Sacrifice

As the sun set, dropping slowly into the ragged outline of the far forest, Anuinel prepared herself for the long wait. Tonight she would not sleep, she would prepare herself for the coming sunrise in the way that her mother had done before her and her grandmother had done in her time.

The night slipped by, the occasional wolf cry echoing through the valley.

Aerrius would be awake as she was, awaiting the rising sun with the same anticipation as she.

It was a great honor to take the wishes of the tribe on the long journey to the Gods Anuinel and Aerrius had been chosen for this great honor many seasons ago. They had known they were the chosen since that time, and had grown close with the shared knowledge.

Soon it would be time to drink the potion. She would drink it knowing that it would be the last thing that would pass her lips in this life. The potion would dim her senses so that she would not fear the high priest when he come to take her to the red alter set amidst the blue stones. The moon rose above the mound that dominated the view through the small opening in the wall of her dark sleeping area. Last night she had slept, tonight she stood before the window embracing her last night in this world. She wondered what Aerrius was thinking as he watched the moon rise above the Sacred mound, did he fear the dawn as she did? Had her mother feared the dawn as she stood in this room all those years ago, waiting for the high priest to come for her, to lead her to the red stone? 
Would she recognize Aerrius after taking the potion?
She longed to look upon his face just once more before they began their journey.

All through the spring and into summer they had prepared together for this one day. The tribe had been generous to them both and they had wanted for nothing since the return of the sun after the dark time. It was the way of things. They were honored by the tribe in the time between the dark and the long days. Now it was time to pay back the people for their generosity.

They would go to the Gods together in the hope that their willingness to make the journey would grant the tribe a full harvest, a harvest to last once again through the dark times until the sun returned once more.

Over the Sacred mound a slight graying in the darkness seemed to magnify the sighting stone so that it appeared to hover in the sky above the crown of the mound. The dawn mist spread magical tendrils through the low bushes, along the bare trackways, down the hill, always downward, down to the village, coming down from the mound for them.

A solitary cock crowed in the village. Dogs barked in reply.

The first voice of the dawn came drifting down on the mist, the voice of the high priest, chanting, praying. The sound of iron on stone, Anuinel prayed that his blade would be sharp and true. He would be coming soon with the potion.

She turned and faced the doorway, closed over with thick furs against the night.

She stood high and proud, eyes wild with a mixture of fear and pride.

The furs in the doorway swung roughly aside. A tall figure stood in the entranceway.

Anuinel took the offered bowl and lifting it to her lips, drank deeply.