In the hush of the woodland, Neva stands behind a seated Rhett, her posture slightly curved forward as she combs his hair with gentle fingers—arranging his lush locks.
They have changed into clean, dry clothes, and now lounge on the even, rugged shoreline of hard rocks covered with moss and creeping wildflowers.
Neva wears a fresh, soft amber lacy cotton couquette dress—fluttering just above her ankles, roomy around her baby bump, hugging her swelled bosom in a sweetheart carve, with a slender pleated strap holding her light summer dress in place.
Rhett throws on a black t-shirt with a deep, wide neck cut, and grey shorts.
Neva cordially, delicately ties his longer hair with her thin black hairband—gathering it into a half-messy bun, smoothing the rest of the strands down his nape.
"Rhett, look at me," she says, caressing his chin and gently turning his head to face her.
Rhett's legs sway in the clear emerald water, but he stills them.
His loving eyes drown in her shimmering gaze as she carefully draws his hair into place. Her fingers stroke the spare strands, arranging them over his temples.
She smiles and sunders her hands from his hair. Clasping her palms together, she exclaims, "You look dashing!"
He chuckles. "Do I?"
She nods, beaming. "Yep, you're charming." And with the flush of her adoration, she kisses his appealing lips.
He smiles—enamoured, utterly in love with her.
"Should we leave for home?" he asks. They've drifted for hours in the woods.
The sun has salted away. Now comes the creeping night, lurking in the silhouettes of cavernous trees. The fierceness of daylight winds into a soothing evening breeze.
Golden rays of twilight rush through the unbarred rifts of the serried trees, casting parallel streaks of glitter upon the rippling, breathing water.
Radiant and glistening—unraveling into the idyllic, mystical closure of daylight in the woods.
"I don't want to, but we have to," Neva breathes, watching the cascading downrush of white water shower ahead.
"We'll come back some other day," Rhett assures her, rising to his feet.
She looks up at him, a smile enlightening her beautiful face. "Okay."
The wedded pair stroll through the serene woods, forging their own untrailed path.
The resonating roar of the waterfall fades into the distance, softened by the rustle of leaves.
Evening carols of little songbirds rise, the crooning of owls, furry squirrels darting through wild bushes.
Golden, glowing fireflies begin to hover, twinkling across their path. Neva, wide–eyed, almost discerns the appearance of elfin, pixie-like fairies with lurid wings, flitting through the ethereal woodland.
But Rhett senses something wrong in the air. It grips his heart in fear.
He does not wish for anyone—or anything—to steal their hard-earned peace.
Even when the heart is quiet, a life merged with broken shards can stir unease. The wrecked mind ever so often evokes fear in serenity.
Then creeps the anxiousness—demons chanting intonations of guilt and unworthiness.
Quotes the dark red blood still coursing in the veins, a fact—the lily of the valley still summons volcanic mountains of misery.
Discernible now—faint, violent screams follow Neva's strides. Her feet grow cold, unmoving.
She clenches Rhett's hand, intertwined with hers. A painful knot forms in her throat.
She grasps his arm as the rumble of motion shakes the ground.
He glances down at her trembling form, holding her arm.
"Don't be afraid," he whispers, pulling out a black pistol from the concealed holster hidden beneath his shirt.
"What's happening? Are they here for me?" she asks in a broken voice, her eyes on the gun.
He surveys the loaded firearm. Then meets her gaze—her teary eyes numb his chest.
"It's fine. I'm here with you," he assures her, kissing her forehead.
He caresses her cheek. "We have to be fast and quiet, alright?"
.
.
.
They veer off course, running through the silent shadows of the eerie woods, weaving through ponderous bushes, tall trees, small streams, and open, untouched lands.
Clouds of grey smoke rise into the air.
The stench of burnt flesh and ruined homes tortures their senses.
Neva tightens her throat, fighting the urge to vomit.
She doesn't know where they're going, where they'll end up. Rhett leads, shoving away pricking branches, shielding her behind him, holding her hand tight, speeding faster than the forest flies.
Her saliva tastes salty, heart thrumming in her ears, eyes blurry, head dizzy, breath heaving.
She clutches her belly. Her pace falters, slows.
He glances at her, adjusting to her steps, nearly dragging her along. "Angel?"
"I can't," she chokes out, her body yielding to exhaustion.
He stops. "Are you in pain?" he asks, concern softening his tone.
She faintly shakes her head, one hand cradling her heavy abdomen.
"I'm sorry. Let me carry you."
Without waiting for words, he lifts her up into his arms.
"I'll exhaust you," Neva murmurs, arms wrapped around his neck.
He chuckles, quickening his pace. "You're light as a feather."
She thinks his words are deceiving. But she doesn't dare even breathe too loudly—for fear she might throw up.
She rests her head against his chest. Surely she had slowed them down before.
But his strides now are keen and swift. He's strong enough not to be burdened by her weight.
Neva hasn't gained much—her form has changed, yes, but only her belly bears the evidence of pregnancy.
Yet she alone bears the weight, the strain, the ache of carrying life inside her.
Rhett sees the church ahead. The sky opens, dark and starless. The violent noises only grow louder.
"Can you walk now?" he asks, glancing down. She nods.
He gently sets her down. She sees the sweat on his face.
He nudges her behind him, shielding her.
His senses sharpen. He readies the gun with its silencer, gripping with both hands, aiming ahead.
In the lush, tall bushes nearby, a man with bloodshot eyes adjusts his rifle, ready to shoot.
Too amateur for Rhett.
He doesn't even notice the shift in Rhett's stance.
A single silent shot.
Rhett's bullet blasts the man's pistol clean out of his hands.
Another—direct through the forehead, exploding through the brain, lodging into the parietal bone of the skull.
The man's body drops with a soft rustle of leaves. Dead.
Neva realizes what just happened. Rhett has executed one of the assailants.
She covers her mouth, her stomach lurching. She turns away and vomits violently over the bushes.
Rhett rushes to her, gathering her hair, holding it up, helping.
She calms a while later and straightens, voice hoarse. "Water."
He swings his bag around, unzips it, and pulls out a bottle.
She takes it, gargling and spitting. Then drinks—three gulps.
"Are you alright?" he asks, wiping the water from her lips with his thumb. His gaze is deep with worry.
She nods. "I feel better."
"There's no one else around," he says after scanning. "We need to get inside the underground shelter beneath the church."
She nods. They've changed course from home. This route, Rhett knows, is safer.
At the heart of the wilds, near the woodland entrance, intruders had swarmed—unidentified, armed, merciless.
No citizens remain in sight. Neva prays they've all taken shelter.
Screams of the savages echo across the countryside. Armed with illegal weapons, they strike down anyone in sight. Burn houses. Burn people alive.
Gunfire erupts in the air. Explosions thunder. Crop fields blaze. Blood spills. Livestock falls. Humans slaughtered.
The sulphur stings their nostrils. Gunpowder mixes with blood and dirt.
Terror looms, crawling forward like a collosal, faceless and bloody, filthy monster, ready to devour all.
The horror stiffens Neva's nerves.
Agony shadows the once peaceful countryside of Ziriri.
Cold creeps up her skin. Tears blur her vision.
Rhett squeezes her hand and guides her onward—swift, silent.
Neva touches her belly. Her baby stirs.
Her lips tremble.
Why must the world be so cruel?
Happiness had seemed real—an illusion she could hold.
Reality was almost abandoned, cocooned in love's quiet.
But now, as battle shatters the earth, her softened heart dreads the war.