This is the beginning of a story that’s been forming (consciously) in my heart for over four years, but I like to think it’s been writing itself for much longer. I didn’t intend to start Aeda’s story at this point in my life. This story deserves a better writer- a kinder one- a more clever one than myself. So, my plan was to obviously wait until I was older and wiser (so, like 27?) but I can’t really keep it quietly sitting in my heart any longer. But instead of giving you the ever growing 17 page document that currently saved to my desktop, I’ve decided to edit and “publish” it a few pages at a time. For the next 6 (ish) Saturdays, I’ll be posting the next installments of Aeda’s story.
So, today, with much anticipation and excitement in my heart, I bring you…
A Fortress for Aeda, Part 1.
Update: A Fortress for Aeda is currently under construction, but you may find an exert from the story below.
She was sitting on the floor lacing her boots when she heard it: the crack of a tree limb. Her hands stilled as she listened to surrounding forest. Leaves crunched beneath footsteps like war drums growing louder with each new beat. Careful not to make a sound, she stood up and slipped silently across the dirt floor.
Someone was in the forest.
She was found.
She peered out the window and waited for the noisemaker to appear, squatting down low so that only her eyes peered out through the small slits in the wooden shutters. Her fingers brushed against the smooth wood of her bow as she loaded it with an arrow. She took a deep breath in through her nose and exhaled through her mouth.
“Animals know when there is danger around,” he father had told her the first time he took her hunting. “But if you can control your breathing, they won’t sense anything is wrong.”
A tree branch filled with bright yellow leaves pulled back and a man emerged from the thicket. His deep brown cloak and hunter green tunic made it seem as if he were one with the forest, a small tree who had just decided it would rather stand in the clearing. He crossed his arms and studied the dilapidated cottage, as if considering what might be inside.
This was not the first traveler who had passed by her cottage in the last three years she had lived there. Perhaps if she had met him earlier, she would have thought twice about the signet ring he wore on his right hand or the golden crest pinned on his cloak. But now she only concerned herself with details she thought were necessary: Was he armed? And how could she overcome him? Nothing else mattered.
He wasn’t a particular well built man, rather average. His soft brown beard was well trimmed, and his hair, though well combed, contained spots of grey. This knowledge brought the smallest grin to Aeda’s face. A well groomed beard meant that this man was no woodsman or farmer, but rather a comfortable gentleman. She had defended her cottage against men far bigger and rougher than this man.
He took a step towards her, and she snarled. He could not have come at a more inconvenient time. She had made a rather fine plan to go hunting and chop wood today. She didn’t have the time to be bothered with this stranger. She would scare him off quickly and then she could resume her plans.
“You’ll find no hospitality here,” she called out. “It’d be best if you kept walking to the next village. If you hurry, you can make it there before dark and I won’t have to waste an arrow on you.”
The man halted in the middle of his step and held his hands up in the air.
“You must be Aeda.”
Allison Thurman is family. She’s one of my people. When I met her in Community Group less than a year ago, she didn’t talk that much. But one day she mentioned that she painted and I was like “oh, cool. I painted in college too.” Then I went to her house, and y’all this girl PAINTS. That’s when I began to see who she really was. Like I said, she doesn’t talk much, but when she talks, it’s spot on every time- sheer brilliance. And when I talked her into showing up some of her paintings, she said- and I quote- “I’m not really much of a writer.” LIES. ALL LIES. So take some time and let this girl speak to your soul. It’s like everything I’ve ever tried to say on this blog can be summed up into her words. What’s that thing that Goethe used to say? You should read and look at something beautiful every day? Well friends, you can knock both of those out here. Allison Thurman, y’all. She’s the real deal.
rebekah.eckard 