12A/N: You asked, and I kindly obliged…and then some. Here is the new longer version of my prelude in which we learn, principally, of parentage and the power of love. Enjoy!
Preludes and Nocturnes.
The sky twinkled brightly above her, an inky black blanket with glittering diamonds for stars. The air was crisp with fall: the smell of the thick oaks, the sound of the leaves crushing beneath her feet that echoed around her, made her feel in some sense safe and sane. She leaned against a tree, out of breath, looking behind her for any sign of life. The trees stood firm; nothing moved against the darkness. The pain ripped inside her then, worse than before, tearing into her stomach like a white hot knife. Maybe it was fear that kept the pain at bay for so long. Now, however, the pain seized its opportunity: her knees buckled, the force of the pain forcing her to crumble at the base of the large oak. She wanted to scream out, shout in pain, for someone to help her or to kill her, but her voice was locked within her throat, behind the jail of clenched teeth. Only the sound of her bull breaths filled the forest now. Her only companions were the trees above, the night below, and the glittering proud moon that beamed brighter than ever down at her.
Her nails dug deep ridges into the tree as she made to lay. Had she any choice? The town was miles from here, a walk she could not dare to make now. Sweating against the chill, she knelt in the dirt, now soggy and bloodied. Tears glinted in her great amethyst eyes, and she lay, propping her legs up desperately. Her stomach stabbed at her again, this time enough pain to numb her hips. The dull pulse of hot pain made her legs tingle as she made to give one grand push. Her whole body seemed to channel itself into the action: breathing and pushing as hard as it could, back and forth against the tiny thing inside her. She hadn't even realized had she closed her eyes, all she could see was the darkness. All she could smell was the ancient wood, mingling with blood and sweat. All she could feel was the ebb of pain.
And it was done.
The writhing little thing made no noise as it lay in her arms, bundled carefully in warm robes. She looked upon it with a mixture of fear, disgust, and interest, yet held it tightly to her. The little brown parcel opened her eyes up at the woman. Her eyes, she thought wildly, her eyes match the deep amethyst of my own. She smiled, against reason, but fought it back. Reality flooded in her like the wash of cold water: she was in the forest, weak, alone, at the mercy of anyone or thing that cross her path. She must do what she left the Order to do. She must kill the child.
Standing shakily, she found her way to a small stream. Hidden from the view of the moon beneath an arched tree, the woman fell to her knees along the stream. The water moved silently, reflecting her strained features and the baby's glittering eyes. She looked down at the parcel. Amethyst eyes met her own. There was stillness, a serene feeling she had never known until then. Below her, the steam lapped innocently. Holding the child at arms length, she lowered her. Icy water hit the toes first, making its way slowly to chubby knees. The writhing thing wiggled against the cold, her face contorted uncomfortably as she let out a wailing cry. Great tears filled her eyes then, as she tried to force herself to lower the child further into the cold water. Every inch, every centimeter, every wailing cry was an assault on her conscious, on the very body that birthed the child.
The forest had grown dark and still. The piercing cries echoed off the trees, carried on by the wind. Kill her, she thought fiercely, kill the child! Be rid of her now! But, she couldn't do it.
So along the base of a dark crackling oak, she left the small brown package, writhing uncomfortably in the plush robes. The baby made no sounds now, only looked on after the woman, who hastened to escape the quiet.
It could have been ten minutes, or ten hours, Hugo Brackendos didn't know. He tracked the wood, his shotgun crooked over his right arm, with only the light of the moon to guide him through the dense trees. He had been in the garden of his farm just beyond the edge of the wood when he heard it: faint, lonely cries that carried on the wind. He first thought it was a wounded animal, which wasn't altogether abnormal. But the cries were much more than that, much more unsettling.
Before he knew it, Hugo had his gun in hand, racing forward through the forest consumed with the sound of lonely far off cries. The wood, Hugo knew, was dangerous and dark. No one man could survive the forest for long: too many have gone in never to come out again. But, that meant little to him now, perhaps because he hadn't stopped to think of those dangers that forced the town elders to erect the bramble wall that kept the wild forest at bay.
Hugo stopped dead. Reaching a point in the forest so thick, the treetops hid him from the guiding light of the moon. Hugo soon realized that he had not heard the cries in some time. It was as if the driving will he once had had broken, and he was there: frightened, alone, and lost. The dark advanced on him then, thickened and congealed around him slowly obscuring each leaf, each tree until nothing but that sluggish black was left. Panic began to set and Hugo felt his heavy chest heave against him. Shifty winds rustled the leaves eerily above him; leaves became hidden beasts, darting behind trees.
"Listen," his deep voice echoed off the trees.
And there it was. Clear as day, he heard a whimper at the base of a tree off toward the right. He crossed an oak searching the ground for the noise. What did he expect to find? An animal? A small child? He couldn't dare to hope for either. But he held his breath as his eyes searched the ground. The moon broke free of the tangled treetops, illuminating the forest floor and, simultaneously, pronouncing dark shadows ready to pounce. Now, quickly! His mind raced: At his feet, before he'd had a chance to walk further, a small baby, wrapped in fine purple robes wriggled helpless. He snatched her up quickly, his eyes darting into the depths of the now relenting dark. But it was okay; she was safe.
It only took a moment, but in that moment it was sure: the girl child would become Harrigan Brakendos, daughter to Hugo and Nathalie Brakendos, and would live at the farm next to the forest.