Heirlooms & History
Ynga shoved the dagger behind the cupboard. She opened a draw, rifled through it and then slammed it shut. The dagger remained where she’d placed it. That offered a moment of relief, but she knew she couldn’t be found with it. No one could be found with anything carrying the old runes.
Even something as innocuous as her little knife and its guard could lead to charges of witchcraft. Or so the posters proclaimed. An odd idea given they were written in their own script, and Ynga couldn’t figure out why they lacked any less power than the runes.
Not that she’d even seen the runes do what the authorities claimed. They were hunting for users all the same. And almost overnight the temple had plastered over its old works. Ynga’s grandmother said it was a shame to hide such things. Her grandfather said it was to protect them.
Ynga wasn’t sure what was happening as she went about straightening her room. Just not too much. She wanted it looked lived in. Not a hard thing for a space this size, it really only fit her single bed, her wardrobe and a wash stand.
She poured some water into the chipped basin and splashed it on her face. Calm, she had to remain calm. The knife was hidden and no one would take it from her. But she’d have to find a better place for it soon. She’d also have to get the tub replaced or repaired soon. The chips and cracks in the enamel weren’t good for the metal underneath.
Today’s art is courtesy of Yura Gorbatenko from Minsk, Belarus.