Chapter 3 – Their Arrival

As the huntsmen would venture out every year for this important mission, Minho would always beg them to take him with them. And every time he would beg, every time his father would give him a pat on the head and say: – “It’s a harsh world out there. Stay with your mother and help her”. Even Miko couldn’t help, so he promised his younger brother to bring him something special from the far lands. Once it had been a long feather just as white as snow and, the previous time, it had been a sharp stone the size of Minho’s palm. So it was only natural that Minho couldn’t wait for what findings and experiences of these men would be about to fascinate him. – “What are you waiting for, child?”, the voice of his mother snapped him back into reality. – “I know very well that you’re excited. I’m awaiting their return too. But quit staring like a sheep and take a plate!” Minho dried his hands on his poncho hastily and grabbed a round clay plate. His mother then put a generous portion on it. Eating in silence during a family dinner was an anomaly for these villagers. But, of course, it was quieter without Miko and their father. When Minho was about to take another bite of his food, a loud sound came. Distant at first. His mother looked up from the pot, her movements froze. Suddenly, there was something more important than anything else, and it was right behind the tent’s entrance. A deep manly voice echoed from the village’s gates. – “Stay here”, his mother said, her voice being merely a whisper as she rushed outside. As soon as she disappeared behind the curtain of animal skins, Minho roused and crawled over to the entrance, to lift the curtain. He lifted its corner slightly, to create enough space for a small glimpse. His eyes widened in surprise. It was pitch dark outside. Only the campfire bathed everything in a warm light. Silhouettes of people were running around, casting a scene of unruly flickering shadows on the ground. Firstly, his heartbeat fastened euphorically: The huntsmen were indeed back home. But he made the choice not to observe anymore. He dropped the corner of the curtain and returned to his plate. The piece of meat refused to run down his throat, as the cries of heartbroken wives, children, siblings and friends were carried into the depths of the night by the wind.

When the sky began to turn into a canvas for the vivid colors of the dusk, it was eerily silent in the village. The villagers were still there, they just got silent. Their constant fight with grievance and loss since last night robbed them of any strength they had left. Although her eyes were constantly red and shimmering from tears, Minho’s mother was working. She worked hard. And Minho was helping her more than ever. He hadn’t received any relevant details from that night until now, but the absence of his brother wasn’t predicting anything good. Yesterday he was lying in bed, and he couldn’t decide whether to cry with his mother or to sneak out of the tent to find out more. Eventually, he buried himself under the blanket to escape reality. Perhaps it was all just a bad dream. Unfortunately, reality can sometimes get more unbearable than the worst nightmare. Although no matter how much you scream in your nightmares, you always wake up. With a rushing heartbeat and bathed in cold sweat perhaps, but you still wake up. And after some time, you’d have figured out that it was all just a dream and that you were safe in your reality. But Minho was awake that night. It was no dream he could just wake up from.