It was the ninth week of spring when she came parading into the settlement at the base of the mountains. One of the children said that she seemed like a fairy, flitting delicately between pine and cedar. The girl’s chestnut hair flowed down to her back with flowers braided intricately between the locks. Her eyes sparkled like sunlight cascading through the trees. The cream colored dress she wore fell to her ankles, swishing this way and that as she waltzed into the camp. The people who dwelled at the base of the mountain peeked their cautious heads from their houses at the sight of such an enigmatic visitor. But the children, ever eager, rushed out into the warm spring air, circling the girl.

The community gathered to welcome their new guest, hastily preparing fresh water and fish. The girl introduced herself as Adilla, the name sounding innocent, almost reverent as she plucked fish bones from flesh with a delicate ease.

One of the wolf trappers inquired where she was from. They had just discovered another community beyond the ravine, he said. But no one dared cross the treacherous chasm, one littered with bones. To this, Adilla simply smiled and raised a graceful hand up to the mountaintops.

“The temple,” she announced, standing up, “was built by my ancestors long, long ago. It has sat dormant and lonely for much longer than I have been around.”

The community began to murmur. It was true that the week prior, a group of people had been sent out to investigate the surrounding area. They had come back with news of a strange structure built on the top of a cliff. Knowing nothing about its origin or purpose, the search party simply retreated, planning to host a discussion about it at a later time.

Adilla continued, “It was recently rediscovered by your people, was it not? I have been keeping watch of the temple for as long as I’ve been able to walk. I felt the warmth of your presence as you entered the temple’s solemn walls. And now,” she beamed, “I ask of you. Join me. Leave this place. I tell you, come winter the river will be a void where no fish will spawn. There will be little food or kindling. But join me, and the gods will protect us.”

The people whispered amongst themselves. Their new settlement was young, but not newborn. They had plenty of food and water to ensure their survival. But perhaps this girl knew something of survival in this part of the world. A woman with a scar on her face inquired how their survival would be possible, should the community follow in the girl’s footsteps.

Adilla twirled a lock of flower-braided hair, a smile blooming across her face. “The gods are not selfish,” she beamed, her honey eyes drifting over each and every person staring right back at her. “They do not want our money nor our food. They are kind to us, and we must be kind in return.” She knelt down on the ground, using a stray branch to trace patterns into the dirt. Adilla drew the moon in its different phases in careful, intricate strokes, and once she finished, she stood back up and dusted off the dirt from her cream-colored dress. “When the moon boasts its fullest brightness, the gods simply ask for one thing.”

What is that one thing, the wolf trapper inquired.

“A brave, just soul!” Adilla cried out, throwing her hands up to the sky. “A kind soul must stand at the cliff’s peak, overlooking the rising sun, and leap. They must fly, and the gods will take them to the heavens.”

Fly, fly, fly, the community babbled. What do you mean, fly?

“They must stand at the very edge of the cliff,” Adilla said again, clutching her chest. “They must stand and feel the first rays of morning light. And they must fall, feeling the wind rush through their fingers. And they must fly.”

Immediately the people sprung into panic. You’re telling us to throw ourselves into the ravine? they cried out. To leap to our deaths?!

Adilla sighed, angling her head up to the sky. “That brave person will forever be remembered as a martyr. One who gave up their mortal life for a heavenly one, one who gave up their earthly existence for the betterment of your people.”

You expect us to kill our people so cruelly? they shouted. Their voices spiked, bitter words clawing their way out of their tongues. Who do you think you are?

“I ask you this, then, kind people.” Adilla looked to her left, then to her right, at the people who now gazed upon her with vitriol. “What would be better for your community? The death of one, or the death of many?” She watched on as the people grumbled, arguing amongst themselves, and continued, “There is abundance now. You have fish and you have water. There are berries past the forest. You have plenty to feed your people. But these mountains and this forest are not kind. The seasons are not kind. Come winter, when the snow blankets the ground and the river bears ice and the berry bushes have shriveled up, you will be left with nothing.” Her eyes clouded over, her gaze dropping down to the sketches of the moon. “I know not how many have come before you, built homes where you have yours. I know not their names. But they have perished, like those that came before them. And if you choose to follow in their footsteps, you will follow them to their graves.”

The people murmured to each other, harsh whispers like spitting hot flames. They spoke about seasons, about scarcity, about survival. How they could possibly survive throughout the year. There’s still plenty of time till winter, one said. We don’t know what lies ahead of us, said another. But there must be a way to survive. We can’t force ourselves to die at her hand. We’ve already lost enough.

Adilla watched as the community discussed amongst themselves, all the while twirling a lock of petal braided hair around her finger. She gazed up at the temple with a serene smile, imagining the thrill of seeing a devout follower plummet into the ravine, becoming kin with the bones studded in the dirt. The children, who were so eager to approach her earlier, scuttered away, hiding their faces in the folds of their parents’ clothes.

The sun bore its last rays of light as the community made their final decision. Adilla rose at the sight of the settlers approaching her.

“Well,” she said, extending a hand, “will you join me? We may set out tomorrow at first light.”

An uncomfortable silence cloaked the air. The citizens shifted their gazes towards each other, away from each other, anywhere but Adilla’s warm, unsettling gaze.

It was the woman with the scarred face that spoke next. We have come to a decision, she said, stepping forward. We will not join you. You are a threat to this community. The wolf trapper stepped forward as well, a bundle of rope in his hands. We cannot allow you to stay. We have decided to leave you to the wolves.

Adilla’s expression fell. “You will not join me, then?”

No, no, never, the community cried. We will not face certain death.

She put up little fight as the wolf trapper bound her body up in rope, barely wincing as he tugged the rope ever tighter around her. He began to lead her out of the settlement and into the forest, but before she left their sight, Adilla turned around once more to face the settlers. “You have resigned your people to a terrible fate,” she announced, a gleam in her eyes. “The Frost Shepherds will come for you all. I will make sure of it.”

With that, the wolf trapper shoved her before taking her the rest of the way. Several other members of the community followed after, murmuring to each other about what she could have meant. The half moon perched high in the sky by the time the wolf trapper found a suitable place for the wolves’ next meal. Good riddance, he said, shoving her to the ground. Good riddance, good riddance, good riddance, the others echoed.

Adilla simply gave them a longing smile as they turned around and retreated back into the forest. As the night crawled on and the howling of the wolves grew louder, she studied every aspect of the forest around her. The rocks. The dirt. The new tree growth, green buds cloaked in a midnight blue. She gazed up at the sky and inhaled, feeling the crisp forest air rush into her tightly bound chest.

“They will meet their demise,” she whispered to herself, chuckling. “They will meet their bitter end.”

The sound of footsteps caught her attention, and she glanced up in surprise. She watched as a small group of people approached her. Immediately she recognized them as people belonging to the settlement.

“Have you come to watch me meet my bloody end?” she asked coyly.

“No,” one of them said. He stepped forward, carrying a knife. He knelt down next to her and slid the knife into the rope. “We do not trust our leaders,” he said, sawing the blade back and forth. “They know nothing of this land and nothing of survival. We want to follow you.”

Adilla blinked and turned her head. About ten other people had followed this man, each of them cowering in the trees. “You all intend to join me? You all intend to abandon your community”

“Yes.” The man makes one final slice, and the ropes fall at her sides. He helps her up. “We trust that you can save us.”

She gazes up at the moon once more, noting its first-quarter shape. Their first blood sacrifice will come shortly.

“Follow me,” she calls out to the deserters, her eyes studying each and every one of them. “I will give you safety. I will give you salvation.”

And as she led the deserters through the forest and up the mountain, she allowed herself a peek over the cliff face. She smiled, wondering whose body will be splattered against the bottom of the chasm in four days’ time.