Arken was beautiful. Dark brown irises floated on the unblemished whites of her eyes. She was lying on a bed of leaves and dried grass, covered by a handmade straw mat. A sheepskin cloak half covered her as she watched the glowing embers of a fire. Her tangled, long black hair felt soft beneath her cheek.
Their encampment was in a wide meadow between two forests. Normally, there were many other fires burning into the clear night sky, telling predators to hunt elsewhere for easier prey. The atmosphere tonight was tense and quiet because, without other families, safety in numbers was gone.
‘Arken!’ her father, Jard, spoke from the other side of the fire.
‘Yes, father,’ she replied.
‘Sleep now,’ he said. ‘We rise at first sun and need to be ready.’
Arken looked at his grubby face, framed by wild brown hair. The flames illuminated his features in shades of yellow, and she could see he wasn’t angry. He rarely was.
His lips
