Unnamed Journal Volume 3, Issue 2 - Page 18

And then she heard a voice behind her. "We're glad you're unharmed." She was surprised by this voice, but not unnerved. The voice was friendly, even in a cool, brittle way, motherly. She turned in the hammock and saw behind her a small woman in a dark cloak, with a soft smile on a pale face. "Who are you?" "One who helps those in your position." "And what is my position?" The woman merely smiled. "If I told you, you would not understand. They never understand at first." "I might understand." "You will. In time." "When I'm older," she said with a scowl. "Perhaps sooner than that." She felt the time slide and... The girl was running from the Tusk men when one of them hit her with the bone handle of his flint knife. He didn't hit her with the blade, which she knew instantaneously from the fact that the pain was dull and she did not scream. Her mother had screamed when they stabbed her, and her brother had, too. She had not seen her father die, but she had seen his body when she ran out of the house in the light of the early dawn. At that point the sight of his corpse neither added to nor detracted from her shock or her horror. It had become simply a fact. Father had always warned them to stay away from the shore in the dawn hours. Tusk men, like sharks, owned those twilight times. Tusk men of the Jaw, which sat like the blade of an axe just beyond the horizon. Tusk men who wore cruel masks but who's true hideous butchered faces were ritualistically carved to please