Dawn.
The darkest hour always came just before dawn. It was when the night held the darkest, inkiest of blacks. The shadows were richer, deeper, denser. They were alive, crawling and squirming across the world. And, yet, in that sorrow of night, the predators reveled, finding joy in the twinkling of the stars.
"We found them. Right where you said they would be."
That loathsome congratulations.
She hated it. She hated being told that her tips lead to the right moment, to the right location in the universe. She hated being what she was, knowing the past for every minute detail. It wasn't for her to know, and, yet, she did.
Her eyes gazed out, watching them dig.
They were overjoyed at the discovery, clutching the chests to their bodies with warm embraces. They whooped and shouted with joy and pure happiness. They were so happy, so overwhelmed at the find. She could feel their eagerness, their bubbly energy screaming out the pure elation. And, yet, the girl could share in none of that; her place wasn't to be a part of the fan fare and jubilation.
She strayed to the far outskirts.
The dig had taken too long, far too long. They should have found the chests long ago, after only a few days there, not a few weeks. The dig stretched on for what seemed like months, when she knew it was only three and a half weeks.
The lanterns burnt brightly around them, like the glittering stars of the sky.
She stared out as crate after crate were cracked open. It was like Christmas down there, as presents were doled out and unwrapped with squeals of delight. But nothing down there was truly for her. It was all for the Warriors.
"Sierra!"
Her name, carried across the air with a harsh call.
The girl turned, glancing down the hill to the dig pit as the others had paused in their opening and excitement. She stumbled down, climbing down and into the pit, feeling excitement and anxiety rising within. There seemed to be some sort of veil of surprise and fear among those in the deep of the earth, silent reverence to whatever they had found in the cold earth.
A box was placed before her, materializing from nowhere in seemed, produced by the many hands around her.
"What is it?"
The crate was eased open, presenting a long, curving bow of horn, still strung taunt after all these years in the ground.
Her hand reached out, touching the thing hesitantly, feeling the immense age of the thing oozing out, creeping towards her and over her hands. "It's so… interesting." It was the only word she could find for it. "It's not ours."
"Then who's is it?"
The girl shrugged slightly, placing the bow back down. "The other Thirteen."
xxxx
Oh nos… Wrench #847.
