Chapter 2 – The Proposal

Cyrah’s captivating journey carried her all the way to chapter three when a man’s soothing voice snapped her back to reality. “Hi there, Cyrah. Fancy meeting you here.”

She rolled her eyes, deep blue as the ocean. He approached, and he was the last person she wanted to entertain. “Greetings,” she answered dryly.

He always appeared utterly confused when she addressed him without enthusiasm, and it made her smile. “You picked up another book I see.” Ignorantly, he asked, “When are you going to focus on more important things?”

Swiftly, she countered, “Leon, when are you going to learn that reading is the most important thing in my life?” Her attention returned to the leather bound, inked pages.

He never took the hint. “Wouldn’t you be happier with a rich, handsome, successful man in your life? One that can protect and provide for you?”

Cyrah heard his cocky smirk. The rising anger at his persistent attempts to woo her made concentrating on the fictional story impossible. She looked up at his blonde hair and repulsive steel blue eyes, which clashed with his green tunic that was too tight for his muscular frame. “If only such a man existed. What a shame,” she mocked and finally closed her book. 

“I think you underestimate me,” he replied with his chest puffed out to diffuse his confusion. “In fact, I have a new trophy that will prove my worth, even to you.” Holding out his hand toward Cyrah, he offered, “Care to join me?”

She ignored his kind gesture when she stood of her own strength, and then lifted the book to hold against her torso in her folded arms. He asked her, without fail, at every meeting if she would accompany him to view his trophies in the tavern. While she might have sat in front of the building frequently to read peacefully in the warmth of the sun, rarely did she enter. “I suppose, after all this time, I can reward your patience by accepting.”

Leon held his arm out and she reciprocated, looping her arm into his until her fingers rested on his forearm. He escorted her triumphantly inside. “It is an honor, Cyrah. And, please, call me Leo,” he insisted.

She twisted her head away when she rolled her eyes once more.

The busiest time of day was the evening, when the fires burned warm and bright, like the patron’s bellies after a few drinks. During the day, the only light was the sun drifting in through the sparse windows scattered around the wide open room. Leo snatched a lantern that helped illuminate a table being cleaned, and carried it toward the cold hearth.

Cyrah’s eyes became glued to the preserved heads of deer and boar mounted high on the walls. Whole stuffed birds and ducks covered the open area all around the mantle. Her eyes drifted around the room to find antlers and tusks decorating the tables, chandeliers, and adorned the sign above the door. Leo held the lantern beside a new trophy hanging directly above the charred fireplace. The head was larger than his own, ego included, with soft, rounded ears. The beast’s eyes were deep brown, with fluffy black fur, and a long snout.

“A black bear,” Cyrah gasped.

“Exactly,” Leo announced proudly. Eyes widened in horror, she filled with empathetic pain, but he only gazed adoringly at his prize. “I chased this beast for years and finally ended the hunt last week. It was fun while it lasted, but I was victorious,” he explained smugly, walking toward her with slow strides to add drama to his story. “There I was, loaded crossbow in hand. He stood in the river, patiently waiting for fish to jump high enough to catch with his mouth. He was focused, and his hearing obscured by the rushing water. I closed the distance one step at a time. I aimed, and fired, making a perfect mark through his liver.”

Cyrah’s eyes glistened with tears in the lantern’s dim glow. 

“I chased the bear for miles, until he turned on me in a last attempt to take me down with him. We fought fiercely, but in the end I won. The bear was obviously in pain, so I ended his suffering out of mercy.”

She stared at the black bear’s face, molded into a permanent, terrible snarl that revealed pointy teeth. Breathless, she whispered, “Mercy?”

“Of course,” Leo exclaimed with a grin, a fist propped on his hip. “Quite an exciting story it will make for our children, don’t you agree?”

Dragging her eyes away from the bear’s head, Cyrah looked at the hunter and hesitantly parroted, “Ch-children?”

“Yes, Cyrah. I have been planning the right moment to ask you this, but never a moment seemed as perfect as this.” His hand gestured around the room. “In this tavern, Leo’s tavern, with my trophies, and my most recent kill being prepared to feed the village tonight, I ask you to marry me.”

Cyrah lost her voice. Her mind reeled, and she restrained a cringe. She wondered in what way she was less than obvious about her lack of interest in him. Finding barely enough strength to speak, she asked, “What do you have to offer me?”

Leo’s arrogant laugh filled the empty tavern. “A new life,” he blatantly exclaimed. “You’re alone. You need a man to provide for you, protect you. I need a woman to bear me sons, cook my food, and clean my clothes. Your beauty and my handsome features, we would make perfect children. There’s no reason why we should not be together.”

Tears spilled over and tumbled down her porcelain cheeks. Throat constricted, speaking proved impossible. Her only response was to pivot and rush out of the tavern with her book clutched tight against her chest. Cyrah needed to erase the image of the lifeless animals from her mind. He found such pleasure, such sport, out of hunting those poor animals. Leo did not hunt because he needed to eat. The fact that the tavern could cook more meat because of his desire for the thrill of the hunt was a bonus for him. He killed living beings to prove he was better than everyone else, and for Cyrah, it was sickening.

She ran at full speed until she entered her home and slammed the front door behind her. The book landed with a clop when she tossed it onto the table. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, torn between who the world wanted her to be and who she wanted to be.

The best escape she found to help clear her mind when it was in such disarray was to ride her horse out into the great fields. Before she succumbed to her emotions or submitted to curling up in her bed in a fit of tears, she rushed out the back door. Soon enough, Leo would appear at her cottage to continue their conversation, and she could not face him with such anger coursing through her heart.

A tornado of frustration and anguish tore apart her mind, making her act blindly. Cyrah marched into the stable and mounted her horse without a saddle. The next time she blinked, she was bounding out of the stables and frightening neighbors as she galloped out of town. The sun was warm, and the wind refreshingly cool in contrast. She squeezed her thighs to hold tight to the horse, and cautiously held her arms out to the wind as if she might take flight. Cyrah closed her eyes to disappear from the world and imagined the misty clouds passed through her. At last, she inhaled a breath that she released slowly, and her thoughts calmly descended. She opened her eyes and held on to her horse’s mane.

As delightful as it was to maintain maximum speed to help calm her aggravation, she knew it was thoughtless. When her horse slowed to a trot, she allowed her to stay at a pace she was comfortable with, because Cyrah was not ready to go home. The rhythmic beat of the mare’s hooves was enough to hold on to serenity while she organized her thoughts.

The same thoughts troubled her now that always had. Why was everyone so content to live life according to how they were told? According to the way they always did? Nothing would ever change that way. Nothing would ever be learned or discovered. What made her so odd to want more than simplicity? To be adventurous and make her own path in life? Who was going to tell her she was not allowed to be a musician, or inventor, or a teacher? Why was it so easy to pass judgement on a woman who wanted to be educated, and help others learn to read and write? Instead, everything that brought her happiness made her an outsider.

Cyrah knew exactly who she was but there was no place in the world for someone like her. 

That last solemn thought consumed her mind. She patted her horse’s shoulder so she slowed to a walk, then rested forward against her long neck. “Oh, Maribel, why isn’t there someone out there who can understand me? Who will listen to how I feel, instead of assuming they already know what is best for me?” She stroked the mare’s snowy mane and heaved a heavy sigh. “Perhaps my destiny is to be surrounded by the animals I love, with no intellectual conversation whatsoever. You seem to be the only ones who understand how I suffer.”

As time passed, Cyrah’s imagination sailed her to a new world where she was on a heroic adventure, fighting giants and dragons, saving lives, and people finally appreciated how splendid it was to be unique.

She roused from her daydream when her horse neared the village and wandered into the stable for food. Cyrah thanked her for the ride and entered her home to start dinner. Appetite satisfied, all that remained to end a tough day was curl up in front of the lit hearth and either finish the book she started hours ago, or fall asleep trying. She sat sideways on the feather stuffed chair, her legs hanging over one arm. The book was open to chapter three and she was ready to be swept away on a magical journey.