The Huntress Descent

The Storm: Chapter Seven

Younger. I knew I was younger from the way I saw things. Everything was a tad out of line. The table was a little higher than usual, the room a little larger for my liking. My feet barely scrapping the floor when a stretched out, suspending in mid-air. I found my younger self sat on a chair, wearing dark trousers, shoes that resembled trainers, and a shirt with a very detailed fringe. From a guess, I was ten. The age of wonder.

The room was small, even from my new height I could tell. The table, squished into a corner, was littered with pages. Words scribbled on them, yet I was too far to see what they entailed. Another chair occupied the room, and sat on there was a young boy with olive skin, a splash of freckles and a mop of black curls. The boy, who probably was no older than six, huddled a small toy rabbit whose fur was matted from the amount of love that it was given. Small streams of tears slid down his puffy red face accompanied with the snot from his nose to the rabbit who soaked the moisture up.

I slipped down from my chair, the feet a little further than expected, and padded over to the crying child. The boy's dark eyes connected with mine. So much fear filled them for such a young thing. He shifted to the side and allowed for me to join him on the seat. I pulled myself up, balancing my body weight on the seat to make sure I didn't fall off.

"Voglio mia mamma," the boy snivelled. The words he spoke were foreign to me, even so I knew what he was asking. There was at least one word that we shared in common.

He buried his head into the pit of my arm, his tear stroked eyes wetting the fabric of my shirt. I placed an arm round him, enfolding the boy into a hug as he sobbed. His body heaved with every cry.

The sound of voices tore me away from the crying child. The door to our room was left ajar that I could see the outline of a man with a puff of hair protruding from his head. He was facing away from us, but the movement in his back showed that he was in a heated conversation with someone. One hand was stuffed in the coat of his pocket, the other gesturing madly as he spoke to a woman.

I pinched the boy's on the arm and pressed my fingers to my lips. He hushed as he obeyed the command.

"I haffe to take Luca vith us, Rozetta vould haffe vanted it," the man said in an agitated voice.

"You cano-not rrrisk it," the woman shot back. "Dey wil-l find out what e is-a and wil-l take im as a candidate."

"Zere is nein ozer choice. Luca cannot sday here. Zis country is koing to fall und ve need to keep him zafe. In America I can do zat."

The woman made a noise that must have been a laugh but it sounded strained and humourless. "And you tink tat wil-l ap-pen-a. What of de girrrl-a? Is she going to?"

The man shuffled, his back arching. "Diana koes vere I ko. Sche is all zat I haffe left."

There's a long pause. Then the woman says, "You arrre mad tinking you cano keep dem safe."

"Zat is ein chance I am villing to take."

The woman scoffed. "When dey find out what she is-a to you, she wil-l nevoi know peace."

The man wrenched his hand out of his pocket and pointed it to the woman. "Zat is vy zey vill neffer find out Serafina."

A loud sharp pop shattered the air, followed by a thud.

I awakened suddenly, not because of any noise or interruption, yet because my dream had come to its conclusion. My brain signalled that it was time to engage in the real world once more. It had been days since the dreams had plagued me. It only needed a jumpstart for them to come flooding back, and the events of yesterday was all that it needed.