Of Ash and Amber: The Last Lyandan Wolf

Yellow daffodils swayed in the basket nestled in Indiya’s arms as she skipped home. Whenever she had free time, she went out to pick new flowers for her mother. The recent rain softened the soil, allowing her to pull flowers without damaging the roots. On her way home, she smiled and waved at passersby. Everyone in Lin village knew one another. Mud splattered across Indiya’s dress with every step. She gasped when her boots suddenly left the ground. Her father’s laughter made her shoulders relax, and a wide smile spread across her face. “What flowers did my princess pick today?” he asked, as he gently lowered her to the ground. “Papa, these are yellow daffodils. I haven’t picked them before, but I really hope Mama likes them,” she replied. Her father knelt to tug off her muddy boots. “I’m sure she will, Iya. Come, let’s go inside and warm you up.” He opened the door and ushered her inside. The smell of mint and woodsmoke welcomed Indiya as she stepped inside. She shrugged off her drenched coat and settled beside the fireplace while her father draped a blanket over her shoulders. The kitchen door swung open, and her mother stepped out, balancing a tray of bowls in one hand and her apron in the other. She smiled warmly at Indiya from across the room, though the tiredness in her eyes was unmistakable. Walking towards the dinner table, she set the tray down and draped her apron over her shoulders. At the center of the table sat a blue patterned vase holding the freshly picked yellow flowers. Indiya’s mother glanced towards her husband seated in his armchair and beamed. Minutes later, Indiya and her parents sat around the table and dug into their food. Indiya smiled as the rich flavors of her mother’s food filled her mouth. A mix of home-grown herbs and spices held a special place in her heart. When dinner was over, Indiya gathered the bowls and carried them to the sink to wash. While washing up, the sound of the front door opening caught her attention. After stacking up the plates, she went to see who had stepped outside. Her father lay on the grass with a carpet beneath him. He was still as jolly as ever, but in quiet moments like this, a sadness settled over his face and his gaze drifted into the distance. Over the years, Indiya had noticed a strange pattern in the village. Whenever autumn approached, the whole village would begin to empty. Her parents would pack their bags and travel with their horses to her aunt's village. After a few weeks had passed, they would return home. She had asked why once, but the reply had been a speech telling her not to worry which quelled her curiosity. But today, seeing her father lying beneath the starry sky with a sadness on his face, she felt the need to know. She walked towards the carpet and sat beside her father, tucking her dress beneath her knees. “What worries you Papa? And don’t lie to me. I’m not a child that you can deceive anymore. Every time autumn approaches, you become quieter and the whole village empties. Why is that?” she asked, concern evident in her eyes. A gentle laugh escaped her father as he sat up. “You’ve always been too observant for your own good, Iya,” he said, staring into the sky as the softness in his features faded beneath the moonlight. He ran his fingers through his hair and let out a loud sigh. “Our people didn’t always have refuge here, Iya.” There was a time when the upper ranks made life difficult for those beneath them. It eventually led to a rebellion. Many died, and the survivors fled until they found this place. He paused, his gaze fixed on the sky. “But a few years ago, they found us again. They came for our people.” “When?” Indiya asked. “Around Autumn. The river drops low enough for them to cross easily. That’s why we leave before the season begins and stay with your aunt.” Silence settled between them, broken only by the crickets chirping in the night. Indiya twirled a strand of her ashen hair in her finger, her brows drawing together. “Your mother and I wanted to tell you sooner,” he added gently. “We thought you were safer not knowing.” Tears pricked at Indiya’s eyes, her jaw tightening as her fists curled in her lap. For years, she had wanted to explore beyond Lin, to discover what existed outside the village she had always known. Whenever she asked about the world beyond, her parents told her there was nothing but endless grassland and her aunt's distant village. For the first time, Indiya wondered what else they had kept from her. “We only wanted to protect you, Iya,” her father said, reaching for her hands. She snatched them away, her brows drawn tight. A dry smile tugged at her lips before she turned and walked back to the house, slamming the door behind her. She rushed into her room and threw herself onto the bed. Her shoulders shook as she buried her face in her pillow, sobbing. Strands of ashen hair stuck to her tear-dampened cheeks while the cold breeze from her open window brushed against her skin as she slowly drifted off to sleep. A sudden burn seared through Indiya’s chest, jerking her awake. Smoke filled her room, the walls flickering orange in the firelight. The acrid smell of burning thatch and wood filled her lungs, making every last bit of sleep disappear. She sprang from her bed and ran to her parents’ room, but it was empty. She screamed their names, yanked open the front door and stumbled outside. Men in uniforms stormed through the village, swords in hand. Buildings and patches of grassland burned around her. Villagers were dragged across the ground, their wrists bound in chains. “Iya run!” Indiya heard from behind her. She spun around, and hot blood splattered across her face.