Kincaid walked into the forest, the more she walked the more she got scared. She should stay and rest on one of these trees; after all it was the wish of the whole tribe to see her dead.
She did not harm anyone, it wasn’t even intentional but how could she have known that the place she went to cut firewood was their sacred place. Where she came from, people had houses built for place of worship. Instead, the open land with a few trees was their sanctuary. She would never desecrate their sanctuary! Yes, that was the exact words the Chief used.
As they condemned her to exile, she could only wonder. What or who have they been worshipping? Some gods? Nature herself? Mother Earth?
Praying for help, hoping she won’t meet any wild animals, the rains started. She ran as the rain blocked her vision. Soaked to the skin, the rain stopped and then she sat at bottom of a tree, weary to the bones.
Please let me die.
The prince of the neighboring village who had been on the top of the tree saw her, waited for her to fall asleep and then carried her to his home. She was a strange one. She had body covered with some strange material. He shook his head and wondered why she was so foolish to walk in the rain.
Kincaid did not wake, for three days. She had a fever and the prince had the royal herbalist tend to her. She had dreams of a people whose language she did not understand, who wore sheepskins and who were primitive in every way. When she finally opened her eyes, the prince spoke kindly to her but that was all she could read. His language was unknown to her.
“Thank you for taking good care of me,” she said trying to stand.
The prince was immediately by her side, pushing her gently back to rest on the mat.
Kincaid smiled. Life was just a lot of twist. She could only hope she will live to tell the story someday. A great adventure to tell children.
© Deborah Glover, 2016