During my gap year each person creates a winter adventure. Your adventure can be anything you want it to be, like getting a job, living in Japan, working with a Macrobiotic Chef, or hitchhiking across the county. If anyone has ever been skiing, they knew what its like to fly. The idea of soaring down a run made my choice of a winter adventure easy. I’m skiing my heart out at least once a week for the rest of my time off, or as soon as the resort opens. I bought a ski pass to Powderhorn, my favorite resort, and I am impatiently waiting for opening day, December 11.
In a surprise turn of events, I was offered a house sitting job for two months. The place is tucked into the cedar filled hills of Crawford, with views of Buck Canyon and the Smith Fork River. The house is on 30 acres, has cats, chickens, goats, and a cow. I am thoroughly in love with all the animals and hidden gems of the property. Winter is looking up to be an exploration of flying down hills, living alone and self loving.
I sweep my cloak around me and pull the hood up against the rain that drizzles into the night. The dark suits me well, hiding my strange features and blending with my skin. Raising the volume of the song quivering in my throat, I allow the notes to float high and haunting into the night. I am on the hunt, singing so my prey knows I come for him. My fingers brush the hilts of my knives, and pull them free from the sheaths by my breasts. The mud pulls at my boots, making soft squishing sounds in the night, as I move toward the man who is my victim. My dark braided hair is stuffed back into my hood, out of my way and staying dry. I slip closer and closer, the sound of rain masking my every step. The one I bring justice to tonight is a bastard, accused and found guilty of the most heinous crime. A slight brought her case to our guild, saying she had been raped by him. Our truthseekers corroborated the story, and I was brought into serve justice. I pause, drawing the murky, dark air over my tongue and I taste the terror of him. My cat slit eyes can see him in the dark ahead, headed for his hideout. I slip further into the shadow, and ahead of him. I free my knives from my cloak and step into the yellow puddle of street light. His eyes widen, take in my cat-like features and pointed ears.
“Who, who are you?” His voice stutters in surprise.
“Do you not know me, oh betrayer of love? I am you conscience.”
“You halfer?” he scoffs in reference to my mixed features. “You’re naught but a slight.”
I take a step foreword, showing him my knifes with their writhing, magic lit blades. “Do you know me now?”
“Ahh, Singer.” his voice revels his bluff “You have no business with me.”
I hiss “Wrong! Now experience!” I plunge my knives with their insubstantial blades into his chest and pull away watching as his face contorts with knowledge of what he has done.