The night was cool and bright with stars. Asha woke just before dawn, by habit. The little three legged cat who had recently adopted Asha was curled up in a warm ball with her head on Asha’s arm. She stirred sleepily, opened one yellow eye and then got up and stretched, purring and rubbing against Asha with her back arched. Asha washed, shivering as the cold water splashed on her face. She put on a fresh tunic and leggings and a warm coat. It was cold, brisk, and her breath condensed in the air. She grabbed some dried fruit, and some cheese, wrapped in a piece of bread from the previous night’s meal. She shared some of her bread and cheese with the cat, and then she picked up her hunting gear. She was headed for the high hill behind the village. It was almost time for the shepherds to bring down the flocks of sheep and goats from the summer pastures high up.

“Where are you headed so early, child?” asked Beramun from her warm pallet on the other side of the room. “I’ll find us something for the evening meal, aunt. I won’t be late. I have finished the weaving, and the barley meal is ground and ready for the baking. There are some chickpeas soaking for a stew.”

“Humph. Mind you don’t run off again.The last time you went hunting, you did not return for days, and then you returned half dead, almost killed by a leopard, and nothing in your hunting bag.” commented Beramun.

“Not this time, aunt. I’ll be back with my bag full.”

Later that morning Asha sat and ate the remains of her breakfast, wishing she had brought some more to eat. Her bag was not empty, she had found a few waterfowl by the reeds at the little lake, and her traps had a few fish in them. She had gathered some late greens also, and they had a store of onions and tart dried berries to flavor their stew at home. She gazed into the distance, thinking how big this world was, and wondered if anyone had ever reached its edge and returned to tell the tale.
Asha headed towards the high spot by the twisted tree, an enormous old oak with the gnarled trunk, from which the village took its name. She climbed up onto a big old rock by the oak, which had a hollow shaped perfectly like a seat, and she sat on it, munching some roasted nuts she had carried along. She reached her hand out of habit to pat a familiar head, and drew her hand back, remembering that Moti was dead. She felt suddenly very lonely. Her mother had died in childbirth along with the baby when Asha was a child, and her father had passed away three summers back. He had been killed by a bear out in the forest.

Asha’s eye went involuntarily to the clearing far to the northeast, high up behind her, ringed by a high wall of rocks, where they took their dead, exposing the body on a raised platform to the elements and to the carrion birds. The clean bones were brought back after two months, and buried ceremoniously underneath the floor of the house. Asha thought of her mother and father and her baby sister all sleeping under their own roof, in peace.

The flood troubled her always, the thought of where so much water came from, and what if it never stopped, where were her people to go if such a thing happened. The news of slave traders near their territory filled her with disquiet. Then there was Angulimaal and his bloodthirsty gang, and the thought of war that was coming. The news was not good. Some villages had joined in with Angulimaal. It was an easy way out, she knew. They were smaller settlements and had no defence against armed men bent on violence. Some had found his idea appealing…that the flood and all that had occurred to disrupt their world was the fault of a single man. It explained everything so easily…blame someone else for what was happening.
Angulimaal’s strength was growing. It had become a cult, a cult of anger and violence. Many found it fascinating, and there were those who joined him voluntarily, rejoicing in the power that being in Angulimaal’s group brought them. Angulimaal knew that the It was only a matter of time before judged himself strong enough to come after Vayu and his people in full force. She looked again at the peaceful sight of the village lying below her, and sighed. How long would it remain the way it was?
She knew that they did not have much time before he came to Twisted Tree. Rashida would then have to decide whether she would face the storm or bow before it. Unless she chose to strike first, thought Asha, and a smile spread over her face.