, the change of the earth.
“It’s flashy, too impractical!” he responded, his nose disdainfully in the air. They were excuses. And she knew it.
She looked down at the silky robe, her small finger tracing the contours of the sunset.
“Daddy?”
“Yes, sweetie?”
“You should wear it.”

And wear it he did.

Description
“Daddy, don’t make that face, it’s ugly!”

Pino Villo Motara, shaman of a small village at the southeastern border of Baxash, unpursed his face, the muscles relaxing into a pout. “Mt dear, it takes great concentration to-”

“Yes, yes, become in synch with the balance and hear all of nature, you remind me every time!” she stated giving him a pout in return. “But I have no need for that face when synched with the balance,” she added with a mischievous grin. She had become sixteen a month ago, and Pino decided it was high time to develop her innate magic. Much to his amazement and slight annoyance, she was becoming even more adept than he.

“Respect your tutor, for more reasons than one, girl. I am your father after all,” he reprimanded, bustling past her in their small cramped cottage. His antlers, now reflecting the autumn leaves outside nearly banged into one of two pots hanging from the ceiling.

His daughter, already growing into a beautiful young woman, propped her elbow on the table, gracefully setting her delicate chin in her hand. “I don’t see why we live in the hold, daddy, not when we should be paid for our work,” she huffed.

“Money is of no importance! Besides, this house was built with the materials provided for us by nature-”

“Alright, alright!” she snapped, jumping to her feet. “I won’t complain about having to share a bedroom with my father, or having the stove right next to our bathroom while all the others girls my age have their own room, their own bathroom, and clothes that don’t make them look twelve!” With a twirl of her pale pink skirt dotted with white flowers, his daughter stormed from the house, leaving her stunned father at a loss for words, the first time he felt that sensation in his life.

“Ar-Ariadne!” he finally spluttered, his hand reaching out for her disappearing form. He lunged after her as if she was being swept away in a treacherous storm, and managed to stumble over a stool and knock down a pile of books before he pushed through the door.

Then he froze, like a deer stuck in headlights.

Three burly men from the village were there, most definitely blacksmiths, or something of the sort. And there, stuck between them, her pale arms clasped tightly in their meaty hands was his dear Ariadne.

“Wha-What is the meaning of this?” he shouted, summoning all the courage and dignity required of him as the village shaman. He straightened, showing off his impressive height, his antlers giving him a few extra inches. But something was prodding his brain, urging him to run.

“We’re sick, the whole village’s sick and yous sitting here doing nothing!” The man’s grip on Ariadne tightened. Pino couldn’t take his eyes off the hand, stained with soot. He didn’t notice a ragged cough coming from the owner’s mouth.

“I told you many times! I cannot stop this sickness! It must not be part of the balance!” Pino shot back, the small prodding becoming more insistent.

“Not part o’ the balance?!” Another man bellowed, his contorted face an inch away from his daughter’s pale orange hair. He couldn’t look away from the blackened teeth, so didn’t see the desperation in the man’s eyes. “Me daughter’s sick and we find’s yours healthy and squirmin’!”

“Daddy!” Ariadne called, tears streaming down her face.

“Unhand her!” he threatened, raising his hand towards the men, his magic hanging in the air poised to strike.

“Not until you make it right!” the man roared, spit flying from his mouth. Pino saw that his face was too close to her fragile neck. A surge of energy burst from his outstretched hand, the man sent flying off his feet. Pino heard his daughter scream, then the breath as knocked from his chest as he crashed to the ground. His arms instantly covered his head as his assailant pummeled him, sending sharp pains all the way down his body.

He felt one hand gasp an antler, ready to break it free of his head as his daughter came into view, her balled fists punching the man’s shoulder that was pinning me down. “Get off of him! Let him go!” she screeched, the beginning of a spell appearing as green light running down her arms.

Then she was picked up around the middle by the third man and taken screaming and kicking into their small cottage. “Ariadne!” Pino yelled, scrambling out from under his attacker as the man locked her in. His arms were yanked behind his back and he was forced to kneel, watching as the man he had knocked off his feet stalked to the cottage, a lit torch in his hand.

He turned to Pino, his eyes reflecting none of the light from the flame. “My daughter goes, so does yours. All part of the balance,” he spat the last words, the torch falling from his fingers.

“ARIADNE!” Pino’s scream was lost in the whoosh of fire eating wood as it ate hungrily as his cottage. He did not heat her screams.

-------------

He was left sobbing on the cold earth, the fire burning itself out. When he was silent and shaking, he couldn’t raise his unblinking eyes to the burnt crisp that was once the place he lived all his life. Only when the moon rose to cast an eerie light upon the damage did he manage to raise himself to his feet. He tripped, stumbled, the fell into the debris, all black and charred, the table undistinguishable from his bed. He could not actually see what he was looking at, but he knew who it was. He tentatively reached out a stark white hand, horrified at what he would feel, but determined to be certain.

But before he touched her charred remains, his fingers brushed against the smooth, cool, surface of unburned wood. As if he grasped to his last lifeline, he clenched his fingers and pulled a long length of wood from the ashes. It was a long staff made of a deep colored wood; the head of the staff shaped as many branches, similar to the antlers on top his head. He gingerly touched the soft autumn leave sprouting from the branches.
Then he obeyed the screams in his head and ran.

----------------

You abandoned me!

It is all part of the balance, you know that.

After everything I did for you, you STOLE her from me!

She is now a part of me, as you will be when you move on.

No! I will never be one with you! I will NEVER be what you are!

Everyone returns to me. That is the circle of life. The balance.

I CURSE THE BALANCE! I CURSE YOU!

Then you curse yourself, as well as her.

-----------------

He hated this robe. It was flashy. Too impractical. But the rest of his clothes were burnt to a crisp. He could run naked like the trees he’s practically become. He ripped open his robe, his mind devoid of any thought. Then he paused.

”Daddy? Why don’t you wear this?”
He looked up at his beautiful daughter, her hair a healthy summer green. Her eye glittered with the innocence of a child as she held up the colorful robe her mother had made for him. It depicted the four seasons, the movement of time, the change of the earth.
“It’s flashy, too impractical!” he responded, his nose disdainfully in the air. They were excuses. And she knew it.
She looked down at the silky robe, her small finger tracing the contours of the sunset.
“Daddy?”
“Yes, sweetie?”
“You should wear it.”

And wear it he did.