13th day of Spring, 512
Endrykas was much the same as it had been the year before. And the year before that, and the year before that. And it was the same as all the other years Elvyne had come to the moving city with her family.
Except this time, everything was different.
When she had left Endrykas - less than a year ago - she had parted beside her husband, with her father, mother and younger brother too. Now, she was returning as a widow.
It had been about 10 days since her husband of only a year had failed to return from a solo hunt. Shaakri had been a ferocious and talented hunter - his skills in longbow archery were one of the best Elvyne had seen, and even her father had commended his skills using a dagger. So, on that day, when evening turned into night and he had still not returned, Elvyne knew something was truly wrong.
Her fear and panic had grown more intense as the night grew darker. Unfortunately, her father bought some intimidating common sense to Elvyne that night ”There is nothing we can do now it is dark.” Jrager Greenwell had told his pacing and pale daughter. That meant waiting throughout the night - something Elvyne was sure she would be incapable of doing. And indeed, as the night rolled onwards, Elvyne listened to the nightly sounds of the Sea of Grass, her body refusing to let her rest and her mind refusing to calm.
At first light, Elvyne had woken her father like an excited child, but her stomach was not full of happy butterflies, but of dread and anxiety. Jrager had gone in search for his son-in-law alone, fearing the worse and wanting to save his daughter the horror of stumbling upon her husband’s body. Unfortunately, this did not provide the comfort for Elvyne that her father had hoped for. She waited at the pavilion entrance, staring into the grassy seas for any sign of her husband or father.
When Jrager had returned half a day later, Elvyne had not needed to wait for him to vocally confirm what she already knew; her husband had drowned in the grassy seas, like thousands before him. ”I couldn’t find his body,” her father had said as he approached his weeping daughter, ”But I found this.”
It was Shaakri’s dagger; a delicate and beautiful thing that he had treasured. She remembered when he had first showed it to her; during the first summer they had met:
”My father bought it for me when I got my windmarks. He has one the exact same, but with a P for his name. Whereas mine has a-“
“-An ‘S’ for Shaakri.”
The dagger had a white handle, with a delicate ‘S’ engraved on either side. There was also a small diamond in the middle of the top loop of each of the ‘S’s. It was a beautiful creation, made by Shaakri’s own father, and designed to perfectly represent his native Diamond clan. The dagger, along with his magnificent strider, had been Shaakri’s two most pride possessions. One of them had drowned with her husband, but the other had evidently survived whatever mysterious event had ceased her husband’s own life.
