Chapter 1: Wildflower Roots

Lillian trembled, her honey brown hair plastered against her neck, and her hand braced against her swollen belly. Her eyes wide and fearful, shifting to a muted violet-gray hue. Her nerves were a wreck, the traits of the animal within her growing and fading, her body changing and shifting and changing back once more. Nails to claws, clutching the bedsheets, her cat like pupils pinning madly.

She bit her lip, drawing blood, for it was all she could do to avoid further crushing the hand of her ever patient sister. Rosa winced as Lillian grated her nails against the bed frame. But Rosa's chatter never ceased. “Almost there Lil, you're so close, just a little more....”

Lillian growled deep in her throat, her contractions growing closer and more intense. Rosa chattered on, “Push Lil! Come on! Almost there! Push!”

Rosa made her way to the bottom of the bed. Blood and sweat layered the old worn sheets, and Lillian's voice grew again as she screamed in agony. She gritted her teeth, her canines elongated. Her cries becoming further distressed and animalistic by the second.

Something wasn't right.

The thought crossed both their minds, like one of the zip baskets in the mountains. Passing by far to fast for one to really comprehend it's workings.

The babies head came into view and Lillian gave one final push.

...Inside, she felt a terrible tearing sensation...

Moments later, Rosa held up a wide eyed, squirming baby girl. Her fine hair still plastered wetly to her head, drying slowly to a light silver blond hue. Lillian held her close, smiling wearily at the little bundle fussing in her embrace.

Lillian whispered quietly, “She has his hair...”

Her smile beamed down upon the little miracle as she caressed the baby girls soft cheek.

“My dear little Fiora....”

17 Years Later

The brutal plains-land sun beat down mercilessly upon my scalp, making my palms sweat, the thick yarn slipping between my fingers as I gave up on the weaving project before me. When my mind is meandering, over the high town walls, and the seemingly endless wilderness beyond, even he simplest of tasks become grueling.

The breeze has set the wind chimes to dancing, and I can't help but revel in their sweet tinkling voices, filling the courtyard with their lovely fairy melodies. My Aunt Rosa, bustling about as fast as her stout legs can carry her, thinks my day dreaming and wonder seeking is foolish. I think her more foolish than I though. What with the pins twitching out from between her pursed lips and thread laying all about her, fabric flying every which way, her antics are far more bizarre in my opinion.

She makes such funny faces to, I muse, as she squints at the fine white cloth, shimmering beneath her skilled hands. I cant help but wince though as I imagine the torture that mannequin must endure. All for the sake of a garment.

Meandering slowly over, the breeze picks up, turning my hair into waves of liquid citrine. It is what most sets me apart from the countless red heads that make up the native population of the pride-lands.

I often dream of the parents who passed on such traits. Of my beautiful mother, the strong outspoken woman whose existence was only made known to me through the journal she left all those years ago, and of the fantastical land my father must have come from, to have possessed such a brilliant hair color. Places far beyond the lands of the Eagle tribe, with their coal black locks, or even the burgundy brown haired shark tribe.

Each so rich in history.

But I am not past the borders of our world, I am here, in the small town of Glenmere. I am a member of the Lion tribe. The women here are the lower class. The kings word is law, and here, we know nothing but the rule of men.

I know of more though.

In her journal, my mother so often spoke of another land that she surely must have dreamt up. Where there are woman rulers called Queens and respected women are addressed to as ma'am. Mother has written that they are even addressed as “my lady” or “your highness” sometimes. Her writing is so...unreal...and yet she writes as though such a hierarchy truly existed. But such notions have earned both her and I more than a few bruised cheekbones.

“Fiora!” my aunts voice beckons me, breaking my course of thought, and I cant help but caress the soft white fabric as I walk over to her.

“Oh! Get your damp twiddler's off there!” she scolds, swatting my hand and thrusting a basket into my arms.

“Here” she huffs.

“Go do something productive with your idle little hands, get some color for your hair so-...” With her still in mid sentence, I lose my battle with the young girl inside me and nod happily, my childish sense of adventure brimming out of my 17 year old body. But who can resist when such an opportunity arises? To wander the never ending fields of wild flowers...even if it is in preparation for such a dreaded event.

Perhaps...perhaps dreaded is an understatement though. Perhaps it would be more apt to say that I'd rather sit in the center of the scorned basin with butter smeared on my skin so a great fierce fire starter will come gobble me up! Yes, I believe that to be a for more appropriate representation. In fact, I would rather endure such a fearsome ordeal a million times over rather than participate this one time in the pride parade.

Every year, the tribal chief sits up in his big white and gold tower, and he has all the young girls of pure being parade through the city for him. He grazes us with his eyes and he grins down with the most horrible type of grin. Tomorrow, the parade will be in honor of our current chief, chief Zulnii. He'll choose his mate from the hundreds of girls presented to him, and she will live with him until next spring, when the whole process is done again. Everyone believes it to be such a high honor. The women in my town flit about like fools, scolding me for being so reluctant to participate, going on and on for ages about how they would dress to catch his eye.

Oh yes what an honor. Huffing loudly, my knuckles whiten about the baskets handle.

“Oh my Chief Zulnii! Do pick me! Oh I am just ever so lovely, and surely none among these here today could possibly bring you greater joy! Oh please, for surely I've no brain nor will of my own to honor my name!” I mock, my voice high pitched and oozing with poisonous nectar, as I drop a curtsy and bat my eyelashes at the trunk of a lone willow tree.

“Bah!” I spit, flopping down in the dirt, my skirt pooling around me. I kick the basket in frustration, my pale leg flashing out from beneath the cloth, so light in comparison to others in my town.

“Oh what useless sheep! Blindly empowering such a fiend as he!” I moan. The many flowers tumble out, their vibrant petals laying in defiant contrast to the pale dust and dry grass. Plucking up a single violet bloom I sigh woefully.

“Teach me your secrets little flower...” I sigh once more, a sorrowful little plea for the worlds my mothers words have revealed.

“Show me how to create such beauty in such a brutal place..” The flower of course does not respond.

“Well then...” I huff decidedly.

“ If you won't tell me, maybe I'll tell you someday how I did it...” The petals only stare back at me with their little white spots, silent as ever, ignorant of words, choosing to hide their secrets forevermore.

I've come to find they always do...

Reviews

[EMF]

Firstly I love the opening hook. It draws you straight in and keeps you there. Then I felt like a fool. Mainly because when I saw the words '17 Years Later' my heart sank and I thought 'yea Gods, not more teenage fiction'. Like I said. I felt a fllo. Because not only was it wonderfully written, with vibrant characterisation amd complex structure, but it was good. Really good, and when fiction, irrespective of the age of the participants, is this good... it doesn't matter who or what it's about. Good is good. And therefore I loved it.

[Shy Girl]

Oooo...This has some wonderful descriptions and word usage that I can only sit back and be in awe...she sounds so lonely though...finding friends in the most unlikely of places (flowers) Fiora..kindredship with little flowers perhaps?? This is such a lovely story...a bright spot within that hardship they all are facing...she has her own mind and thoughts that separate her from the others of her tribe.. Brilliant :)

[Courtney Eastman]

Wonderful! You really caught my attention. I love the conversation with the flower. "Show me how to create such beauty in such a brutal place." It all speaks to me in a way I can't describe. I really can't wait to read the rest!

Oh the voices! I miss my voices :( Anyway, once again you amaze. Powerful start, vivid but not overwhelming. Jump ahead and we have the early signs of a rebel with a cause. She knows just knows there is more out there. Keep building this amazing character character. “Teach me your secrets little flower...” I sigh once more, a sorrowful little plea for the worlds my mothers words have revealed.
“Show me how to create such beauty in such a brutal place..” The flower of course does not respond." Punched me in the heart!

[hopelessromantic]

like it

[Shep]

Ok what's. Next? Yes I want more. You drew me and wouldn't let me go.for still my thoughts what pasion what a tale you weave. Please continue on. If want to return the favor all I ask is read and review What's. Behind the Looking glass . And I will read a review all your works. I need fresh eyes and new friends that have not yet gone off into the either.

[jennifer little]

wonderful storie