Free The Prophet's Daughter by Kilayla Pilon Page A

weight began to move off of me, the warmth of his body gone in an instant – and I was glad to be rid of it.
    “Oh, God,” I groaned, pushing away from the corpse of t he older man as Isaac pushed him off of me with his foot. Three bullet sized holes, a dribble of blood accompanying each one, protruded from the side of Seth’s head, patterned in a slight triangle. I turned away; my throat and chest constricting as I felt the urge to vomit overwhelm me.
    Isaac stood above me, the gun trembling in his tensed, beat red hands. Tears streamed down his cheeks, but he didn’t make a sound and instead he just stared with his empty green gaze locked on the limp body of his father. Th under rumbled in the distance.
    “Isaac,” I croaked, wracking my brain for any words I could use, but nothing came and I stood staring at him, mouth open and no sound coming out.
    “Don’t. Just, just don’t,” he breathed, raising his hand as he spoke, throwing the gun to the ground and storming off. Thunder rumbled, accompanied by a clash of bright lightening. I hadn’t been paying attention to the weather much or seen the approaching gray clouds that hovered above us then. We needed to figure out what the plan was – keep going or wait out the storm. I watched as Isaac disappeared into the trees and sighed, placing my head into my hands.
    Leave him, talk to him later. I doubted he would want to talk about the next, anyway. He would still be hoping his father would walk up behind him, alive and healthy; it would be like that for days. He would be pinching himself, begging to wake up from the nightmare he was living. He needed time and I couldn’t help him until he was ready to move on.
    I crawled back to the tent, gree ted by Jumper within moments of my arrival. The small tabby kitten purred in greeting, rubbing against my legs and crawling onto my stomach as I lay down, running my fingers through his fur. We stayed there for the next few hours, peering outside the tent and watching as the rain poured, turning the dirt around to mud.
    “Hope it doesn’t get in here, hey buddy?” I murmured, picking up Jumper and rubbing his head, pressing my face against his fur. It’d be hard to get the cart out of the forest with all the mud , and that was just assuming it didn’t sink into the mud. I leaned back against the bed and closed my eyes, listening to the wind howling outside along with the pattering of the rain. Isaac still hadn’t returned and my stomach seemed to twist with fear every few minutes.
    It wasn’t longer later that the rain had soothed me back to sleep. By the time I woke, it didn’t appear to be raining anymore – the pattering of the rain no longer echoed throughout the tent.
    I peered out of the tent, looking up to see the clouds were a paler gray and a few small sections had broken to reveal bright blue sky. The sun, however, was still hidden from view and the wind continued to howl, trees creaking and groaning at the movement. Isaac was nowhere to be seen, but his tent was zipped up and swaying in the wind.
    I pushed out of my tent, dragging myself out with Jumper clinging to my arms and testing the ground – it was moist and the ground shifted beneath my feet.  I shuddered, taking small steps towards his tent, and stood a few steps away from the entrance. He didn’t want to be disturbed, I figured, but we had to talk – we had to decide on what to do next. That was what kept my mind off my parents – where to head next, what to do, and perhaps it would help him keep his mind off of his father.
    “Isaac,” I called, waiting. No answer. “Isaac?”
    “What do you want, Arin?” Isaac grumbled from inside, his voice low and hard to make out. I had a feeling he’d been crying, not that he would ever admit it.
    “We need to talk,” I said, trying to keep my voice monotone.  I didn’t want to order him around, I didn’t want him thinking I didn’t care – but we couldn’t stay there, not with winter on