Run, dammit, run. You’re a freak to them, and a threat. It was only a matter of time before they were going to come for you. The guards were trying to be cagey, but their sidelong glances gave them away. The boy with the sneer had a white knuckled grip on his spear, betraying a nervous eagerness for violence.
“There was tainted blood in your veins.” “There was no escaping your evil heritage.” Those were some of the nicer things they were saying. Some people accepted you for who you were, but the ones who didn’t were the ones willing to act. It had been a difficult autumn, and people were unhappy. Most of them would be all too happy to stand by and watch someone else suffer if it meant they could forget their own troubles for a while.
So you ran. You threw some things in a bag and left, simple as that. No plan, no destination. Anywhere was safer.
Dessa lay wrapped in her cloak pretending to sleep while the events of that night replayed in her mind. Rumors persisted that the “Appledore Cult” was still a threat, and she’d felt more isolated by the day. Ventes and Dalla had shut themselves away on their farm for the winter, and her husband was dealing with the personal and political fallout from everything that happened. He wasn’t doing well and she didn’t know how to help.
Habistaw had approached a few nights prior, inviting her to accompany him to Amber. He’d asked through song, substituting the words of a children’s tune with one of his ‘prophecies’, insisting that she and her family were in danger but that they could be safe if she left the Bluff. She firmly declined, but when he left the next day accompanied by one of Cronin’s most loyal men a shadow of doubt began to grow in her. Habistaw had always seemed harmless and quirky but his warning seemed sincere, his bizarre delivery not withstanding. Over the next few days the feeling of danger grew, boiling over on the night she finally fled.
Dessa opened her eyes and sat up. It was almost dawn. Zeff had barricaded the door with the table and was leaning against the hearth dozing. She tried to rise quietly, but bumped the chair behind her as she stood. Zeff’s eyes opened immediately, and she was impressed by how he appeared instantly alert. They nodded quietly to each other to avoid waking the boy. Dessa peaked out of the shutters while Zeff moved to stoke the embers in the hearth, reheating last night’s leftovers along with some water for tea.
Just stay calm, act confidently, and keep walking. Maybe they’ll think I’m just going for a stroll. But when I reached the outskirts of the hamlet I looked back to see one of the guards following me. Well, that was the last straw. I ran into the night as long as she could, and when I dared to look back no one seemed to be following. I kept walking, still fearful of pursuit. I left the road and cut across the empty fields in the silent night.
She’d never been in such close quarters with Zeff before. As they tidied up the house and prepared to leave she was struck by just how broad and muscular he was. Braga was up and helping, too. She’d healed his injuries, although it would be a long time before he recovered from the tragedy his family endured. Her hand touched the new holy symbol around her neck.
I spent the next two days cold and miserable, wandering aimlessly and trying to stay hidden. I only had a handful of food and no tools for making a fire, and the coins I grabbed were useless. On the third morning I woke up stiff, sore, and shivering from the cold.
And I was not alone. Someone was sitting cross legged on the ground a few feet away. Fighting my rising panic, I started to crawl back and away before recognizing him. The priest Stefano put his hand up in a peaceful gesture and said “How interesting to meet you out here.”
She had no idea when she’d started saying her thoughts out loud, but Braga had stopped working and was staring at her, looking uncomfortable. Zeff was keeping himself busy but she could tell he was listening intently. It wasn’t long before they were breakfasted and ready to leave. The boy left for the Bluff on the horse Zeff recovered last night while she and Zeff started foraging for supplies that would help them while they looked for any other survivors from the raid.
She told Zeff everything as they prepared; how Stefano brought her to one of his hunting camps, gave her some of Hemenele the Ranger’s spare clothes (a bit snug but better than her dress), and listened to her story. He, In turn, spoke to her of Erastil, and she found it had a new appeal to her. Politics, gossip, and cruelty were the burdens of civilization and she earnestly longed to be free of it. She prayed to Old Dead Eye and the next morning became his newest priest. She’d been staying at Stefano’s camp ever since, visiting some farmers while he was off on a journey of his own.
For his part, Zeff just continued to listen as he worked. He was attentive but didn’t say a single word. By the time she was done they had food, tools, blankets, and a trail to follow. As they embarked he made a grunt of understanding and simply said “I know how it feels to run for your life.”