CHAPTER TWO The moon cast its silvery glow over the cavern, and Morekish, despite the heaviness in his heart, succumbed to the embrace of sleep. As he drifted into dreams, the echoes of unanswered questions lingered in the air. Meanwhile, his mother tended to the newborn, cradling the baby in her arms. The soft coos of the infant mingled with the rustle of leaves outside the cavern. The baby, nestled against her chest, emanated a gentle warmth—a new life in the world of shadows and moonlit secrets. She glanced at Morekish, sleeping peacefully, his innocent face a stark contrast to the torrent of emotions he had unleashed earlier. A sigh escaped her lips as she gently rocked the baby, contemplating when the right time would be to reveal the rest of the story. The night wore on, and the cavern echoed with the subtle sounds of a lullaby sung in a language that seemed to carry ancient tales. The gentle rhythm of her song seemed to weave a protective cocoon around the mother and her two
CHAPTER THREE Days turned into weeks, and Morekish's quest for understanding continued. His days were filled with the routine of mountain life—training with the pack, honing his instincts, and tending to the needs of the cavern. Yet, his nights were devoted to delving deeper into the untold stories that his mother had only hinted at. The mountain ash, sensing Morekish's insatiable curiosity, became a silent companion in his nightly explorations. Its leaves rustled softly, as if whispering ancient secrets that only the wind could comprehend. Morekish found solace in its presence, a connection to the mystical forces that guided his lineage. One evening, as the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a warm glow over the rugged landscape, Morekish approached his mother with a determination that bordered on urgency. "Mom, we need to talk," he began, his eyes reflecting a mix of eagerness and apprehension. His mother, ever attuned to the rhythms of nature, nodded knowingly. "Sit, Moreki
CHAPTER FOUR Morekish's days became a harmonious blend of training with the mountain pack and delving into the mystical arts passed down through his family's lineage. The mountain ash, now an even more integral part of his journey, responded to his presence with a luminous brilliance that mirrored the depth of his understanding. Under the guidance of his mother, Morekish honed his abilities to channel the cosmic energies that flowed through the nexus in the heart of the mountain straights. He discovered that the spotted coat, a mark of the guardian lineage, was not just a physical attribute but a manifestation of the cosmic threads that bound them to their sacred duty. The mountain pack, sensing Morekish's growing prowess, welcomed him as one of their own. Together, they patrolled the mountain straights, safeguarding the nexus from any malevolent forces that sought to breach its boundaries. Morekish felt a deep connection to the pack, their howls echoing through the mountainous terr
As he was robotically making his way back to the tent, a heavily bearded man, wearing a flowing white robe and tying his turban in a very neat fashion with a striped robe. He looked Arab, though he does not carry that kind of sinister and trepidation air most of them carry, he looks like the sort which can easily make people forget his Arab heritage, he was quite calm, exuding an air of tranquility and a slight feeling of very warm friendliness. Tom could see this man approaching him with an amused face and a knowing smile that bordered on tenderness. He stopped, his eyes twitched involuntarily and his mind went into haywire, fixing and transfixing, what's happening and what should he do, run? Is he one of those men seeking for him the other day, no, yesterday, shut up head this is not the time to banter. 'Make a run for it, make a run Tom!' His mind screamed.
Tom left that arena not knowing how to feel though his body is still feeling groggy, he needs to bathe. In a way, he felt surprisingly relieved, maybe he loves their help though he does not know how it will come, it sounds anyway, pretty sniffy but relieving to find a headrest for his poor overstressed skull. In a way, he's not relaxed. He's watched without knowing it. Only them? Better be.He strode into his tent, went to where he hid some of his money, gazed around as he doesn't trust his tranquil environment anymore. He extracted the cash from a purse and decided to find a strap and start hanging the purse over his neck, he no longer trusts the security of his tent. Turning around a white robe passed by the door of his tent and he jumped, but the white robe seems just to be passing by, he made a mental note to be closing the door of his tent every time even if the heat inside is threatening to roa
off. The white robe was incredibly soft and very comfy on him, it was made from pure cotton he presumed. He wore his turban, and tightened it up, he swung around as if a young girl announcing the coming of a new panty, pity there is no mirror here. He dabbed his face with some powder to look more Arab, satisfied with his adornment though, without a mirror, he set out, opened the door, and spread his arms wide so that the group outside could see. "Now, that's nice Tom, wear your beads, where're your beads?" Ruput asked. "Beads? Oh yeah. Let me go and get it right away. " Tom rushed back inside the tent. After a while, he appeared again and they were ready to go. There
As they stepped into the cave-like entrance through the corner of the pyramid, they heard echoes of footsteps. Very few guards were lazily sleeping by the side in a perfunctory manner to cover for the praying group while one or two of them were shuffling around, yawning and muttering of which a non-Egyptian can not make out. Some of the invading group members became alarmed. They thought that since they have managed to isolate and evade the guard group manning the entrance that it will be a hitch-free ride. However, as some weak-minded and unsteady ones were beginning to whisper and make whimpering noises, Ruput's hand appeared in the air, he brought it to his lips and opened the side of his robe, a purple bottle with a stopper surfaced along with his hand, he pulled the stopper and pressed the top of the bottle and a wifty dreamy aroma suffused the air. With his hands, he beckoned on them to move f
She could have been in her father's house watching her mother make sausages and bake casseroles and dishing them hot on this beautiful Saturday morning. But her heart won't give her a moment of rest, it has betrayed her and pushed her to do the unthinkable, washing away her pride as it comes. She was just a chaste girl, intelligent, and had her life planned out to the details. All she ever needed to do is to grind down and focus on observing her routines which she had never complained about. She loved her life, knowing what to do next and how to do it. They say she's still so young and doesn't understand, but the whole thing feels like a hoax because she knows what she's doing and understands. She had dreams she had wanted to chase, it was never a burden to continue writing each day to win the interstate writing competition, and she's not limited to that, being the youngest ever to re