When she approached the outer edge of the camp she slowed a little. Her sprint became a languid lope as she travelled through the narrow roads, passed the short one storey dwellings that were their homes. They were made from the giant pamous grasses that grew to a height of twelve feet. They were thick in their stems but flexible enough to weave into walls and roofs that were resistant to sun and rain. The tan from the shell-like stem was shiny and glinted from the sunlight giving it the appearance of a huge baked, woven pie.
She noticed the doors in one home were open from one side through to the other side to let the breeze blow straight through. The rush windows were tied up and she could see woven bilubous rushes that were the colour of bright green emeralds upon the floor. She knew they were the colour of emeralds because she’d seen an emerald once. She thought it to be the most beautiful thing to exist, it was encased in gold metal, a ring, and it had belonged to Oak's family for generations. He said it had belonged to his grandfather who gave it to his father.
One day as they sat cross legged in the village he had told her the story, she’d listened with eager ears. Oak explained that not only guns but precious metals and gems had been confiscated by the military. They were taken to be used for the government surplus, to be sold or traded for goods from other countries. Trade between countries was only performed under military control, since little trust existed between them and all transactions were negotiated under heavy guard, armed with artillery.
Anyone caught with gold, platinum, silver or jewels in their possession were taken by the military. No one knew what happened to them. They were enemies of the Regime and punished as such. Some were brave enough to keep a piece of jewelry of sentimental value but they told no one. They dared not, for the military had eyes and ears everywhere. Rewards were given to their spies.
Oak's grandmother died when Oak was six years old, his grandfather had loved her greatly. He found her diamond engagement ring the day after she died and told Oak's father that he’d smiled at the knowledge of her bravery to disobey the law and keep it. He knew how much the ring had meant to her. Just as much as the emerald ring she’d given to him meant to him and so he’d kept her diamond ring and passed his emerald ring on to his son.
Unfortunately, three years later he was found out. Oak's father thought it was the neighbour who’d told because she saw the diamond ring fall out of Oak's grandfather's shirt. It hung around his neck on a piece of shoelace he had it tied to. He’d been tending the front yard at the time, weeding and bending over. She’d said nothing to him as he hastily pushed it back inside but she’d slunk into her house like a cat that had stolen a piece of chicken from a dinner plate.
The soldiers arrived within five minutes as Oak's grandfather had warned his son and grandchild they would. He’d pulled the shoelace from his neck, pulling the ring off just as they came through the door. The soldiers didn’t get a chance to take the ring. As soon as they were upon him Oak's grandfather threw it out of the window. With two soldiers pushing his face into the floor on his old bent knees the other two had run outside where they’d searched but never found it. No one ever found it.
Oak's father said a crow had probably taken it since they liked shiny objects. It must have swooped down soon after it had been thrown through the window and flown away with it to drop it into its nest. His father was glad it ended up with the bird rather than a corrupt, cruel, controlling Regime. Neither his grandfather, nor himself would not have liked the fact that it would have helped them to continue to enforce their unlimited restrictions.
The soldiers had been angry with his grandfather and struck the weak old man. His cries had reverberated out through the open door and down the street as they dragged him away on his arthritic knees, not caring at the pain it caused him. Oak's father had rushed to his aid but his grandfather had yelled “No!” to stop him. So he’d watched instead with tear filled eyes as Oak clung to him, his small body shaking barely understanding what was happening. With arms clamped around his father tightly they watched as the soldiers hauled away the man who’d raised and loved them both, throwing him into the mouth of the cold metal armoured vehicle. Their eyes had followed it as it slowly moved away, its stomach filled only to spew its contents into the bounds of hell at the interrogation camp. Neither Oak nor his father ever heard of or saw him again.
When Oak saw the emerald ring hanging from his father's wrist one day, he’d looked at him with curiosity as his father had smiled down at him. “Your grandfather gave this to me and whenever I look at it I think of him and his dislike of the Regime that rules us. They will not have it; it is ours and will always be ours. It will be yours when I am gone and you will pass it to your son, who will pass it down to his son. That way the memory to fight for freedom, faith and a future of honesty and truth will always be with us.” He laid his hand on Oak's shoulder. “It belongs to our family and will stay with us forever. It’s our bond to one another, even after we are gone.”
After the Devastation, Oak had taken the ring from his father's dead body. Weeping he kissed his cheek and said goodbye to the last member of his family. He placed the same leather strap and dangling emerald ring upon his left wrist and tied it, where it had never been removed.
She was approaching the central meeting area. The houses had now become the long buildings and meal gathering areas. The Culineers were already preparing the meal for the evening and the big gathering. She gave a sigh at the thought that they would miss the delicious dishes that they were now creating. No time could be lost; they would have to leave immediately to track the Citans.
She fingered a soft woven bag that was draped across her hip and felt inside to see if she had any melini tablets left. No, she had eaten the last of them earlier before she saw the Citans; she would have to get more. The melini tablets were of great importance for travelling; they were high in nutrition and also provided liquid refreshment in the moist jelly like substance. Eating one tablet was equal to a small meal and a glass of water. Sequoia had made the discovery in one of the laboratories when one of his group had eaten it without thinking. They’d watched him for days nervously wondering what he would turn into but when no change occurred and he’d told them of how it gave him energy and stopped his thirst, Sequoia had succumbed and gone back to the laboratory returning with the plants. The special plants were grown along-side the fruit and vegetables, its origin purposefully overlooked.
As she slipped past the last long building she came into the open meeting area. It was surrounded by buildings which formed a circle around it. The ground was covered with bilubous rushes for them to sit upon when they attended meetings at the central speaking area. Quickly, she made for the raised centre. Upon it, in the middle was a huge round drum made out of burneam bush trunks tightly woven together and covered on the top with a tight white renicus leaf. It was very old, no one knew who had managed to cut the bush down and make it or even who brought it into the camp. It had appeared one day like a gift placed on the podium in its centre. It soon became their symbol of hope. Looking upon its twisted form of evil they hoped they would remember to never make the same mistakes as their forefathers.
She picked up the gnarly burneam bush branch beside it and with the end wrapped in white renicus leaf, she hit the drum with all the force she had three times and listened to its echo through the camp.
Woodlanders approached from all angles running as quickly and safely as they could. A few of the girls that had babies ran with their children perched upon their hips, the younger children holding hands with their appointed foster parents. The defenders ran faster and the others divided to let them through, Oak was amongst them his angular face was rigid with anticipation.
All faces were tight with fear of the unknown as they gathered around the podium. To use the burneam drum could only mean one thing–danger. She could see Oak's blond head amongst his defenders, he stood slightly taller and the sun sparked off the lighter streaks in his hair. Most Woodlanders had blond or light brown hair from the sun bleaching it. She was the only red haired person in the clan. She could see Oak better now for the defenders gave him a respectful distance. His pectoral muscles were pushing through the leather shirt that he wore (made from the terakian beast he had killed years before). He’d been thinner then but the leather had stretched to accommodate his developing muscles. She gave an external sigh at the sight of him.
He was everything to her and yet she was nothing more than a friend (a sister he’d once called her) to him. It made her angry, she was not his sister, he’d been her saviour not her brother.
Her whole family had died in the Devastation. She’d stood alone, afraid and crying amongst the swirling debris. Oak had appeared out of the dust and taken her hand in his. A little taller than her she’d felt as though he towered above her. His face dirty with blood stains upon it, his teeth pure white when he smiled down at her. Holding her hand in a gentle squeeze he’d told her he would take her somewhere safe. Told her that she needn't be afraid anymore that he’d find food to fill her hungry stomach. She’d believed him and he’d fulfilled his promises.
She could see the square shape of his jaw line, it was tight with concern. Why was that jaw always so stern when he looked at her? Why did she feel she was a thorn from the burneam bush, a poison to him? She knew he loved and cared about her but she wanted more from their relationship. It seemed that he was always serious when he was with her now, although his voice would be soft and soothing, but it was soothing like when she was eleven and had cried at night for her parents. Although, only twelve himself he’d hugged her tightly telling her that they were not gone, that they were always with her. She hadn’t understood what he meant so he’d explained to her that even though she couldn’t see them, if she believed they were there she would feel them. He said she had to learn to feel to be something more than just a body to be her senses, all of them.
She’d learnt to heighten all her senses beyond almost anyone else in the camp, except Willow she was strong with her sight. Willow could see auras clearly especially around the members of the clan. She advised Oak on whom he should pick as defenders. It was Willow who’d said that Oak should be their leader after Spruce had died. Spruce was killed by a terakian beast whilst out on patrol, saving one of his own but losing his own life. Spruce had only been seventeen years old, young, strong with so many years left to live, his loss caused great sadness. They’d been lucky to retrieve his body from the large vicious animal. He was buried in the sacred ground.
Fern was jealous of Willow. She was pretty, small with almost white blond hair and seventeen the same age as Fern. Her eyes were such a clear sky blue that Fern wanted to spit in them to leave clouds and make them imperfect. She often had less than endearing thoughts toward Willow. Willow's hair infuriated Fern; it was straight and long almost to her waist and never became unruly waves or stuck up like Fern's did. Willow's hair was never out of place, it glistened in a glow of light, like the moonlight. When light fell upon it it glowed like an aura. Fern couldn't see auras but she would sometimes pretend when she saw Willow's hair reflected like an aura, that it was Willow's head exploding. Of course, it wouldn’t be a pretty sight, as after the explosion it would be a very sticky red. Then Fern would regret thinking such a bad thing because Willow was so sweet and kind.
She was kind especially to Fern because the other girls shunned her. That just made Fern even more angry with Willow (she didn’t need her sympathy) she really wanted to dislike her (which became more difficult when she was so nice). But then how could she not dislike her? Oak relied on Willow's aura skills and worse he admired her! He spent too much time being with her. He would converse with her whilst wearing a smoldering sexy smile that would melt any girl's heart and when Fern told him he saw Willow too often; he would just laugh and ruffle her hair as if she were a toddler. On those days she just wanted to plough her fist into the bridge of his nose and watch him keel over.
Fern hated how he looked at Willow these days; his eyes would soften when they rested upon her. His face melted and set into a sickly smile which made her want to vomit or beat him to get rid of his expression. Was he in love with Willow? When had she become so obsessed with Oak? She didn’t remember when it started, she just knew that it bothered her and she wished with all her heart that it would stop.
She could see him approaching her now as the clan parted to let him through. His arms were glistening with sweat, the leather he wore attached to his body like a second skin. He made her feel hot; perspiration was already pricking its way to the surface at the sight of him. The sun spiked down its rays in silent competition.
He approached her looking at her with questioning eyes as the defenders stopped to let him onto the podium first. His eyebrows were raised, his light blue eyes fastened upon her widened green eyes, watching him, welcoming him. Lightly, but with a leaping stride he covered the ground toward her. He pushed back a flat hand palm behind him toward the defenders following, indicating for them to stay back a little.
His face was quizzical making her realize he was thinking she was just causing another ruckus to get his attention. For once, she had the upper hand; she knew something of great importance that he had no knowledge of. She smiled at the thought and saw his head give a little movement downwards and sideways in question. She smiled even more.