Hawk
Hawk stalks through the forest like the predator he was named after.
He needs air.
Space.
Solitude.
The Proving was the most difficult week of his life, except not for the reason it was supposed to be. The tests themselves weren’t too bad. Nothing like what took place in years gone by.
Knowing that if he fails, he can come back and try again next year took off a lot of the pressure. Knowing he’s going to keep his fingers and his fertility helped, too.
And nobody died.
Compared to what his mother experienced when she was sixteen, these tests were easy.
Hawk breaks through the trees and sighs as he steps onto the soft sand of the wide stretch of beach.
Breathing in the freshness of the open air, he feels it clearing his mind, wiping away the constant chatter he’s had to listen to all week with his peers speculating how they scored on their tests.
He couldn’t care less how he scored. Because despite his parents’ hopes for him, he doesn’t want to be tied down as a leader of Askala.
It’s not what he was born to do. It’s not in his blood.
Walking across the sand, Hawk heads for the bridge, relieved to see he’s alone. As much as he can find living inside his conflicted mind difficult, his own company is the thing he’s been craving most this week.
This is the reason he’s been struggling with the Proving. It’s the people. Eight participants all living on top of each other in the Proving Centre. It’s worse than being at home with his parents and five younger sisters. At least his sisters leave him alone occasionally. If he passes the tests, his father will build him his own hut. Which is one positive, he supposes.
No matter how he feels about it, all will be revealed tomorrow at the Announcement. He can’t wait to get it over with.
Hawk strides out onto the timber bridge, feeling the boards groan under the strain of his weight. He’s always been larger than his peers. Taller. Broader. With hands and feet that took years for him to grow into. He’s even bigger than his father now, which means his size alone has added a whole new layer of pressure to his future. Surely, his strength should be used for something?
Continuing to take long steps, he eventually reaches the end of the bridge. It’s a stupid name for this structure, really. It’s more of a jetty than a bridge, given it doesn’t go anywhere.
He sits down on the end and dangles his feet over the edge. Looking out to the ocean, he imagines how this bridge might have looked if it had been finished. It would’ve been so much more than just a symbol of peace between Askala and the Outlands.
It would have been an escape.
Just knowing he could leave whenever he wanted to would have helped so much over the years, even if he never used it. Living in Askala can be suffocating.
His father had described how impossible the task of finishing the bridge had become. Especially with the half that’d started in the Outlands. A new section would be built, only to be looted the following night, with the timber planks used for firewood or shelters.
Crazy, really. The Outlanders had so much more to gain from that bridge than the Askalans, yet they were the ones who ultimately caused the project to come to a halt.
The sound of footsteps behind Hawk has disappointment building in his gut. He should have put a sign on his back asking everyone to leave him alone.
He doesn’t turn, listening instead, as he tries to figure out who it might be. He learned as a young child how much he could discover when he stays quiet.
The footsteps are familiar. Female. Someone with a light frame.
Please, don’t let it be his cousin Mercy. As much as he loves her, he’s not in the mood for her enthusiasm right now.
It could be his mom, although if that were the case there’d be several other smaller footsteps beside her.
It’s not his aunt, Wren. She walks in silence.
And it’s too late in the day for it to be his grandmother, Avis. She’ll be tucked up in her hut giggling with Thea over something that happened during the day.
Hawk’s heart stills as the footsteps become more familiar.
They’re the one set of footsteps he’s never objected to…
He runs a hand through his tangle of deep red curls, wishing he’d thought to smooth them down before he came out here.
Keeping his gaze on the ocean, he folds his hands in his lap and waits, acknowledging that the owner of those footsteps is also the owner of his heart. Not that she knows this. It would take the right words to tell her and he’s never been good with words.
She sits beside him, resting her head on his shoulder and swinging her legs back and forth, safe in the knowledge she’s nowhere close to the hungry sea that rages beneath them.
Sam.
He doesn’t say her name with his lips, but the sound of it is imprinted on his soul.
Sam.
The girl who knows better than to say hello to him. Or ask him how he is or what he’s doing out here. She only speaks when she has something to say. She never fills the air with empty words.
And this is just one of the reasons why he loves her.
She clears her throat. “If ocean levels are receding, most likely due to icecaps reforming somewhere out there, then why is the ocean becoming less acidic? Wouldn’t less water mean a higher concentration of acid?”
He smiles, amused that she thinks he’d know the answer to such a question.
“Maybe the icecaps are sucking up all the acid,” she says, lifting her head from his shoulder and leaving a cold empty space. “Maybe they’re acidcaps, not icecaps.”
He raises his eyebrows and turns to look at her.
“That was a joke,” she says. “It’s because the carbon levels are reducing in the ocean, slowly dissipating back into the atmosphere.”
“Oh.” He turns away, hoping she doesn’t see the flush that’s sure to be creeping up his neck. He’s never sure when she’s joking. Possibly because her jokes aren’t usually funny. Or perhaps he’s just not clever enough to understand them.
They watch as the sun inches its way toward the ocean and he can’t help but notice the way the light catches in her dark hair, making it look like there are golden threads weaving their way through.
“I know you don’t want to pass,” she says, keeping her gaze forward.
He feels his heart skip a beat. He hasn’t told anybody how he feels about the Proving. Not even Sam. Everyone wants to pass.
“If you pass, you’ll have to stay here.” She shuffles a little closer until her thigh is pressed against his.
He swallows, wishing she knew what effect she has on him. “Here is good.”
Which is exactly the problem. Here is good. Anywhere next to Sam is good. But the question is, is it enough? Because being here means not being…there. And no matter how much he’s fought it all his life, he knows he was born to explore. To help the people out there in the same way Askala helped his father all those years ago. Something that’s difficult to do when he’s spent all his days on an island he knows every square inch of.
But there’s also a problem with being there. And it’s that Sam is here. She’ll always be here. Her bloodline dictates that. She’s been born from a long line of leaders of Askala and he knows that’s exactly what she intends to do with her life.