Chapter I 

As the sun's beams began to peak over the hills, Borimir wiped off his face. The tender winds blew past him as he looked up toward the hills, littered with pines. Though morning seemed to just now arrive, he had been working for an hour already, baling piles of hay onto his old wooden cart. As he heaved another bale onto the cart, a bird caught his eye, its chirps echoing around the farm. Borimir saw it fly over near the house and then over to the field of flowers his mother so passionately guarded. He paused, planting his pitchfork into the ground to admire the property.

Baur Farm was a sanctuary along the banks of the Miljacka River. The fields of wheat glimmered like gold in the sunlight, while the flowers painted the earth with strokes of purple, red, and yellow, resembling the hues of the evening sky. The river flowed gently nearby, its serene blue waters mirroring the cloudless sky above. A barn of gray stone and weathered white wood stood proudly, sheltering the cattle that grazed upon the lush grasses. Among them, Vuk, the prized horse of the Baurs, boasted a coat of light brown and white, his presence adding to the farm's rustic charm.Willows lined the banks, on either side of the small creaking dock that was used for fishing, their long branches dipping gracefully into the calm water. In front of those willows, a barn of gray stone and weathered white wood stood proudly, home to a few cattle that grazed the patches of grass scattered on the land. The roof was a patchwork of repairs, evidence of years of hard work and maintenance. Inside, the sweet smell of hay mingled with the earthy scent of the animals. 

Borimir then glanced behind him to see the heart of Baur Farm, his house. The pale walls were adorned with ivy, and its windows draped with light red curtains and showcased his mothers flower boxes, orange and yellow lilies filling them. Above lay a crimson tiled roof, though minorly worn down, sharply contrasted the greens of the land, whether the deepest pine or the lightest grass. The front porch, with its creaking wooden boards, was often visited by the cool breezes from the river. A stone chimney overlooked the entire farm, sharing companionship with the Bosnian pines and spruces. 

It was a symbol of everything that Borimir cherished. Every day he would rise early to tend to the farm, and though the work was tough, he loved it. For all nineteen years of his life, whether it was milking plump cows, picking fresh crops, or simply repairing the dark fences that bordered the farm, Borimir felt a great sense of purpose in this little corner of the world that bore the name Baur.

After he finished filling the cart with hay, he rolled it down to the barn, watching as the river flowed calmly. The rich blue water matched Borimir's eyes, a gift from his German mother. His dark hair and strong build were from his Serbian father, whom he resembled very much. Stefan Baur, had been a towering figure in Borimir's life. A man of few words but great deeds, Stefan was known throughout the region for his strength and kindness. He had built the farm from the ground up, instilling in Borimir the values of hard work and integrity.

He entered the barn, much to the delight of the cattle, who started mooing at the sight of food. Their names were Annabelle, Max, Rosie, and little Bell, who had been born only two years ago. They were fine cattle and had never caused Borimir trouble, except Max, whose clumsiness sometimes found himself stuck in a fence. He laid the hay into the feeding trays, then grabbed a large pail and walked toward the river. The water was cool and clear, reflecting the cerulean sky above. As he filled the pail, he heard a voice from a distance.

“Borimir? Borimir? Breakfast is ready!”

It was his mother, shouting from the farmhouse. He turned and saw her standing by the back door. Anna Baur was a small, aging woman with pale blonde hair and a smile that would warm the hearts of any who saw it. She had a firm yet gentle strength and had been at Borimir's side for every hardship he faced. She went back into the house.

“Coming, Mother!” Borimir replied, pouring the water into a trough and then heading to the house.

The scent of breakfast grew stronger as he got closer, and he started to run up the hill, the aroma causing his stomach to growl like a bear. As he made it into the house, he saw his mother standing behind the table holding some plates. She was wearing a white shirt with bluish-gray stripes, and a pleasant long skirt, the front having a floral pattern, the back a deep royal blue. The kitchen was small, but his mother ruled over it as a queen, from the rustic cabinets which held her prized spices, to the pantry where the produce of the farm was stored. 

“Morning, Ma!” he said, his face glowing with joy as he bent down to kiss her cheek.

“Good morning, Borimir,” she replied, setting the two plates down. “I see you’ve been up even earlier than yesterday,” she said jokingly.

Borimir chuckled. “Well, the fields can’t tend by themselves now, can they,” he said, sitting down in one of the pine chairs he had made just a few weeks ago. “Besides, there's no better way than starting a day off with a bit of hard work.”

“You sound more and more like your father every passing day,” she said. There was a bit of silence. Borimir's father had been killed in a fire a few years ago. Stefan's untimely death had been a devastating blow to the family. He had been trying to save a little girl who was trapped in a burning house. The house had collapsed before he could make it out, and the memory of his father's bravery and sacrifice lingered everywhere on the farm. Borimir grieved him more than anyone, but he was determined to run the farm just as his father would have, to make him proud. He sat, staring down over the table, his face motionless.

After a while, his mother, who wanted to lift his spirits, said, “Here, have some breakfast,” placing sizzling juicy bacon on his plate, along with two pieces of crusty bread, topped with home-churned butter.

“Thank you,” he said, his smile returning to his face. His mother then fixed herself a plate of bacon, bread, and eggs, which Borimir never ate. The two said grace and began eating, Borimir finishing off bites with a cup of tea, his mother straight black coffee. The meal, while simple,was delicious, some of his mother's best. At times he wondered what would’ve happened if his father hadn’t married such a skilled cook.

“So is there anything you want to talk about,” she asked, looking up.

Borimir paused, eating, and said, “yes.” Ever since he began going to town regularly, Borimir began to wonder and create a political identity. It became something of a hobby of his, and something he could share with friends he had in the city. In much the same way his father was, he was a nationalist, a proud supporter of republics and democracies, and deeply anti-royalist. If there was one thing that he loved talking about more than anything, it was about his views on the world.

After chewing another piece of bacon, he asked, “Do you ever think about the empire actually falling? Where we could finally use our voice and govern ourselves?”

She looked at him thoughtfully and replied, “Yes, all the time. Why?”

“Well, it's just something that intrigues me. We’ve only ever heard of democracy and its freedoms, but I wish I could live in it. No more power through bloodlines, but power through the people.”

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“You already know my stance on the issue of governing,” his mother started, “both me and your father dreamed of a day where the different groups of the empire came together as a strong and united nation. He would say it would be the European version of the United States.”

“A melting pot,” Borimir said, cutting her off from eagerness, “where we set our cultural differences aside, and have the commonality of national pride connect us.”

“Don’t interrupt me!” she snapped, slamming her hand on the table. After a second, her anger passed and she continued, “But yes, exactly.”

There was another silence, the two avoiding eye contact. He had always had a habit of injecting his words when people weren’t finished speaking, and no other person fell victim to this more than his mother. Shame fell over his mind like the gray clouds of a storm.

With a sigh, his mother said, “I fear that day will never come, and it will only be a dream in the minds of millions in the empire.”

Borimir finished his meal and got up, saying, “Well, at least the seeds of those ideals are being planted, and that we are tending to them as we do to our fields.”

His mother nodded in agreement. Borimir collected the plates and began to clean up the dining room. They chatted about other topics—the gracious weather, news from friends—but both were thinking about the future, and what might come to the people living in the Austro-Hungarian Empire. When they were finished, Borimir said, “I have to go into Sarajevo. I’ve needed a new pair of shoes for a while now, and our ax broke while I was cutting that dying pine over by the stable.”

“Alright, but I need you back here as soon as you can, remember your sister is visiting, so I need all the help with the house as I can afford.”

“Yes mother,” he said. The two hugged each other and said goodbye.

“Thank you for breakfast,” he said.

“You're welcome, now get going,” she replied.

As he turned toward the door, he saw his mother’s loving and passionate eyes glance at him. The two smiled, then he walked over to the stable. 

Borimir entered to find Vuk already awake, pacing around the small pen in which he slept. “Hey, Vuk,” Borimir called softly. The horse whinnied in response, his ears twitching at the sound of Borimir’s voice. Borimir approached the pen and patted Vuk’s neck, feeling the smooth, warm coat beneath his fingers. “Ready for a trip into town?”

He let out with a neigh, and shook his head, as if he was saying yes. Borimir leapt onto Vuks sattle and the chestnut mane strode out of the stable, and onto the road that led into Sarajevo. It was a place of his childhood, so many times had he traveled up and down that road, whether for errands, parades, or just to walk down to see the beautiful scenery of the Miljacka river. 

And on many of those travels, Vuk and his sister, Heidi, had been there to keep him company. He thought about his sister a lot, and he was relieved that she was coming, for he missed her deeply. Heidi Baur was older than Borimir  by four years, and she was the funniest, cleverest, and most stubborn person he’d ever known. As Borimir was the exact image of their father, his sister was the exact image of their mother, golden blonde hair, blue eyes, and the prettiest face that had so warmed his heart. She had that same Baur determination that Borimir and Stefan had, often helping Borimir with the farm work when they were littler. They were inseparable, and though they would argue and mess with each other from time to time, they still loved each other.

Heidi had married a year ago to a doctor named Otto, and the two moved to Linz near his family. He was wise and sharp, but shy and humble, quite opposite of Heidi's bold nature, but nevertheless they were a very loving couple, complimenting each other near perfectly. Borimir quickly became friends with Otto, whom he thought of as a brother he never had, one time fixing his arm after he had dislocated it after falling off a tree. Otto was quiet about politics, preferring to discuss medicine and religion than any other topic. Borimir hoped he too would be coming, wishing he had asked his mother when he had the chance.

After a calm ride, Borimir made it into the bustling city of Sarajevo, first seeing the banks laying on the banks of the Miljacka, before making his way into the center. It was a beautiful city, rich in its history whether it was forged by the Ottomans or Austrians, and having a great diversity of peoples living inside of it. Borimir also loved exploring its bazaars or houses of worship, always discovering new paths and buildings that he hadn’t seen previously. He dismounted Vuk, and tied him to a post near his friend Gregory's general store. 

“See you in a bit,” he said to Vuk, as he walked into the store.

The scent of the lavish soaps Gregory's wife had made for sale, filled Borimirs nose, as he was greeted by the sight of farm tools, clothes, spectacles, hats, canes, watches, anything you would ever need. And of course he was greeted by the hearty voice of his friend.

“Borimir! What a pleasant surprise, how’ve you been,” Gregory said cheerfully, reaching to shake his hand.

“ Oh you know, the usual, just working away. Is Marie here?” Borimir replied.

“Not at the moment no, she is at home tending to Fritz,” Greg said as the two shook hands. Greg was a big man, who always seemed to have a smile on his face, his cheek rosie red. A pair of big round glasses sat above his rounded nose, and had a long brown mustache below. He was wearing tan overalls, with a green shirt and red tie to match.

“Well tell her I said hi,” Borimir said.

“Of course,” Gregory replied, “and what might you need, finally leaving the farming life to work here?” he said with a chuckle. Greg had always joke about having an extra hand around, and thought Borimir would be a great store clerk.

He laughed. “No, not today I’m afraid,” Borimir said, “I’m looking for some new shoes, and an ax.”

“I see. Well you know where the shoes are, pick out any that you like. As for the ax, we got a new set of tools just last week in the back. I’ll go to the back and get it for you,” Gregory said gleefully.

“Thank you,” Borimir said. “ And you say you need another clerk. You're the most thoughtful store keeper in Bosnia.”

Gregory let out a hearty laugh, “You got me there. The only reason I want you to work for me is because you're an absolute joy to be around. You know that right? Here let me get you that ax,” and turn to the back isles.

Borimir walked over to the section of shoes that were set in rows based on different colors, sizes and manufacturers, very well organized, something Greg held in high regard. A pair of black boots made from the Czech Bat’a company caught his eye, and he tried them on. They felt very comfortable, and firm. While he took them off, Gregory had arrived with the ax.

“Here you are, Borimir,” he said, handing over a very magnificent piece of blacksmithing. Its polished smooth cedar handle was easy on the hands, and the blade was glistening with the candle light that filled the store.

“I’ll take it,” Borimir said.

“Great! Let me check you out.”

Borimir handed him some kronen, and was about to head out when Gregory said, “Hey, be a bit careful out there. There's been some tension in the streets, both me and Marie can feel it. There have been rumors of rebellion around, and I want to make sure you're safe.”

“Thanks. So long as Catherine doesn’t show herself near me, I won’t get rowdy.”

Gregory laughed, “I’ll be seeing you later Borimir. Goodbye”

“Bye Gregory, hope to see you soon as well,” Borimir said, and he walked out the door. He began to head towards Vuk, but as he walked he looked around. There weren't as many people as there usually were, and those who were out were either silent, or talking quietly, trying to hide their discussions from the outside world. He stopped for a split second and spotted Gavrilo Princip, another young teen that he met before, but never really became friends with, sitting over by a coffee house with another man. He had heard him talk about the downfall of the Empire, and his deep hate for the royal family, but Borimir thought he was too extreme and socialist to be taken seriously. Borimir did learn earlier that he would be leaving Sarajevo again to go to Serbia. 

Borimir opposed socialist ideals. He thought that it wouldn’t work, and that while it sounded good on paper, it would crumble any nation that tried to apply it. Too good to be true, he thought to himself, it would just make the people lazy, and without dignity. 

He turned back onto the sidewalk to Vuk, when he ran into a woman accidentally. The two fell to the ground, Borimir scraped his elbow, feeling blood dampening his shirt sleeve. His head started to ache. As he was getting himself back up, he went to the lady to help her up.

“Ma’am here yet me…” but he stopped. 

He was stunned. For the woman he had run into, happened to be his rival. She, in his mind, represented everything wrong with the royalty that controlled the Empire. Princess Catherine von Rosenburg