The Consequence of Love

Otzi climbed. Not knowing where he was going or how far he’d have to go he climbed. Snow and ice crunched under foot. The image of Rai came unbidden to his mind, her blonde hair and blue eyes, always engulfed in the aroma of chestnuts. Pain shattered the memory. He held his hand against his chest, wrapped in his woven grass cloak now soaked with blood. The gash was to the bone at the base of his thumb, it could kill him but he knew, somehow, it wouldn’t. Otzi climbed. The mountains tore across the clouded sky, peaked with snow, the valleys frozen solid. There was snow in those clouds and with snow his chance at escape. The bruise around his eye stung, his knuckles flecked with cuts. The path narrowed with sloped embankments either side. A cairn up ahead signalled the right path. Otzi climbed.

A whistle shattered the peaceful early spring air. Otzi stopped and looked to the sky, expecting a bird. Something hit his left shoulder. He stumbled forward and landed in the snow, his arm stiff …