At first, he thought he was flying. He must had passed into the spirit realm and soaring through the blue skies, decorated with the occasional cloud. Everything was so peaceful, so quiet as the sky just lazily glided by.
As the cart rolled over a bump in the road, his body was jolted and Antinanco groaned, releasing he had only been staring at the sky as he lay on his back. His chest felt tight and his head seemed like it had been run over by a stampede of horses. He sat up, holding his head and coughing, looking around.
"He is awake," said a voice and Antinanco saw the native villagers all around him, watching the young man gaze around in a confused stupor. There was a convoy of about three or four carts, full of native villagers traveling up a hilly path.
"Where are we going?" He asked the woman beside him, rubbing his head.
"A bordering village. There is next to nothing left after the fire." She replied unhappily.
A fire? That sounded vaguely familiar. What had happened? The last thing he could remember was running, finding Ratonhnhaké:ton... His mother... She was trapped in the fire... He was searching for... Anne and Nathan. He never found them.
Antinanco felt his heart stop and grow suddenly nauseous.
"My son, what happened to my child and his mother?" He demanded, turning to the woman again.
"The white woman?" She scoffed. "She was a curse upon our homes. She died in the fire along with the infant. The child is an omen of destruction."
"No," he whimpered, "no it cannot be!"
"They are gone, Antinanco," she replied bitterly, "there is nothing you can do about it now."
The young man curled himself up into a ball and began to sob, despair overcoming like a wave. As he drowned in his grief, he grew further and further away from his home and the woman and child whom he loved and who were still very much alive.
