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Wynne – Finale

Wynne by Mandy Roberts

Wynne couldn’t understand the Order, the Creator, or why her life was such misery. How could a Creator allow a child to suffer? How could this Creator’s Order stop one from giving what a child needed to stop that suffering? How could a Creator watch children suffer through such injustices? She had attempted to understand the Creator, had hoped to be a devout follower. Now, she wasn’t certain such hopes were possible.

The night in the meadows south of Karngard had been filled with fitful slumber. When sleep did come, dreams invaded; the misty visions disappeared as she woke, startled, left only with the confused feelings.

She awoke before dawn. Hunger crowed at her again and she found some greens mixed in the meadow grass. She ate it as she stomped through the waist high grass going to the brook where the Angelique des Champs grew, one of the rarest flowers in the Northland, its pale golden, drooping petals sought for its beauty. Most couldn’t find it, but she had always been fortunate, even out of season. It was simple, really. She rose before others were willing to wake and she knew the flower grew on banks where heavy foliage blocked most of the morning’s sunlight.

She waded into the frigid water, chasing away any remaining drowsiness. Her feet instantly sunk into the stream’s mud. She scanned the water’s edges, not allowing her frustration or hunger steal her concentration. But as the morning turned to midday, she knew that she wouldn’t find the Angelique des Champs. She stood in the water, letting it flow across her ankles, squeezing the mud with her toes. She could walk on dry land, but somehow, she felt it better to fight against the stream’s flow and turned to begin the long walk back to Karngard.

Time slipped by, Wynne scanning to see the fish swimming along the river’s edge. A white heron hunted for fish or frog, until it noticed Wynne nearing and spread its great wings, leaping with its spindly legs and soaring over the trees. Wynne stopped to watch the heron until it reached the horizon and disappeared.

It was then that something else caught her eye, a glint beneath a tree’s roots. She had found many of the prized flowers in such a place, though she couldn’t believe she missed it on her trek downriver. She waded closer, the glint fading to nothing. It was the sun’s light playing a trick on her, she thought, but as she started to ignore the glow, it would do so again, drawing her nearer.

Stuck on the tree’s root, a tin medallion rested. Wynne’s brow creased as she grabbed it. She turned it over. Etched on the surface was a flower. She gasped, the realization slapping her.

A statair.

Her eyes widened further when the medallion given to a Brother Knight of the Order of the Tome radiated light and words that imprinted on her heart.

“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be filled.”

Doing what the statair could not, or at least that was what she was told.

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