The sun was rising over long, drawn out fields of crop, high wheat and low rice. Rolls of hills met the slanted sunlight, glinting off drops of dew that settled on leaves. Elk grazed nearby, long red horns reflecting the orange of the sunrise. Smoke rose in the distance, the only sign of humanity within miles. Here, the Emishi people lived, a city pushed into exile by the rest of their country. As they woke up, women stretched their arms up at the open skies; small children rubbed their eyes, black hair strewn in messy arrays.
Out in the field with the elk, a girl lay. She stretched her hands behind her head, eye closed. The elk that stood guard above her sniffed her tunic, eating strands of grass off the blue cloth. She opened one eye at a time, staring into the black nostrils. She raised a hand up and stroked the elk’s muzzle, letting out a soft coo to him.
“Morning, Yakul,” she said, pushing herself up off the grass. If anyone saw her there, they would have assumed she had spent the night in that spot. Yet, it was her routine to come out every morning, early, before the animals awoke. She would walk the fields, count the foals, and check the boundaries. Nothing ever bothered them way out here, but she was always careful. When her walk was through, she waited on Yakul to wake, watching the sun rise. Now, Yakul pranced in place, waiting on her to finish standing up. She shook her legs awake, brushing her fingers through her long hair. With a long yawn, she mounted the elk.
“Asuka!”
She turned her head to the sound of her name, coming from the direction of her village. It was a band of small children, hands cupped at their mouths. At the sight of her, they all waved their arms, and she rode over, smiling.
“Morning, children,” she said, dismounting. She noticed the looks on their faces, eyes wide and scared. A frown took the place of her smile. “Is something wrong?”
“Your majesty, the early guard wants you at the eastern tower. Says something is coming,” one of the children said. There was a tremor in the young boy’s voice, like he was frightened. Asuka remounted, giving the three of them a small nod before taking off toward the eastern tower.
Out in the field with the elk, a girl lay. She stretched her hands behind her head, eye closed. The elk that stood guard above her sniffed her tunic, eating strands of grass off the blue cloth. She opened one eye at a time, staring into the black nostrils. She raised a hand up and stroked the elk’s muzzle, letting out a soft coo to him.
“Morning, Yakul,” she said, pushing herself up off the grass. If anyone saw her there, they would have assumed she had spent the night in that spot. Yet, it was her routine to come out every morning, early, before the animals awoke. She would walk the fields, count the foals, and check the boundaries. Nothing ever bothered them way out here, but she was always careful. When her walk was through, she waited on Yakul to wake, watching the sun rise. Now, Yakul pranced in place, waiting on her to finish standing up. She shook her legs awake, brushing her fingers through her long hair. With a long yawn, she mounted the elk.
“Asuka!”
She turned her head to the sound of her name, coming from the direction of her village. It was a band of small children, hands cupped at their mouths. At the sight of her, they all waved their arms, and she rode over, smiling.
“Morning, children,” she said, dismounting. She noticed the looks on their faces, eyes wide and scared. A frown took the place of her smile. “Is something wrong?”
“Your majesty, the early guard wants you at the eastern tower. Says something is coming,” one of the children said. There was a tremor in the young boy’s voice, like he was frightened. Asuka remounted, giving the three of them a small nod before taking off toward the eastern tower.