Gypsy hearts

“Daddy, why is today so different?"

"Today, my child, we celebrate our liberation.The day our nation was freed from the shackles of tyranny, from the grip of a ruthless emperor who sought to crush our spirits."

"What's lib-er-ta-tion?"

"It means being free, my dear, Free to live, to dream, to soar on the wings of our own destiny. Free from the bondage of tyranny, of oppression, of darkness."

"She's too inquisitive for her age,Perhaps it's time we began her lessons."

“Haha Our daughter might be a genius."

"Mom, look! I can draw lines now!"

"See, my dear Hilda, I told you our daughter is a prodigy!"

"Theo, how many times must I remind you to wash your hands before eating?"

"Oh, Hilda, must you always scold me? Can't you see I'm trying to nurture young minds”

"Nurture young minds, indeed! First, learn to nurture your own habits, Theo,"

Pffft hah ha ha ha waaaah sob…sob..sob…hic ..hic

Who is cry?

She felt it in her very marrow. The cries were hers, though her throat remained frozen, locked in a soundless scream of the unfathomable grief.

The sobs continued, an eerie, ethereal chorus, echoing through the void within her.

"Madam, ma-daaam, we've arrived," the coachman's urgent voice pierced the stillness, shattering Dahlia's fitful slumber and she stood up with a jerk.

As she stirred, a droplet of dew rolled down her cheek, carried by the crisp morning breeze that swept through the open window. The stark light of dawn illuminated the rugged landscape, and Dahlia's heart sank.

"Ah, dear heavens," she whispered, her gaze falling upon the obstacle-strewn path. Boulders, some as large as the carriage itself, blocked their way, casting long shadows across the deserted road.

"Madam, I fear we can go no further," the coachman announced gravely, his eyes scanning the horizon as if searching for signs of danger. "The landslide has made the road impassable. If fortune smiles upon us, we might find soldiers patrolling the area, but I dare not venture further."

Dahlia's resolve hardened, her voice steady. "I appreciate your concern, good sir, but I must press on. Please, assist me with my luggage."

As the coachman hesitated, Dahlia's gaze swept across the panoramic vista unfolding before her. The hillside, once a gentle slope, now resembled a shattered titan, its verdant cloak torn asunder by the tempest's fury. The air vibrated with an eerie silence, punctuated only by the distant call of a lone bird.

With a deep breath, Dahlia stepped down from the carriage, her footfalls echoing through the stillness. The dry wind whipped her hair into a frenzy as she faced the uncertain journey ahead, her heart pounding in her chest.

"Thank you, kind coachman," she said, shouldering her luggage.

The coachman's eyes lingered on hers, filled with a mix of concern. "May the road rise up to meet you, madam. May the wind be at your back."

Dahlia's feet seemed rooted to the spot, her resolve wavering like a flame in the wind. She took a tentative step towards the edge, then retreated, her heart recoiling from the abyss ahead.

"No," she whispered to herself, the word lost in the buffeting gusts. "I can't do this to myself. Not without knowing the truth." Her thoughts swirled, a maelstrom of doubts and fears. "Jo... dear Jo. How can I face her without certainty?"

Just as Dahlia's courage began to falter, a voice pierced the howling wind, its urgency slicing through her turmoil.

"Lady, beware! You're standing perilously close to the edge. One misstep, and..."

Dahlia spun around, her long hair whipping about her face. A rugged figure emerged from the shadows, his features chiseled by the wind and sun. His piercing black eyes locked onto hers, filled with a mix of warning and concern.

"You must be Miss Emma, right?" he asked, his deep voice steady.

Dahlia's mind reeled, her thoughts a jumbled mix of desperation saw it as a way to reach the other side of the hill.

"I'm here to lead the way," he continued, his gaze holding hers. "May I take your luggage?"

"No sir, I'm not the one you are here for but I must reach the town ,no matter the cost. I'd be grateful if you could help me in any way possible. "

He nodded and Dahlia followed him, the silence between them grew thicker than the fog shrouding the hillside.

"Sir," she asked, her voice low and urgent, "do you know someone by the name Kayden Bruttin?"

The stranger's stride faltered, his eyes darting toward hers. For an instant, Dahlia saw a flicker of something - recognition, wariness, or perhaps both.

"I can lead you to him," he said finally.

As they descended into the valley, the darkness receded, revealing a cluster of tents aglow with warm, golden light. The man led Dahlia to the largest tent, its entrance flapped open like an inviting wing.

A voice boomed from within, echoing off the canvas walls. "How much longer until we resume the search? Every minute counts! We can't afford to lose those still clinging to life."

Dahlia's heart skipped a beat as she recognized the voice.

A protesting murmur rose from another voice, "But sir, the rocks are treacherous, and—"

The man leading Dahlia intervened, his voice calm and measured. "Kayden, this fair lady wished to meet you."

The tent's interior fell silent, as if the very air was charged with anticipation.

Kayden emerged from the shadows, his piercing gaze locking onto Dahlia's. "I knew you'd come, despite my warnings. Why must you be so stubborn?" His voice was laced with a mix of frustration and concern.

Dahlia's eyes blazed with determination, her voice trembling. "Why shouldn't I have come? I need to see them." Tears welled up, but anger fueled her resolve.

Kayden's expression softened, his eyes betraying a glimmer of empathy. "We're trying to find them, Dahlia."

Dahlia's jaw set, her words barely above a whisper. "I'm not leaving until I know the truth.”

The air inside the tent vibrated with tension, the outcome hanging precariously in the balance.