Blood Mates

The Prophecy Marches On

The shaman watched the sun set with a grim look. Sitting in her rocking chair knitting a blanket, she waited and then like clockwork her son walked in as expected. “Hey ma.” Davon said kissing her head. Lora nodded her head at her son, sitting in her robe, her long black braid decoratively hanging down her spine.

Lora didn’t look up from her knitting as she asked, “Don’t you have a visitor coming?” Davon stopped in the kitchen as he grabbed a cookie and then looked at Lora, “No ma’am. Not from my knowledge.” Lora hummed, “Really?”

Davon sighed, “You trying to tell me something?” Lora smirked a little as her golden skin seemed to glow in the sunset’s hue. “No. I was just curious. I wouldn’t want to say someone’s coming and they not show.”

Davon frowned at his mother’s pettiness but decided to skirt around it. But after talking with his mother for almost an hour and getting basically nothing but cryptic warnings and smug glances, Davon called it.

But as he was walking out, Lora told him two things, “You should tell those young ones that follow you…not to be so quick to judge.” Davon looked at his mother confused as she smirked yet again, “And you should check on that beautiful wife of yours. She’s starting to doubt.”

Stiffening at the mention of Yasmine, Davon started to say something when his mother stood suddenly and shuffled off. Leaving him to watch as the sun began to finally drop. It was so bright on the horizon it looked white, and as it sunk into the orange and red back drop it seemed to bleed the same color.

As his mother’s loud grandfather clock stuck seven, it let out an ominous gong trilled throughout the reservation.