0.10

Shame devoured every inch of Turo’s conscience.

Samora was gone, and he was smeared in cow dung. Wet, stinking, humiliating cow dung. How dare she? How would he ever show his face to anyone in the village again? If word got out—if anyone discovered that he had been shoved into a pit of muck by a woman—it would be the end of him. Not just his pride, but his future as chief.

His gut twisted at the thought, the stench clinging to him like a physical manifestation of his disgrace.

And to make matters worse, he heard Nox calling out his name, the sound of his voice carrying through the rain-dampened streets. Nox was searching for him, no doubt wondering why he hadn’t returned home. What if Nox saw him like this? What if his perfect cousin—the golden boy of Tuscanvalle—found him wallowing in filth? There would be no explaining it. No excuse would suffice.

Turo clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He had tried to do the right thing. The dagger had struck Samora, yes—but it wasn’t intentional. It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. He had even tried to help her, to get her inside and treat the wound. But Samora? She had repaid him with cruelty. She had pushed him into the pit without hesitation, leaving him to wallow in shame while she escaped.

And now she was gone. Along with her baby.

Turo’s anger bubbled beneath the surface, mixing with his humiliation. He had always considered Samora family—almost like an elder sister. But now, she had proven herself to be selfish and ungrateful, willing to ruin his future with one thoughtless, spiteful act.

There was only one way to undo what she had done.

He would find her. He would hunt her down, and the child too. He would bring them both to justice, and in doing so, restore his dignity. Only then would he prove that he was worthy of being the next leader of Tuscanvalle.

Turo glanced around the backyards, careful to avoid the main street where Nox’s footsteps echoed faintly. He kept to the shadows, his movements deliberate and silent. The rain had stopped. He cursed under his breath. If only the rain would pick up, maybe it could scrub away the shame along with the stench. Then, even if someone saw him, they wouldn’t know the full extent of what had happened.

A bolt of lightning split the sky, its white-hot brilliance illuminating the village for a brief moment. Turo froze, heart pounding, as if the storm had turned its gaze on him. But the clouds above remained stubbornly silent, withholding the downpour he so desperately needed.

Turo gritted his teeth and pushed forward, every step reminding him of the humiliation he carried. The rain couldn’t save him now. Only his resolve could.

Turo’s gaiters slumped and splashed in the wet mud as he leapt from backyard to backyard, each step announcing his position with a dull, sloppy squelch. He winced at the sound, knowing it might betray him to Nox. Still, he was clever enough to stick to the shadows, weaving between houses to avoid being spotted.

But as the minutes dragged on, the realization hit him like a slap. He wasn’t chasing Samora anymore. He was hiding—from Nox, from his shame, from the truth of what he had done.

And what if Samora had escaped? What if…?

No, she couldn’t have gotten far.

Turo forced himself to think. Where could she have gone?

Not to the north—that much was certain. The men were still huddled beneath the Great Banyan, their watchful eyes ensuring no one passed unnoticed. She wouldn’t dare risk it. The western side of the village was no better. Farmlands stretched across the flat plains there, leading to the cremation grounds. No woman in her condition would venture there without cause.

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

That left the south and east.

The Lavalthon.

The thought seized him. The lake bordered the southern and eastern edges of the village, its shoreline fading into a wall of dense, untamed woods. If she made it that far, there would be no stopping her. Once inside the forest’s shadowy expanse, she’d vanish—impossible to track through unfamiliar terrain.

But the woods were miles away.

Samora wouldn’t have gotten far, not with that stab wound.

Turo exhaled sharply, his mind racing. He had to find her before she reached the Lavalthon. And he had to avoid Nox at all costs.

The mere thought of Nox seeing him like this—covered in filth, reeking of humiliation—sent a jolt of panic through him. Nox wouldn’t just confront him. He’d run straight to the elders, brandishing Turo’s shame like a weapon.

And what then? How could he ever command respect if the people of Tuscanvalle saw him as the chief who fell into cow dung?

Turo gritted his teeth, his resolve hardening. He couldn’t let that happen. Not now. Not ever.

And so, Turo left the cover of the houses, stepping onto the threshold where the clustered homes gave way to the open expanse of the lakeshore plain. Darkness swallowed everything, a suffocating black that pressed against his senses. He strained his eyes but saw nothing.

Taking off in a random direction crossed his mind, but he dismissed the idea as foolish. In this darkness, he might widen the distance between him and Samora instead of closing it. He stopped and listened, hoping for a clue, but the howling storm winds masked every sound.

A sudden flash of lightning cut through the night, its brilliance stealing his vision for a heartbeat.

Lightning!

The thought struck him. He could use its fleeting glow to locate her.

But before the idea fully formed, the flash was gone, plunging the terrain into even deeper blackness.

His breathing hitched. Lightning would be his ally.

Turo waited, muscles tense, holding his breath in anticipation of the next strike. It would only last a moment—a second, maybe less—but it might be enough. Enough to scan the vast expanse for a single, fleeting figure. It felt impossible, like searching for a needle in a field of hay.

He steeled himself, preparing for the task ahead.

When the next lightning strike illuminated the plain, Turo’s eyes darted across the landscape. He caught everything—the swaying grass, the stoic palm trees, the contours of the shore—but no sign of Samora.

The light vanished, leaving the world in a deeper void. He almost cursed the darkness, but something caught his eye in that last fading moment.

At first, he wasn’t sure. Was it an animal? He squinted into the void, chasing the faint image burned into his mind. No. It wasn’t an animal.

It was a human.

His pulse quickened as he pieced together the details: a woman with loose hair, her chest bare and uncovered, the lower part of her body draped in a familiar skirt.

Samora.

It was the same skirt she’d worn before she pushed him into the manure pit. It had to be her.

But what was she doing, heading straight for the lake?

Drown herself and the baby? Was that her plan? Had she realized there was no escape?

But what about me?

At least give me the baby, his mind screamed in desperation. I need its bones to prove myself worthy.

Before he could stop himself, the words tore from his throat.

“Samora!”

The figure froze, her movements halting for just a moment. Then, without warning, she changed direction, veering eastward.

What is she doing? And why is she crawling like that?

The questions nagged at him, but he shoved them aside. They didn’t matter. What mattered was catching her.

He lunged forward, charging in the direction he assumed Samora was moving. Darkness enveloped everything, leaving him to navigate by instinct. The palm trees around him were barely distinguishable, little more than blurry black silhouettes against an even blacker sky.

If only lightning would flash again! He needed that fleeting illumination to confirm he was heading in the right direction. What if he wasn’t? What if he was losing her?

But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop.

The soft, uneven grass beneath his feet gave way to something wetter, muddier. The terrain grew treacherous, slick with swampy muck that clung to his gaiters. Each step sent him sliding slightly, but he pressed on, his breath ragged and heavy.

He was nearing the lakeshore.

Turo halted, panting, his ears straining for any hint of her presence. The wind wheezed through the night, carrying with it the slow patter of rain as it began to drizzle again, droplets rippling gently against the lake’s surface.

Then, beneath the storm’s whispers, he heard it—a faint, distinct sound. Water rippling.

Someone was moving through the lake. Struggling.

The noise came from his right.