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59 years ago...
"Now, you two be careful out there." Our mother called as we exited through the front door into the chilly winter air. My sister, July, ran out ahead into the fresh snow with her skates over her shoulder.
"We will," I called back and watched our mother close the door behind us.
"Come on Shy!" July shouted, making me roll my eyes.
"Alright, alright, I'm coming." Following her out to the pond where the ice was frozen over. The sky was cloudy and a few flakes of snow fell from above. I stuck my tongue out to catch one. When I tasted a large, fat snowflake, I was satisfied to stick my tongue back behind my teeth. July ran to the edge of the pond, her dark brown curly hair streaming out from under her hat. Snow fell into the curls and quickly melted away on impact. She sat down on a stone before looking at me with those large brown eyes.
"Shy! What's taking you so long?" she groaned.
"I'm coming. Be patient." I told her, kneeling down in the snow to pull off her boots.
"When are you going to learn how to tie on your own skates?"
"When I want to."
For six, she was quite opinionated on almost any matter. I set her boots down beside the rocks and then pulled on her skates. After I tied them on tight, I looked up into her eyes. That round face with a small pink nose and a large smile. She was going to look like our mother when she grew up. Most likely sought out by countless men.
"Alright," I said, helping her up onto the ice, "off you go."
"Are you coming?" she asked, her voice full of hope.
"No, I got to practice," I held up the wooden sword in my other hand. July frowned.
"You're no fun Shy."
"I know."
With a pout, she turned and skated off. I shook my head, watching her glide over the ice with grace. A part of me felt sorry for her. Here in the Misty Mountains, we were secluded and there were few people around for her to play with. Not to mention how we were scorned by society.
Turning away, I held out my practice sword. As the snow fell I went through the motions the kata mother taught me. The winter cold faded away as I moved from stance to stance.
Phantom Wind.
A fighting style my grandfather had taught my mother before me. I could hear her voice in my head.
Keep your feet spread apart. Faster. Good.
I soon became lost in the world tucked within my head. For a moment I pretended I was a ranger. What a Dúnedain was born to do. However, I knew that that dream was not possible. For I was a Morchant. An outcast.
But I let myself dream. For just a moment. The world could at least let me think of the possibility.
My dream was interrupted by a snapping sound.
I turned to the pond.
July wasn't there.
Just a hole in the ice.