Prologue

       

“There hasn’t been any game since winter began,” the old hunter grumbled to his young grandson, a little boy, as he strapped on his stiff wooden bow, “But still, I best try the mountains anyways, to see if I could find some deer. Get the fishing poles. Though I don’t like it, we may just have to try fishing in that river.” He glanced nervously out the window at the flowing river by his house. It was strange, this river, and it was unnatural, for even during the coldest winters, this river had never before been frozen.

 

“I better be gone,” he said and he crossed the room, leaving the warmth of the old cottage behind and striding out into the snowy cold outside.

 

He shivered as the cold air filled his lungs, and shielded his eyes against the blinding white for a moment. And then suddenly something caught his eye. Something that shouldn’t have been. With a wild yelp, he staggered through the thick snow on the ground toward the river, yelling for his grandson.

 

There was a woman floating down the river. She lay on a raft of reed, still as a corpse, her face white like the snow, her feature graced with droplets of water. Her dark hair drifted in the river and her limp arms were clasped around a small bundle. Her eyes were closed, snowflakes in her lashes. She was beautiful, and yet terrible at the same time, like the ice and snow. Her dress was a bright orange-scarlet, the only distinguishable color in the silver, frosty world besides white and black and gray.

 

The old hunter’s grandson rushed out. “Grandpa?” he helped his grandfather haul the raft toward shore, both of them forgetting the cold as they stepped into the icy water. The old hunter fell to his knees and placed his finger below the woman’s nose. He could feel a slight breeze pass through, blowing to his fingers.

 

“She’s still alive,” he announced quickly, plucking the woman’s flail arms from her small bundle, “Keep her warm while I’m gone.” He handed the bundle to his grandson, and he himself lifted the woman off the raft. Without waiting for his grandson, the old hunter kicked open his door and went inside, but emerged again, a few moments later, and ran towards the direction of town, presumably to go find help for the woman.

 

The grandson stared at the bundle in his arms. It was warm, unlike the woman, who was almost an ice-like statue, and he wondered what it was. Nothing could stay warm in such a bitter winter. He unwrapped the bundle gently, unable to resist his curiosity.

 

And what he found within the bundle was a baby, wrapped with a purple cloth embroidered with gold, seeming barely a few months old, wet with the freezing water, and yet still and quiet. The baby stared up at him with her large, sea-blue eyes. Unlike the woman, the baby was awake.

 

He went inside and, setting the baby aside on one of the chairs, covered the woman with a blanket. His grandfather had conveniently set her by the chair closest to the fire. And there he sat, pondering, warming his hands, and this was the position in which his grandfather had found him half an hour later when he returned with the healer.

 

The healer was an old woman, known to the entire village as “Grandma Jahura”, and was well known for her skills at healing, but also her scatterbrained ranting and her less-than-reputable reputation of being more than half-crazed. However, she was a great healer.  

 

Grandma Jahura hobbled into the old cottage, leaning heavily on her cane as she inspected her patient. “She’ll live,” she announced with her cackling, low voice, “But she’s special. You’ll see.” Suddenly a giggle interrupted her, and Grandma Jahura turned around, suddenly noticing the baby on the opposite chair. Grandma Jahura laughed, clapping with delight. “Ah! So this is she! The river child! Then they shall both do very well indeed! You needed not have even summoned me! But mark my words�"these two will be trouble! There is the air of the gods around both mother and child!”

 

She tossed her wobbly head back and cackled before leaving the old hunter and his grandson alone in their house, very frightened, and doubting Grandma Jahura very much.

 

Little did they know how right Grandma Jahura was.

Author's Note

Yay! Finally, the prologue is up! You might not think this even relates to our real story yet---but you will see. Muahahahahahahaha!!!!!

Reviews

[Eric Cox]

Cool. An excellent start to "River Child". Nice pen upon this.

[Lizzy]

Over all it has the makings of good work. But the phasing is erratic and jagged. The mind cant focus on the path you want it to take. Parts, like where it speaks of his grandson, of a little boy. Redundant. Only one is needed to get the point across. Go over it, say it out loud. Picture the people in the story doing what your describing. Also make spell check your best friend. LOL Never give up. There is always a way, walking away is last resort. It IS good, just needs touching up.

[_]

awesome!!! i wish i were a river child.. that be sweeeeeeeeeeeet!

[Sarah]

amazing. I loved the last sentence it is very efective...

[rae52]

amazing so far as always