Flashback Breaking the wings

[Fallon]

46th Winter 494AV

It was the running clink that played through her mind, the quivering of the bones among the decaying stench of flesh and faeces. Dirty hands were cupped together, the frightened orbs of green starring out from behind the murky fringe of hair. Lips trembled, the plume of cold air escaping between chattering teeth. And all the while the treasure was kept safe, out of sight of the eyes of the greedy. It was hers after all, and it was that obsession over it that she managed to keep it safe.

The girl gave a blink, her head lifting up from its bowed state. Beyond the breaking light snuck its way through the boards, the cried and shouts of the city serving as some mourning morning chorus. The weight shifted, the squelch of moisture and damp rising up through the flesh and then dipping back down once more. Bodies pressed next to her, the worried groaning noise of others, the chains rattling in some half hearted tune. Some words were beyond her, the rumbling whisper of noises and shouts winding together into some strange song.

Comprehension was difficult; the limited understanding and upbringing crippling her mentally. The chain rattled, a firm pull that dragged her forth. Faces high above blurred past, the hot, sticky jostling as she stumbled and was pulled. Prodded and poked, wrenched and forced, it was a clap across the back of the head that sent her stumbling. All the while she kept on moving forward forcibly and without a sound – almost as if such a thing was beyond her.

Or that she simply did not care, for the treasure – despite the tarnished, dirt covered surface – was safe.

Bare feet pressed against the earth, the rough fabric against her neck. At one point the shackles were removed, an angry red sting smothering where they used to be. There was laughter, that was always present, and then another strike against her to force her to her knees. A sick pleasure? For fun? She did not quite understand why, but the pain still clawed at her, the dull ache of fear and anxiety clawing at her innards. And just as quickly as there was chaos, was it once more ripped out from beneath her. Perhaps it was only then that she managed to grasp some true understanding with what was going on.

She stood alone – or at least no one seemed to be in the immediate vicinity – the scrawny frame rocking in some strange rhythm. Deep shadows were smudged around the eyes; the hungry look blinking in and out of focus. Wood groaned, the voices dipping in and out of muffles. A hand reached up, the tips tentatively prodding against the swollen lip, the shoulders hunching in defensively almost. There was a slow blink, the gentle weight of the treasure pressing against her chest, before the head turned. Once more there was noise, the hum of voices of adults. Instruction would no doubt come, a firm clout when it was done wrong yet not a peep in response.

Hinges groaned, a door clattered shut and blocked the elements of the outside off once more. Not that the chill did not continue to seep through the fragile structure of the building. The steps grew louder, definite, before the owner of them made himself known. There was a crash, an angry shout as whoever it was diverted his attention onto her, the hand grabbing her once more by the scruff of the neck and a fling to the floor. A display of dominance to the weak and a natural way to instil fear. It did not take long to do such, for already she was scrabbling across the floor and in the direction of what he was pointing – almost as if her very life depended on it.

”Stupid Vagik…” he spat, ”Get that petching fire started you dumb brat!”

[Zandelia]

Her emerald green eyes were still rimmed red and bloodshot, the tears came all too freely for the 12 year old girl despite the passing of time. A season had passed since that fateful day, or perhaps more. Or less. There was little concept of time when you were a slave, a merely plaything for the brutal and cruel. She was not even sure if she were still twelve years old, years could have passed as she sat sobbing to herself through the nights, shivering and choking until her miniscule body wretched and wracked silently. She shouldn’t cry she knew, master didn’t like it when her eyes were dulled and red – he liked to see them beautiful, green and wide. She shuddered visibly as she tried to go about her task – the carrying of baskets. What they were filled with the gods alone knew but they were heavy enough that her arms had long since numbed and grown exhausted.

Why? Why did this happen. I didn’t hurt anyone! I was a good girl! she told herself, the ritual attempt at puzzling out the reasons that her youthful mind just couldn’t comprehend.

It didn’t matter, she was a slave now and she was old enough by Sunberth standards to understand that concept for the brutality that it was. She was young now, her mother was dead and she presumed that her father was too. The memory of the blood, tacky and all too dark a red seeping towards her hiding spot underneath the bed filling her mind as she bit her lip, tasted blood and used the pain to blot out the past. She couldn’t afford to dwell on it, no. She had to work and so she heaved another heavy basket up into her tired little arms and began the long journey to the growing pile in the corner upon wobbling legs. There was no pity for her as she passed the brutes – they were slavers and knew no niceties.

“Huuungh!” she groaned as she pushed it upwards, stacking it upon one of the others. She collapsed to her knees and cradled her chest with her arms, rubbing them to try to keep them alive.

She gasped as the blood began to return, she was terribly cold and the scrap of rags that did little but cover her modesty for the sake of being able to work and certainly didn’t keep out the cold. It was the depths of winter and the damp in the decrepit building was beginning to cause her troubles. She shivered again and remembered why she treasured the scrap of rags. She was not old enough yet to be asked to wear nothing…or even worse to wear the pretty dresses. She had heard the sounds from the back room often, had heard her parents when they thought they were alone. She blocked the idea out, the fact that in a few years she would be doing naught but making those sounds all day and night.

No! I’ll be gone by then. Dead. No one to miss me. No family… her morbid little childishness was broken by the slamming of the door and the leading of an even younger girl into the rooms. Her heart went out to the little morsel, she was too young. Far younger than Zandelia was.

She watched the display and prated, for what little it was worth, to the goddess her father had taken to – Akajia. She prayed as hard as she could that the girl would do as she was told but was rewarded by seeing the cuffing. She knew the gods didn’t care about them but what little hope she had was something.

“Oi you! Help the stupid vagik!” the man turned and pointed at her, she froze momentarily before bowing her head down, looking at the floor and walking towards the new girl.

She took her by the shoulders and led her towards the battered hearth, the only stone piece in the building, and started to pick out the driest bits of wood she could find from the stack next to the stones.

“I’d do what they ask f I were you, they will hit you more if you don’t. I know. Come on, let’s get the wood into place. I’ll show you how to do it. Go on, get the dry ones” she pointed to the stack for the girl and knelt tiredly at the hearth to begin arranging the wood shards for their deigned purpose.

Maybe if I teach her well I’ll get treated more nice? Or a friend! she told herself, the very idea almost too distantly hopeful to mention in case it shattered forever.

Like her little life.

[Fallon]

Hands pressed against the floor, the bent double form as she picked herself up from the cold surface. Toes pressed against the ground, her shoulders hunched in defensively. The rattling breaths, the curling up of awareness as she stared. Blinking she raised her head in response to the words, a stillness consuming as she tried to understand. Why was it so hard? What was holding back her capability? There was another noise, the muffled moans, the quick steps coming up behind her. Was he coming back round again, would there be another beating?

She scurried up to her feet, the form barely steady before she felt the hands rest upon her shoulders. Muscles tensed, her head barely turning to look up to the owner. A girl or an adult? Either way they were a lot taller than her and on that context was obviously older. Her head bowed slightly, the silence consuming and no noise escaping. Even as she was moved, her steps guided to what exactly the man had pointed to – a stone hearth – did the firm instructions reach her.

It was her head that inclined to one side, the expression unchanging accept for that dull spark of thought. She wanted to understand, she wanted to know what was needed, but this increasing gap between the words brought forth a wall. A giant divide between the instructor and the instructed. A frightening chasm to say the least. She pointed to the wood stack, the key words reaching her. Wood. Place. Get. Dry.

There was a bob as she slid over to it, the tiny hands reaching up to grab upon the surfaces. Digits reached in squirming through the gaps and grasping onto the pieces. Twigs snapped, the arms wrapped their way around the branches and tugged. All the while however, her eyes looked back to the adult – almost as if searching some approval that she was doing everything right. Pulling out a thicker branch she stared at the end carefully, gripping it tightly and proceeded to press against it. She knew what something dry was like; it cracked and snapped when thin enough, it lacked moisture that was present in ‘fresh’ cuts. But it was still hard to determine what was suitable.

Gingerly, she passed the pieces to the other, the uncertain blink as things came into focus. Those eyes, they were pretty to look at – that much she established. Rough yet shiny, sharp and smart. But dulled and masked, clouded and smothered. Gently she placed the smaller twigs down, and then turned her attention to how things were being laid out. Kneeling down she watched the tired hands moved, the small shards being laid out. A finger gave a point, hesitant though it was and dragged itself through the previous layer of ash. There the hands moved, slowly and carefully mimicking what was before her.

Hands pulled the smaller twigs round, the larger pieces forming as a base to it all. From there she built it up, her gaze constantly pinging back and forth between the two. Ashen fingers rubbed at her face, her brow meeting in careful focus. Or at least until the angry shout of the man caught her once more, ”Hurry the petch up! Can’t feel my balls,” there was a snort at that point his gaze burning at the back of the other, ”Don’t hurry it up I’ll warm myself up another way.”

Flinching, she hunched for in a moment. A tremble of fear, the mind snapping in and regressing behind walls. It was safe behind them after all. And it was with such movement that she froze in place. Panic, fear, anxiety, was the hand going to come again? Or would it simply pass over and be a lashing of a tongue? Swallowing she turned her gaze ahead quickly to the other, and then snapped it back down. What should she do? What about the fire? How does one even actually start a fire? A shaking hand continued to push the ash about, her eyes searching for a way to start it. Sparks, an ignition. There was a second glance up to the other, eyes full of questions and uncertainties. But behind that all it spoke one thing only.

Help.

[Zandelia]

She watched the girl curiously, there were no words and only silence reigned between the pair of workers. She wondered whether the youngster could even talk, or had been taken before she had really learnt how to. The alternative was worse, for it meant something so terrible had happened that she just didn’t talk at all. There had been a few like that but they hadn’t lasted long enough to get past their tortures. They were considered boring and had been sold on, probably to crueller masters. Zandelia didn’t have it so bad, she was fed a little every day and was only cuffed under either failed tasks or boredom. She shook the thoughts away and watched as the girl started fiddling with the wood. She watched as she tested them, she clearly was able to understand what was told to her at least.

“Yes, good. Good” she told the youth as she took the dried sticks and tested them herself just to be on the safe side. She found them to be acceptably dry, though it was difficult in this place to get them completely bone dry.

She began to stack the sticks into a neat little laced cone shape, the tips of them overlapping and supporting the others as best she could. She had to break some of them into the right lengths and of course there was the core of dried leaves, bark and other assorted useless organic materials. Used paper and oily rags were to be found poking out from the wooden mass every so often. She sighed as she worked, wishing she were anywhere else but determined at least to not allow her new companion to get cuffed again. She was so tired of the violence, so bowed by the abuse. There was a little island within her she knew that was still unbroken but for how long it would last her tiny mind could not ponder. She smiled as she noticed the other mimicking her and she nodded her approval as the little hands helped her with the preparations.

Good, she will learn quickly I hope. Hope she thought as she watched the small finger trail in the ash. She paused in her work and traced her name – Zandelia – in the ashes and pointed at her chest to try and give understanding.

”Don’t hurry it up I’ll warm myself up another way” came the snapping end to the man’s diatribe from behind her. She shuddered and shook her head mutely at the very idea.

“Y-yes master, quickly. Almost done” she responded with a faint squeaky voice that cracked audibly.

Her fingers fumbled with the flint and metal that were kept at the side of the hearth, looking at the other and seeing the deep and wanting gaze that spoke only of one need – help. She swallowed fearfully and began to scrap the metal across the edge of the flint. It took a few tries but the sparks eventually began to flicker out and into the centre of the construction. They finally took, a section of oily rags and paper beginning to burst into flame. She leant forwards and breathed onto it steadily to help flicker it to life. After a few chimes it was crackling away, spitting slightly as what damp was upon the tinder was evaporated quickly. She took a small log, thick and possessed of dark dry bark and placed it on the top as the centre of the cone began to collapse under the flames.

“There, that will last for a while” she whispered as she stood up and turned, “done ma-“ she began to say but the back of his hand struck out at her left cheek and sent her sprawling to the floor as he shoved the other out of the way roughly too and started to warm his hands at the fire.

“Too slow stupid girls, get back to work. Go on, over there. Get the food ready and it had better be good” he snarled at them.

Zandelia pushed herself up slowly, the stars still shining in her vision as she shook her head and touched her cheek gingerly to feel the growing bruise blossoming there. Yet another injury to add to the long list of the ones she had experienced here. She gestured for the youth to come to her and placed herself between the man and the youngster in case his mind turned darker. She fumbled for the small hand and led her towards the corner where the chopping board and knives were found.

“Do you know how to cut food?” she looked down, trying for a smile but wincing as she did so with inhaled breath.

[Fallon]

Eyes blinked; a slow nod of understanding as she looked upon the faint scribbling of a name in the ash. There was only a quick tap beneath it, her finger then rising to point at the woman. Zandelia. Her hand quickly rubbed out the ash writing, her eyes snapping back to look upon the man. There was a clink of stone and steel, her sight constantly turning to the new things that were occurring. Oil, rags, smoke, fire. The tremble of words, the fear and hesitation of those who were above her. There was a flinch in recoil, a scrabble away as it ignited into flame, the features dipping into muted orange glows.

But she did not stop. There was a mighty crack as flesh met flesh. Her form became animated, a shooting scrabble as she dipped behind the larger. The shove did not take much to encourage her to move. Dipping and slinking away, her shoulders hunched in an attempt to make her look smaller than she actually was. A hand gingerly tapped Zandelia’s shoulder when she fell, tiny hands meeting flesh – an earlier copy of when her own shoulders were touched and guided. The tentative touch, the rapid blinks down onto the elder girl and then snapping back up to the man, Master as he had been previously addressed.

But still the elder stood despite, pulling herself up and wearing a brave face. Even as the world seemed to stand against them, an oppressive force that wanted them under thumb. Zandelia served as a wall, that much was apparent – and it was that fact the girl was grateful for. The tiny hand covered in the larger, a faint promise of security. Some dream that was in the dark reality of the world. Her other hand rubbed at her face, brushing off the collection of ash upon her cheek.

Was it admiration she felt? Well, she certainly was the first to speak softer words and not raise a fist in rage. Then again she also seemed to be in a similar situation as herself. Not that it stopped her exactly. Sniffing, her nose barely peeking over the top she glanced up to her. Where adults always this tall? Great big giants that stretched up into the sky? Rubbing her jaw she studied the knives, a long hard look as she focused. Words were broken down once more into those key ones, the lids pinching in concentration. Know. Cut. Food.

It seemed easy and straight forward enough, thus with a nod she answered. The little hand reached for the handle, her fingers curling around the smaller one tentatively as she pulled it free. Holding the weighted object in her hand she studied it, her finger tip tapping on the tip with care. Lips pursed into a line, her lids narrowing before there was a nod. With the same hand she pointed up at Zandelia, and then down to the knife with a questioning glance – or at least until she took things in again. Lying about was some dried scraps, and the collection of other food stuffs.

Common sense rung in her mind, to cut something a substance was needed to be cut. And as there appeared to be no immediate thing in sight she sent herself to look for something. Hungry eyes sharpened, the gnawing sensation resting in her stomach. No, she could not allow herself to give up on such things just yet – could she?

There was a struggle as she peered in, balancing upon her toes and then reaching a hand down. Tips stroked upon the surfaces, her face screwing up as she tried to grip onto something. There was a back step, the placing of the knife down upon a surface before a second attempt was made. Swinging both hands up her cheek pressed against the surface, the fingers squirming and flailing to grab onto something. Anything. Digits grasped onto one such object, the arms recoiling back as she pulled it and presented the wrinkled up carrot. Attempt three quickly came after, and once more the presentation of the same vegetable.

Nodding she took up the knife once more and pulled herself away – setting herself up in an attempt space. Lining it up carefully on the board, she began her work; slow, steady and full of focus. It was almost as if she tuned the world out with all the concentration she poured into it. If the Master raised his voice once more then she did not register it, for she was consumed with what was going on before her.

[Zandelia]

In her tiredness, her fear, she had forgotten about how small the youngster was in comparison to herself. The table was low, lower than those used by the masters and specially adapted so that children could do their work for them – lazy lumps that they were. It took her a while to notice though, her concentration focused upon the task at hand, what concentration she had left. She pulled a cast iron pot to the side of her own board, battered and half-rusting on the exterior but still serviceable on its interior. Her stomach growled at her resentfully, aches in her abdomen merely enhanced by the presence of food. She had learnt early that they liked to keep the slaves hungry enough to break down their willpower, their strength only required for manual tasks. Food was always eaten last and were scraps of what was left after the masters had finished.

They enjoy torturing us in all ways. Why? Why do it to us? All we do is work for them, do their things. I don’t understand… she sighed inwardly as she blinked her tired eyes and began to slice the leeks that were almost near going off for use.

The green tips sliced away and swept to one side with the knife easily enough, the white furred tip following – they would be forced to eat them when their hunger grew too much and they would do little but upset their stomachs. She began to peel the outer casing away – another morsel the masters wouldn’t touch – and then chopped the heart of the vegetables into rough slices. She did this for two leeks before placing the knife to one side and picking up the diced pieces and adding them to the pot. She looked down to her side and only then did she realise the girl wasn’t chopping beside her she had found her own location. She smiled down and took the knife from her before placing it on the top of the table again.

“Sorry, I didn’t think” she muttered as she found a small stool and place it up next to the table before scooping the girl up and standing her upon it, board in hand, “you do the carrots. I’ll do the rest. Small slices” she pinched her fingers together to indicate the thickness that would be needed.

She nodded at the girl and began her work upon the single onion, cutting a chunk off both ends and peeling the skin off as her eyes began to water – not entirely just due to the fumes released by the cutting. She tried to hold back the tears, the knowledge that she would be used too far one day and that girl beside her too. Or die prematurely in the cesspit that was her life. At least she was only cooking and not being asked to dig out a cesspit…yet. She shuddered again and put her energy into dicing the onion and placing that into the pot also. She saw the girl had finished the carrots and scooped them away also. She placed some meat before the girl, slicing it into chunks a little to show her how.

“There, small and nice. Good girl” she patted her head gently.

There was a strange resolution forming within her small mind, one she had never needed to think about before when everything had been provided for her by her parents. It was an ideal. She was doomed to this life, couldn’t think of a way to escape. She was bowed and almost broken already. This new girl though, she wasn’t. She was just curious and small and in need of help. She would protect her. If she could get her out she would. She would be killed in response but what was her life worth anymore? It was a terrible series of thoughts, ones which a child should never have to follow.

“I’ll look after you” she whispered, voice low and trying to hide the words beneath the cutting.

Potatoes came next and they were chopped with skins still on and added to the almost full pot. The meat the girl had done came last and with that scooped in she poured a mixture of beer and water into the pot until it covered the ingredients and hauled it to the hook over the fire. She stuck a wooden ladle in and stirred it a little before letting it rest – it would take a while for it to finish and until then the two girls would be left alone to work on it. She looked at master, sat down in the corner now and counting out gold coins his attention focused only upon the gold. She knelt down and looked into the youth’s eyes directly, trying to hide her fear and instil some strength.

“You’ll be okay. Just work. Learn. Listen. Obey. You understand?” she asked, hands gently upon the other’s shoulders.

“I’ll teach you. Can you speak? What’s your name?” she kept the words quiet and reached out again to stir the ladle for a moment and slip the lid upon the pot before turning back and kneeling upon the floor.

“How did they get you?” she asked.

“Girl!” came the snapping voice from the corner, “where is my wine? Bring it now or I’ll slap the little one silly seeing as you like her so much talking to her when you should be serving me my drink”

“Sorry Master, please don’t it was my fault!” she spoke with panic, running to the table and pouring out the wine into a cup and taking it to him.

“Good then don’t forget again” he slapped her again and she returned to the hearth with blood dripping from the corner of her mouth.

She slumped down and rubbed the back of her hand across her mouth without looking at the other girl, tears dripping across her cheeks and choking back the sobs lest she disturb the master. She shook her head, trying not to wonder why and when it had all gone wrong. She drew in a deep breath and focused upon one idea. Protect the girl.

“I’ll look after you” she promised, though how she could do it she didn’t know.

[Fallon]

There was a dull clunk as she wiggled the knife through the hard core and into the board. There was a crunch as fibre was sliced. Both hands pressed down against the flat edge, weight pressing down against it. With a gentle jerk each time she slid the blade along, crunching it down into chunks. Or at least until attention was once more placed upon her. Being lifted was not the most pleasant experience for her. She gave a squirm, legs kicking slightly in the air to the sudden rise before her feet once more found solid ground. The knife and cuttings were returned to her shortly after.

This new gain of height was almost surreal. Eyes widened, her fingers tapping against the table surface with some fascination. So this was what it was like to be tall? There was a lean, her palms pressing down. Like a general before his war council, his pieces scattered across some map, the girl took this new world in. Or at least until those words called once more. Eyes blinked at the fingers, and then back down to the mismatched chunks before her. Taking the knife she gently moved it across and revisited them. All the while, Zandelia was making quick work of the rest of the articles. She gave a pause, digits withdrawing as the pieces were taken from her and a new target was given. A pat on the head made her flinch, her head whipping round almost in surprise to the moment of praise.

It was with a tentative prod that she studied it. Meat. That much she knew. There was an uncertain blink watching it behave differently to the carrot when pressed before she proceeded to start slicing through it. It was a bit more difficult than before, but as she continued to press through it with the keen knife edge she managed to slice it up – if not slightly messily. Eyes looked up when she spoke once more, the brow forming a line to the words. She looked confused, uncertain on what was meant by those words. What was the meaning of them? Look and After? Was she to look at something after an event?

Lids narrowed, lips formed a line as her work was taken away once more and added to the pot. Ears twitched to the glugging of liquids, her form leaning over as she took it in what was going on. There was a step down as she followed, a series of blinks as they returned once more to the fire. She kept herself low, toes pressing against the ground, a gentle rise and fall as she tried to keep the Master’s attention off of her. Fingers clawed nervously at the rough collar, the shoulders hunched in defensively, more so when Zandelia returned her hands to her shoulders. There was the questions again, that reassurance, those promises.

But she did not understand, or at least not completely. She was still torn mentally as to what exactly was wanted of her and it was only due to the guidance that she managed to get through. Hushed whispers, those stolen glances to the world around them. Was everything alright? What was going on behind? There was a glance back, and then her attention returning. Why was it hard to understand? Speak. Name. Get.

There was a second glance back to the master, her chin tucking and a chew upon her lips. Talk, a form of verbal communication between people. And something she clearly remembered being berated for. There was a pause, large eyes staring upwards, emotions creeping and betraying her. Too stiffened, scared and set already in ways that would define and frightened her. To speak was forbidden was it not? To make a noise was not allowed? And it was because of that she shook her head in reaction.

Flinching away when the voice called out, she watched the scene unfold. Suffering, pain, a forced servitude as she buckled beneath such treatment. Even as she slumped back, the eyes continued to follow, watch and finally approach. It was the tiny hands that reached up to the face. She understood tears, she understood distress and when someone was in pain. Had the master struck her that hard? Finger tips tapped beneath the eyes, the gentle movement as tears dripped – or at least until she lifted her sleeve to wipe them away. Orbs blinked back, staring deep into Zandelia’s own. On one side there was that pleading look, to halt the pain and discomfort. The flipside looked to understand, to know and work something. Anything. What could be done to sooth, to calm, to suggest that things will get improve. Even as she whispered her promises the girl gave a simple tap on the head, the expression speaking for her – Don’t be sad.

It was held for a while, the slow breathing in and out. The gaze was held, the lids pinching as she focused. It was a sensation that pressed against her, a strain as she tried to understand, to override whatever reason the tears were flowing for. Eyes blinked at the reflection in Zandelia’s own eyes, her head leaning in, a refusal to accept this. She wanted it to change, and if will power alone could not do it, then she did not know what would - Don’t cry! Smile! Smile! No tears! Hush now!

She gave a flinch back when she realised how close she had gotten. Pulling away she released a snort, her tiny palm rubbing at her eyes and returning her attention to the previous questions. Tapping her chest she pointed to herself. Her name, it had been asked for. Stooping she dragged her finger through the dirt. She barely managed to get halfway through a letter however before she was stumped. Withdrawing she looked about the room, searching for objects and items to assist. Knuckles rattled against the ground and her finger extended out to point at things. At first it went to the fire. And from there it proceed to move about in simple gestures and drawings upon the floor.

Fire. The hand touched her arm firmly. Then she moved to write out the letter ‘L’ twice and a circle shortly after. Finally she stopped and tapped her nose. It was perhaps a deep set wondering if she actually understood. She had tried to spell out her name, but that was something that was turning increasingly difficult to do. And thus, it was left to hope that it made sense.

[Zandelia]

There was the unexpected kindness from the girl, so young and yet still able to understand on some level what Zandelia was going through. She had seen the actions, heard the connection of flesh upon flesh and had processed the breaking down of Zandelia’s walls. She was too young and had not the mental fortitude to keep them up for long, too keep them strong and affect the uncaring nature that many of those older than her had managed to develop for pure survival. Small hands reached out to brush the moistness from her cheeks, those eyes so deep for one so young and for now all-encompassing in the world. Fingers tapped her head and she wished that she could retreat and feel nothing, she would settle for nothing.

Too late to happy. Too late. Want to be, I want…to…be. Wanttobe her heart was screaming from within her but it was hard, too damaged and weak now.

Then the eyes came back, sea green she thought, and lacked with her own as if they were going to have a staring contest as a trivial game within the maelstrom of madness. She smiled at that idea, a small but significant gesture that barely touched the corner of her lips. Those eyes kept staring, locked as a small furrow of concentration knitted the little girls brow. It was strange and she shivered slightly as suddenly her worries felt distant and it was as if her dreams had come true. It didn’t matter anymore, what was done was done and she was lucky she wasn’t dead. She shouldn’t be sad. Her life was miserable but she now had a new friend to help, to give her purpose

Don’t cry! Smile! Smile! No tears! Hush now! the words seemed to rise up from within herself, unbidden but entirely welcome. She eased into them, let them wrap around her as a comforting barrier from the brutality.

The tears stopped and she scrubbed them away as she blinked slowly, almost as if waking from sleeping longer than she should have done. She looked around and a dumb smile stretched across her lips. The next few moments were blissful as she watched the girl act out in very strange ways indeed. She didn’t frown, she was too happy for that but she did cock her head to the side in bemused puzzlement. She ran through it all, looking from the fire to her arm. Two letter :’s upon the dirty floor. She shook her head, she didn’t understand.

“Firearmll?” she spoke quietly, “no that can’t be right. That’s a silly name. Fire…arm…letters. letters?” she asked but knew she wouldn’t get an answer – or at least a non-cryptic one and she was too tired for games.

Then the diagram of a crude table, or at least she thought it was a table. Something she didn’t understand was resting atop it in the dirt of the floor and the girl was pointing at it as if it were the most important thing in the world. Vase? Bowl? Thing? Something on? On? On. Then she smiled truly, it was a word puzzle. She liked puzzles.

“Fallon?” she asked hesitantly, “Fire starts with f, arm with a and the rest? Fallon?”

There was precious little time she noticed as she gave the pot another stir or two before replacing the lid and returning back to the girl. Soon master would ask for his food and their small if well-deserved break would be over. He would eat then ask for them to get one of the older girls with the pretty dresses. She knew they weren’t much older. Some were her own age but their bodies had tragically got ahead of them. Chopping fire wood would be next and then trying to clean what was un-cleanable. Sleep and rest was far off for them, they would work even after the master had entered his bed. Her only solace was that she wasn’t alone to do it all anymore.

She had Fallon and that was a small treasure.

[Fallon]

It was perhaps only then that things begun to grow - if it could be called such. On one hand, Zandelia had indeed stopped crying, the subtle curve as the lips formed a smile, that brief flicker of a smile before it was piled beneath the stern face of control and oppression. For a tick there was a pause, and then that silent connection passed between the pair of them – or at least until the elder finally responded.

Then there was the flipside. The girl’s head begun to throb, the nagging uncomfortable pressure against the inside of her skull. Piercing and sharp, the girl winced slightly the palm returning to massage at her temple. Eyes looked up hopefully to Zandelia, a pleaded glance that prayed for her to understand. To know her name, to utter it when no one else did. To be someone other than ‘girl’ or ’brat’. Identify in its simplest form. There was a frown to the first suggestion, her head shaking – wrong. There was a moment of thought, the closing in of realisation to what the younger was trying to do.

And then her name was spoken.

A blink, a purse of lips that turned upwards into a curl. Eyes brightened, a flash of teeth in some internal pleasure of that name resting upon the lips of another. Fallon. There was a grin that cause sparks within her eyes despite the present situation, the warming glow as she focused her attention solely upon her. Eyes met, warmth blooming from within her chest. Tiny hands came quietly together over her chest, cupping over where her heart would be. Thoughts pressed again, the eyes looking to express without words. She breathed; that long stare once more, a grin upon her face uncaring of what the master may have thought. For at the moment all that rested within her gaze was Zandelia, the one who truly deserved it. Emotions turned and grew; the vibrating energy against her ego and all the while the eyes simply screamed – Yes! Yes! That is me!

Movement snapped her attention back, or more over it was the rough grabbing of the collar that dragged her forcibly back. In the space of her staring the master had stood, his voice shouting out in rage to the glee of a child. Wine had been knocked over, the cup clattering to the ground as the angry steps closed in on the pair, ”What the petch you grinning about?”

Feet were taken off the ground, the entire jerk upwards in movement as the scene wheeled about before her eyes. There was movement, the hot breath upon her face, the pinch of her jaw as the face was brought round. Alarm spread through her features, terror as her hands rose up around her head protectively. It was anger, that burning rage towards someone beneath expressing a sense of joy. Dirt, filth, cattle and flesh for sale – that was all they were in his eyes. Fallon’s mind blinked, thoughts racing to keep up. There was another shout, her eyes screwing up in recoil.

Knees scraped, shoulders were bumped as she was thrown back into the ground and across it. Hands scrabbled, the instinctual thoughts of flight consuming her. Hands snagged as she scurried away, her animation set on making as much space between them as possible. Or at least until the toe connected with her gut. Gasping, the child curled up defensively, an attempt to block out the world and escape. Torn between wanting to understand and simple base survival she caught the sneers of his words once more, ”You like talking to the little one eh? I told you didn’t I. Stupid girl.”

Sides throbbing she continued her pull away, the flecks of light flaring up in her vision and the sounds dipping into that of a white noise. The bitter taste of bile accumulated in her mouth, the sides screaming out as the pain shot through. A racking cough, limbs shaking as she tried to claw herself up, ”Hurry it up, man has got to eat. Not gonna starve your master are you?” She caught a glimmer of his face behind her blurred vision, the angry point, ”Or you want your little friend black and blue? Don’t hurry it up and I will.” There was a second kick, her form curling up tightly in recoil, ”Don’t petching stare. Work! Faster you go, the better for her. Useless, stupid slaves.”

Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Please.

[Zandelia]

She had seen much brutality in her time as a slave, there had been beatings and lashings. Raping was common enough as were brandings and the smell of seared flesh that clung to the nostrils and refused to release them. She had even seen bleedings done for sheer amusement at times. Produce that was useful and sellable never got more than knuckles but those who were outside those two categories were free for abuse at all times – the only thing they could provide was amusement. Still, her heart had endured and scarred after each beating and had withered and hardened every time. There was little room left within it for resistance but seeing Fallon, her new friend, go from excited expression at her name being said to being flung through the air like a sack of potatoes proved too much.

Why? Why!? Bastard, bastard! I shouldn’t say those words, shouldn’t think them. Bad words, naughty. But he IS! her mind fought for control of her body as her small finger’s clenched and ground into the floor beneath her.

Her eyes closed tightly and her teeth ground, jaw muscles tensing as something she was far too young to truly understand was experienced – wrath. The need to protect, to prove good upon her word and stop the small girl from being abused. Time slowed as she looked first at the huddled body cowering in fear and then smarmy smiling of the Master. Legs bunched and she ran at him in a suicidal attack to prevent the further damage – she should get hurt in Fallon’s place, that much she knew if the idea of protection was new to her and misunderstood.

“NO!” she screamed as she ran headfirst into his leg as he turned but managed a small but concentrated punch of fury into his loins. It was enough to make him double over as his leg lashed out to send her sprawling into the corner, bruised and ribs aching.

She was dead she thought, there was no point in holding back and caring about herself so she sluggishly pushed herself up and punched herself at him again – primal emotions coursing through her as adrenaline lent her immunity for pain, but only for so long. She managed to get a tiny knee into his face and a punch or two futilely thrown at his massive thigh before he roared and slammed his head into hers. She flew backwards but at least now his attention was upon herself and not the little Fallon. She would die but she had kept her word as best as she could. His fingers grasped her hair and pulled her up and as her scalp turned to a searing network of excruciating pain his free fist slammed into her abdomen – once, twice, thrice before choking around her throat and throwing her into the fort floor. Her spine and ribs felt like they were cracking or already broken, pain so intense was unknown to her and the adrenaline was now spent and is rushed into her without mercy.

“You want me eh? Want to kill me eh?” she shouted at her as he kicked her several times in the legs and arms as he pushed her towards the hearth with each one, “well ye can try one day bitch but not now. Wait until you’re older and I’ll show you what women should do to their better males…do for them” his voice was mercilessly devoid of any emotion beyond hateful wrath.

“P-p-petch…y-y-y-y-you” she managed to hiss against the flames of pain, her ribs weren’t working properly.

She was at the hearth now and her face was streaked with tears and her fingers grasped at the dirt, bunching as she tried to crawl away, push herself up. She would grab a knife, anything and ram it home then and there if it meant Fallon was safe. She didn’t care about her own life enough anymore to want to live. There was nothing of use, however, and his last kick slammed into her head.

Darkness descended and she thought she was dying. She would kiss Dira on the lips for her embrace.