Track playing: MATI
- Mallias

The sun peeked at the valley of Dun Broch from behind the shoulders of the snowy northern mountains. And from this cleavage rose the much worshipped River Hwan. The Hwan was known as the river of prosperity, the being of holy persona, the river so clear you could see the fish beneath. But just like the land, the river too had a history, a history which led to a stronger belief in its worship. It ran all the way from the further ice-capped Mayouri mountains to the south, en route the eastern hills of Endora, moisturising the atmosphere and nourishing the soils, which further nourished the people and animals of all the five kingdoms of Higawa.

That particular morning dawned calm. Cold breezes were accompanied by aesthetic sunrays of early morning. The trees swayed in a gentle dance, greeting the women who walked in groups of four-five and at times seven, gossiping about what went around daily: the usual fights among couples, young love blossoming, the distress of damsels over lads, how their children and husbands were a nuisance at home.

To look after the home is a woman's duty they said. The "they" never knew a woman their whole lives this woman guessed. To paint such a portrait of a woman, one needed a high bouts of imagination. Almost utopian at that. Those "they" were a subject of common joke and ridicule among these models, who the artist failed to picturise.

Occasionally, excited women would step in front, hitching the pot they carried on the swell of their hip and forbid the group to walk any further in order to direct their attention and let out the funny piece to the gossip in progress. And then the rest would laugh themselves silly until one reminded that they had a prior engagement to attend to. This jolly engagement throughout the journey caused them to lost track of time often, resulting in havoc filled day as they raced to complete one task after others.

That was the most woman of Dun Broch, except one. She was the "Belle" of the town not in terms of features but in terms of aura. That is a strange one, I tell you. This one-woman managed to be the centre of most gossips. And as it was, gossips lead to rumours, rumours lead to a certain picture in the mind and this certain picture is exactly how we perceive the person. Our actions are people specific.

Our thoughts, not much you to say, only that they depend on the kind of person one is. And this tale is not a lie, not for liars and so it is only meaningful if the truth is present. No person ever born was good enough, there's been no war that hadn't seen blood and there was certainly never a miracle without a sacrifice. In order to have what is desired, we must lose what would have otherwise been of value to others.

Young women, new to womanhood were mostly driven by what was bodily fluids. The rush of energy. Blood rush. Desire and nothing else. Uncontrollable desire. Jealousy. So easy to spell out. So hard to get rid of. And once you've had a taste you certainly can't stop yourself from having another. So down they went that path. Rumours are not just born out of certain accounts. They have to be fed into the minds, day after day.

And this was exactly how it was in Maybelle's case. The 'wild-haired girl' one would recognise her, if not by name. The 'not-so-beautiful' damsel born in a family of Millers. Maybelle Audrey Miller.

'So yesterday, I stroll by the outskirts of the FORBIDDEN, and yes I say forbidden and what do I see? Maybelle and another young traveller, again!'

There were exactly three reaction categories by now since this had sort of become a morning routine now. Number one: The aged ladies who would desperately mock and chant 'God' over and over asking for his forgiveness. Looking up in the sky to him. Precisely, they wanted forgiveness for her sins. These ladies, a few of whom had been even more daring during their days. As if the sins of one's own sins were never enough. The rough opinion here is that hell is one hell of place where these ladies seemed to have acquired a stake. A reservation in the name of holy heaven with a seal of the one and only: hell.

Number two: The young women who would snicker, smirk or add fuel to fire. Oh, wasn't it two men? I heard so. And then they would watch. They'd meet eyes knowing inside that whatever the other said may or may not have been true. This was a small town, everyone knew each other. These girls had been friends since in diapers. Maybelle here was a different story.

Number three: The younger girls wondered whether to look up to her or do what their mother's or sisters would do. They had read stories with a Prince Charming in them who'd discover his love eventually. But each of the female counterparts was adventurous enough, their simple reason to set her up as their role model. Only when they grow would they discover the dirt that was being thrown or not.

Several birds flew over the groups as they talked, cawing. Maybe to these birds, these talks were similar to the sounds their senses allowed them to emit. The landscape from this point looked, and the only word appropriate i.e marvellous. It was so picturesque that it belonged on canvas, on frames where people could admire them. But such a view, with houses of the town placed near each other as a set a six was separated with by-lanes joining the junction of wider roads all of which were levelled mud, was not only difficult to imagine, even when approached would be a hap-hazard. Not humans were entitled to everything. If they owned land, the birds owned the sky.

The birds had games of their own, changing sides as they passed a consecutive house whose chimney puffed grey smoke to relieving on a poor lad who had been trying to impress young maidens. Some thought it a lucky sign, but only the birds remembered their previous menu.

Maybelle. Mystery Maybelle. The girl who would talk only with a few. The girl with rosy lips, round hazel eyes but thin lips and wild hair. She was tall according to herself but not very tall according to the boys after they'd told her she'd better accept the truth of her troll origins. One reason why most rumours featured a traveller and not a villager.

She was beautiful at the same time not so beautiful. Her skin wasn't usual around here, it was a darker shade than the others adding to the superior egos of a few. Her father had migrated here with her mother who happened to be of Mesopotamian origin. Some felt disgusted. Disgusted because they failed to recognise the unfamiliar feeling. The feeling of diversity. Colour, they didn't know what it was meant for.

*
Track playing: Progressive Progress
Howard Harper Barnes

' Haggerty! Come on. You promised four.'

" You better take what I give you a girl or you take nothin' and your family starves. Not that it would make a difference." Haggerty emphasised with her hands on her hips.

Haggerty, one of the two baker families in the town. A stout, short and argue some woman. She was middle-aged, probably forty. Argumentative since birth, known for injuring her mother who fed her forcibly as her child wouldn't eat. Also, she had never lost an argument or given away anything she didn't want to. But today, the girl in front, no the stupid girl in front was testing her nerves. And she sure was dense, that wee little girl who happened to be three inches taller giving her the advantage of height. But not superiority in the issue.

People stopped for a moment or two and then left. They were busy. It was still early morning but they had to set about their business for the day. Every customer was important. Not applicable to Haggerty, of course. Mostly nobody stayed because it was Haggerty and nobody cared unless it was close kin.

Maybelle rubbed her sweaty right palm on her ragged apron as she shifted the basket she was carrying to the left hand, rubbing the sweat off her brow in the the the the the cue. Unlike novels which failed to describe this part, she sighed, standing and fighting for your pay in the middle of a busy market where you were constantly pushed by someone with a flat basket on the head or a cart puller wasn't exactly enchanting.

She had had enough now. The last end of her patience had already dissipated off as sweat.

'You bread snatcher! Unethical woman! The deal was two medium-sized sacks of freshly milled flour for four loaves of fresh brown bread. And you said it yourself. Come on now, I have other chores to complete.'

She started off slow, meant for it to be that way but by the end, she was shouting holding her skirt to keep her hands to herself. She could only imagine the consequences if the skirt didn't exist.

Haggerty, all sagged up in a eat, hunched for a moment only to stand chest to face with the taller girl. She smirked, sweat rolling off everywhere where skin peeked from. Maybelle was disgusted enough for the day. And at that moment she made an important decision, she would head straight to the cut off near the hill to take a bath later, again.

'Miss Maybelle'

She recognised the voice, so did Haggerty and all the others. The women separated. Maybelle wiped the sweat off immediately and turned around in a hurried motion dropping the basket from her hands in the process. Her nose flared and cheeks turned red. She looked up to the owner of the melodious voice.

There he sat, in all his glory, on his horse. The majestic aura he radiated, that straight posture made it even more dignified. Dressed in a linen shirt with the top buttons undone to reveal a very unique looking pendant around his neck. It complementededis pale skin. A brown velvet waist jacket to protect him from the cold. The belt at his waist accentuated his perfect shoulder to waist proportions which were still on the path of distinction. He was in his late teens but still managed to look a ravishing man. Like father like son.

Their future king, the heir. Kim Seok Jin of Dun Broch. The firstborn of the Kim's. They knew he would become a virtuous ruler just like his father. He had the same fierce brown eyes that his father and prior his grandfather had carried upon their perfectly sculpted faces.

His appearance in the town market was an unusual account. Everyone had thus stopped, to admire his ethereal beauty. Girls squealed as his shiny chestnut hair swayed with the wind. Unlike many lads his age, he had decided to keep his hair short. Another perfect decision.

Maybelle was done picking her basket. She looked up to him again, tucking a strand of her wild hair behind her ear. Their eyes met and he smiled warmly. Maybelle shot her eyes down, face growing redder by the second. After all, he was a prince, a handsome one at that, and she was just some random girl. But why did he come all the way to town just to embarrass her in front of people who already disliked her?

' Is there anything I can help you with?' And there were those murmurs again. What exactly does she think she is doing talking to the prince in that tone!

Seokjin picked up on the tense atmosphere. An just like an angel of the lord that he is coming to Maybelle's rescue.

Maybelle watched as he extended his hand towards her, a dashing smile that made her knees wobble stretched on his face. She was confused for a moment and the audience was caught in a frenzy. Seokjin raised his brown eyebrows to emphasise the hand he had extended as she watched, scrutinized.

'Ride with me? I was looking for someone who could help me find my sister. And I thought you might be happy to help.', spoke Seokjin in his silvery voice. His mouth formed a smile again after he had finished his sentence. Maybelle and all the others admired his soft-spoken and kind behaviour. The boy had ethics and he knew how to respect elders. What more could one ask for?

Maybelle closed her gaping mouth. Watching such a beautiful boy speak to her and only her, paying attention to none other than her, What a dream she wondered. She smiled looked up to him through her lashes.

'I can definitely help you with that, prince.' Charming. She spoke the last part in the depths of her mind. For the first time, someone was being so polite with her and to ruin it the next moment, she couldn't afford that.

'Call me, Seokjin. We're almost the same age.' He grasped her hand and helped her climb up on the saddle etched on the back of his horse, between its neck and him, legs on one side. Grasping the whip he flung it forward and the horse began walking at a slow but rather steady pace.

All the others watched flabbergasted. And thus, Maybelle managed to be the centre of attention once again.

*
Track playing: Heavy words we're holding
- Trevor Kowalski

Not that she minded it like this. The horse had picked up its pace and now ran parallel to banks of the Hwan. A cold wind blew in her face, hair flying in every direction as she tried, again and again, to gather it in one hand. The basket was still in her other hand, she remembered. Horror grew in her as she realised she was holding onto nothing, the position in which she sat made her susceptible to fall. She made throaty cries as she had developed a habit of them: shouting in her throat with her mouth closed at low volumes. No amount of attempts to regain position were of help, she kept slipping.

One final jerk and she would fall. She was tongue-tied at her embarrassing feat. She felt shy to ask for help. But what could she do? Looking at him made her tongue-tied for her heart would jump out if she ever tried to speak.

Seokjin looked forward enjoying the winds and the thrill of the ride. He inhaled the smell of wet mud which seemed refreshing to him and then he looked at the girl who sat pressed to him just seconds ago.

Maybelle closed her eyes. A strong arm made it's across her waist, pulling her up and close to his body. She let out a puff of breath but froze the next second. She looked at the arm and up to him. She grew stiff as she felt his hard chest behind her. She was almost a rock.

'You should sit tight dear or you may fall." Seokjin chuckled and shook his head at the shy girl. He waited for a reply but she kept looking down to where his hand was. 'Um, Maybelle, you still haven't told me where the kids are playing today.'

Right, she thought. She was here in this position for a reason. Kids. "Uh, they are playing just across the river today, I think. I'll take you there, sorry."

They diverted their journey to the right towards the bridge which led across the river. Seokjin plopped to his feet, sliding one across the horse and then helped her down. Maybelle almost let out a whimper as she felt him hold her waist and gently letting it go as soon as she was down.

Something was severely wrong with her, she scolded herself. She led him into the woods. They walked in complete silence until they reached a small patch which had been cleared a few years ago. The children loved to play hide and seek here. Their favourite spot was behind the big rock which stood at the rightmost end of the patch.

'Thank you, for bringing me here. I'll find her myself now. You may go.' Seokjin bowed lightly. Royal mannerism, she thought. She had not felt this nice and at least a bit comfortable with any of the folks from the village in years. But Seokjin was different. In any other case, she would ask to meet next time and have a friendly chat. But he was a prince and she was pretty sure he already had a lot in his plate and another brown girl wouldn't matter. So she left with a goodbye.