With her last strength, she clung onto the ledge with disobedient fingers. Her breath grew short. Ginger either breathed too fast or held her breath, afraid to fall. As she crawled near the next window, her foot slipped, breaking off a piece of rotten wood. Ginger barely managed to grab onto a wall lantern with both of her hands. As she looked down accidentally, her head spun, wavering her balance even more. Desperately, she was trying to place her foot back onto the ledge, swinging it over and over.
It seemed anyone could find her any minute. A random passerby might confuse her for a thief and make a racket. Customers who might have lived on the other side of that window, where Ginger fought for her life, could hear her gasping and breathing hard.
Fortunately, soon, her leg was back on the ledge. With a sigh of relief, she kept crawling further. When Ginger got close to the roof above the black door, she stopped to consider a better approach to safer descent. Led by fear, she chose the quickest way. She straightened up and attempted to reach the roof edge on her foot. Ginger took a few steps. Rubber soles of her boots clung well to the roofing. She was so close to the edge when she lost her footing and slipped. She fell on her elbows and rolled down the roof. Ginger fell to the ground with a heavy thud, just like a sack of potatoes.
Despite the pain spreading all over her body and wounded palms riddled with splinters, she rose to her feet and plunged into the nearest sidestreet. She felt dizzy and some flickering lights swirled in her eyes. Ginger shook her head, snapped her cheeks a few times, but it didn’t help.
The streets were empty. Ginger chose the smallest and the most distant ones from the square. Celebrations of the end of the fair usually lasted all night long. As Ginger rushed through two more quarters, she stopped, leaned on the wall of the nearest old building, and slid down. Every inch of her body was trembling. Ginger put her palms over bended knees and rested her forehead on it.
All her previous fears and concerns seemed like a drop in the bucket now. Her thoughts, feelings and senses mixed up in a sole rambling mess. Pain drifted through her body, but it was impossible to determine what was aching. She let out a long inhale and exhale, trying to catch her breath, but it was futile and drove her even more mad. So she threw her shaky hands to the ground, put her head back and glanced into nowhere.
“Hope Pryderi is okay,” she thought.
“I haven’t said anything to her.”
“Did she say she loves me?”
Their talk scrolled back and forth in Ginger’s mind. Some parts of it got confused and sounded random. Ginger wasn’t certain she remembered the conversation right, or she just made up some phrases in her mind.
However, she remembered the part about Marena well enough. Pryderi said that Marena was going to leave in the early morning, so Ginger needed to find a safe place for the night. But she was turning between the rush to flee and the urge to go back.
“Maybe it was just a terrible mistake.”
“Maybe it isn’t a hunter at all.”
Her imagination drew a variety of possible identities behind that man. In one of her scenarios, it was Pryderi’s dad, but he would be too old for that. Ginger longed for answers. She hesitated, torn by immense fear for herself and suffocating guilt before Pryderi.
Whenever she heard a strange sound, she’d flinched. Ginger would repeatedly tell herself that it’s just some random noise, but with her mind muddled in chaos and excruciating tense waving up inside her that wasn’t much of a help. As she heard a talk on the nearest street, her dread prevailed, taking a lead. Ginger jumped up hurriedly and took off, crossing the familiar streets of Araia automatically.
She moved to the very edge of the town, then stopped abruptly and held her breath. Surprisingly, she could only hear stillness disturbed just by soft howls of wind, gentle tapping of raindrops, and her own heartbeat. All the way through, Ginger thought she’d heard someone following her, but it seemed she mistook her own steps and breathing for someone else. She put her hands on her knees and exhaled audibly.
She remembered this part of the town from her childhood. Back then, Pryderi had often taken Ginger here during fairs to play with animals. Here and further were farmers’ lands. No crop fields but fodder meadows extended for many kilometers. The vast part of these lands was used for grazing sheep and cows. There were also goats, horses, pony and donkeys, although not that many.
Ginger felt a sudden twinge in the knee, causing a jolt of pain to spread throughout her body. Grabbing the straps of her backpack sharply, she limped forward. She was thinking of sheltering in one of the woodsheds scattered in the meadows. Ginger wasn’t sure whether these buildings were barns or holding pens. She simply hoped that there were no oroans or humans there.
It was still drizzling when Ginger walked along a narrow two-lane road, shaped by carts and wagons over the years. This part of Araia was poorly lit, so Ginger moved in almost complete darkness. She turned around frequently, as if sensing some danger or hoping to find at least some clue to what happened with Pryderi. It was quite odd, since the tavern wasn’t visible at all from that point. “What could I do?” Ginger asked herself, thinking of Pryderi and the “nothing” answer emerged, providing a sense of comfort along with other justifications.
She pushed her hair back over and over as it touched her face and eyes annoyingly. While approaching the nearest barn, she felt a tiresome wave engulfing, seasoned with fear and sudden pity for herself. The unfairness of everything she was going through captured her mind, and Ginger’s eyes welled.
“Why me?” she wondered.
Ginger walked towards the nearest building - a long wooden barn with a sloping roof. It was old, with battered walls and just a few windows. Located above Ginger’s height, the windows were wide open and the sound of bleating sheep came from them.
Ginger found a big double door with a padlock on it. A few bales of hay, covered in waterproof fabric, laid in front of it. The only lamp hung on the wall next to the door.
Sheep were having a lively conversation indoors. Once one of them bleated, another answered. In that cacophony, all the other sounds bailed and for the first time this day, Ginger experienced a relief. Deep down she was so grateful not to listen to every sound carefully, to let her guard down even for a bit. She settled near the door, resting her back on a bale of hay, and closed her eyes. Calm and measured bleating soothed Ginger as a lullaby. She drifted far away in her mind until she almost fell asleep. Despite the cold, the annoying drizzle, the pain she felt in her knee and back, that moment was a true release.
At that precise moment, she realised she wouldn’t go back for Pryderi. She was completely drained, hungry, lost, and scared, so she allowed the exhaustion to guide her. Ginger conceived she was lucky to be alive and well as the escape had been far beyond her strength.
Shivering from the cold, she stood up and went around the building, looking for a way to get in. Some wooden crates laid around on one side of the shed. She put the two of them together, climbed up, and looked inside through the window. Ginger couldn’t see anything except rows upon rows of fluffy backs, but there was no sight of human or oroan presence, just the flock of sheep.
Ginger stretched her arms and put the elbows on the window frame. With the last of her power, she pulled herself up, trying to get inside. But as she lost her balance, she flipped against the window and landed on her back. The sheep scattered in every direction, making a loud and alarming bleating noise. Ginger laid on her backpack, keeping her eyes shut, too afraid to open them or move. Pungent smells of humus, hay, dust, and livestock odor stung Ginger’s nostrils. A sudden touch caused her to twitch nervously and react. She leaned on her elbows and looked around. A few dozens of sheep glanced at her, sniffed around and nibbled her clothes. Their plush noses touched her hand gently. Ginger stretched another arm forward to pet them.
Ginger got to her feet and scanned around. The sheep were talking to each other worriedly and clustering together. Ginger walked forward slowly, softly touching wooly backs. The sheep seemed to be used to the presence of people, as they didn’t attack her. In fact, if Ginger didn't make sudden movements, they quickly lost interest in her.
Even with the windows open, the shed felt warm. Ginger chose a stirred bale of hay, took a seat, and grabbed the nearest bucket of water.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled to the sheep. She washed her hands and face, then smoothed her hair with wet palms.
Ginger thought of the backpack. Maybe there was some food or water inside, but as she thawed out, feeling the softness of hay and relative warmth, she had the only urge to close her eyes and take a quick nap. Drowsy, she petted adorable sheep muzzles and her thoughts drifted back to Pryderi.
“I left her”, “What a coward” passed through her mind. These thoughts kept circling over and over like a carousel right until Ginger fell asleep.
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“You think it’s a resort, huh?” someone kicked Ginger’s boot and a huge hand laid on her forearm.
Ginger instinctively pulled away from the stranger. Her eyes popped, unblinking. She sat there breathless and wordless, as she had never been in any situation like this before. Gray-haired oroan stood in front of her, a bunch of questions brimming in his eyes.
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“Get away, girl,” the man said grumpily. He didn’t seem surprised to see a stranger here.
Ginger wasn’t moving, her hands frozen in the air in case she had to fight. The man emitted a loud gasp and rolled his eyes.
“You humans are so dumb. Get outta here!” he roared.
Ginger relaxed her arms, realizing how stupid she might have looked. She grabbed a backpack sharply and ran off. The shed was empty, the door open, all the sheep must have gone to the meadows. Ginger ran her hands over her face in an attempt to get over what had happened and wake up.
She stopped running and walked at a fast pace towards Araia, turning back frequently.
“No, no,” she groaned as she looked up at the sky. It was clean, and the sun had almost risen. “Marena!”
Ginger put her hood on and rushed to the town. She overslept and probably, for the first time in her life, didn’t wake up to loud sounds.
Ginger was so concentrated on the route she didn’t notice any details, not even her aching knee. Houses whizzed by and her cheeks turned red. She was looking for a landmark - a brand new school built last year. Streets were empty, as the whole town probably suffered a group hangover after the fair. Ginger slowed down, realising it’s too suspicious that a human girl is rushing somewhere in the early morning.
As she reached a more populated part of the town, she heard voices here and there, but she kept going. Ginger had to cross at least half of the town to get to the place she needed.
When she saw a red roof of the school, she picked up the pace. A large two-storey stone building loomed from afar. It was a workshop and a fabric manufactory where Marena worked.
Ginger got as close to the building as she could with discretion. Right next to the manufactory she saw a covered wagon hitched up with a horse. No one was around. Ginger listened carefully and beside horse’s neighs she heard some voices, both men and women, shouting something. Ginger froze, overwhelmed by anxious thoughts of hunters. She even held her breath getting ready to see hunters, when the door suddenly opened and a hefty canvas sack tumbled out. Ginger remained still. Another sack fell to the ground. Then one more.
“Are you out of your mind?” a woman growled loudly. “Can't you see the mud? How am I gonna clean them up? Or maybe you'll do it?” A silhouette appeared in the doorway and Ginger sighed with relief. She recognised Marena from the very first look as she had short hair, which was not common among oroans.
Male voice mumbled something in return and Marena immediately responded in her usual rough manner.
“Load it right into the wagon,” she paused, listening to the response, “Oh, you poor thing! Get back to work. Save the moaning for later!”
Marena grabbed a sack, lifted it, and loaded it into the wagon. Two oroans came out of the house. Judging by their height, they were just teenagers. Perhaps they only worked part time at the workshop.
When young oroans returned inside, Ginger left her hideout and approached Marena uncertainly of what she was doing, as she’d never spoken directly to Marena before.
“I don’t know what you did, girl, but Pryderi begged me to take you to Bothelm. I hope nothing criminal?” Marena looked at Ginger inquiringly with a straight face, but in a moment, a grin flashed on her lips. Ginger gasped. She felt relieved and grateful for the oroan indifference towards other people's affairs.
Before Ginger said anything, Marena took her by the shoulders and turned around so that she faced an entrance - an unfastened part of the cover at the back of the wagon. Stuffed sacks filled the wagon to the brim. Ginger glanced at Marena with a silent question in her eyes. Marena shrugged her shoulders and said.
“Well, accept it as it is. You’re tiny, so you’ll fit somehow. I don’t know about hiding you, but sacks are full of fabrics so you can figure something out yourself.” Marena pushed her closer to the wagon and Ginger started to climb in reluctantly. As Marena gave Ginger a boost, her own strength surpassed her expectations, causing Ginger to soar through the air and flop awkwardly onto the top of the pile. Then Marena just buttoned up the tent, paying no attention to Ginger.
“You have something else to say?” Marena shouted. It took Ginger aback as she thought the question was addressed to her, but Marena continued. “Why not go cry to your boss? You came here to work. You expected it to be a walk in the park?”
Ginger let out a deep breath and rested against the bags. For a moment, she felt safe, guarded by a strong shoulder. Senses started to come back to her as if she had just woke up from a very long nightmare. Physically, she felt all the discomfort and aching in her muscles that she had been ignoring before.
When the wagon started, Ginger roused herself and moved. She climbed over several sacks and found a cozy spot between two rows of bales. Just in case, she opened one of the sacks to have the fabrics ready to use as a cover.
Bothelm was located nearly 300 kilometers away from Araia. It would take at least a full day to reach the city. Given that the wagon was loaded full and pulled just by one horse, it might take even longer. The road to Bothelm was tough. They had to go over the hills first, then make a sharp turn down the road and later climb back up. The road twisted and turned sharply, leading to the very top of the mountain and to the valley. The road itself was terrible, narrow and bumpy. Furthermore, during autumn and spring, heavy rainfalls turned the road into a muddy mess.
Only the brave souls dared to take this journey. And merchants to whom no rain, wind, or mud was a problem. They stuffed their wagons and hit the road, ignoring any obstacles. Their families’ well-being and sales revenues depended on it.
Although, oroans weren’t cowards in this sense. Historically, they lived in a broad mountain area with frequent harsh weather conditions. So filling up their heavy backpacks or carts and starting a rough trip to one of the three cities of Daeghelm was their daily life routine. They’d proved to be sturdy during a challenging mountain hike with no complaints or whining. Though in daily life oroans often reminded babbling old men, when it came to work they were reliable and consistent.
Marena was driving harsh. The wagon bounced on bumps and swayed on turns. Many times, it seemed they were about to fall, but Marena maintained the balance and they moved on. Ginger roughly counted the number of turns they had taken, trying to predict their current location. She assumed they were about to drive out of the town.
She was leaving Araia along with everything she had known before - home, support, understanding. The wagon carried her into the unknown, dividing her past and future with a distinct line.
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Ginger felt a sharp pressure from the sacks on the left, while the ones on top flew over her head and hit the back wall. Suddenly, the wagon stopped. Ginger jolted and covered her head with hands, expecting the sacks to descend upon her.
Within moments, she began to untie one of the sacks to use pieces of fabric to cover herself. Ginger took a folded piece of cloth and fastened the sack back. Moving on her hands and knees, she inched closer to the side wall of the wagon bed and leaned her back against it. She created a suitable hiding place by tilting the nearest sacks. Marena’s voice came from outside, but Ginger couldn’t hear a single word clearly. With an uncontrollable tremor resonating in her body, she reached her hand out and grabbed a backpack, suddenly recalling its existence.
It was hard to breathe under the dusty fabric cover, pressed by layers of sacks. Ginger remained as silent and still as she could, afraid to sneeze suddenly. She listened carefully.
“Easy, easy,” said Marena in her loud voice. “You think I’ll let you take a look? Who do you think you are to give orders?”
Ginger crouched closer to the wall. Her heart pounding so hard she heard the vibration in her head. A male voice emerged. He was answering something to Marena, but it was hard to distinguish as if he was talking from a distance. The wagon rocked slightly a few times, indicating that, apparently, Marena climbed down.
“Are you saying here, I must, for some reason, bow to what human is commanding? You ain't in charge here. This is our land. So if you want to tell someone what to do - go command humans!” Marena shouted so loud, as if she wanted to warn Ginger of danger. She specifically highlighted the word “human” with her voice.
“... problems, you better…” Ginger only caught a part of what the man said.
“Oh, shove off!” Marena roared.
The wagon swayed again as if Marena was climbing up back to her place, but then something went wrong. Ginger felt a sudden thud against the wall opposite to her. The wagon was shaking hard.
“You will do exactly what I tell you.” Male voice was clear now, coming right through that wall. The wagon shuddered again.
“Hey, hey, hey,” said the man. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. Let me see what’s inside and we’ll go our separate ways. There are no human kids by any chance in there, right?” The man had a high-pitched voice with a noticeable note of sarcasm in it. Everything he said sounded more like a joke than a threat.
“Get off me” barked Marena. “What kids? What do you need the kids for?” they kept fighting as the wagon lurched from side to side.
“Shh, darling,” the man said in a calm voice. “Everyone got their own job. I raise nice checks bringing heads, but you see, they won’t give a silver for yours. So I would very much like your head to stay attached to your beautiful neck. Who needs innocent victims, right?” He was speaking in this soothing voice that didn't match what he was saying.
“How about taking the blade away from my throat first? And I’ll think about it.” Marena spat out the words in pure disgust.
The wagon leveled out.
“Good!” said the man. “I think we have a deal?”
No response followed. But in a few moments, the back part of the wagon cover was lifted and the light flooded inside. Ginger laid still in her hideout, clenching her teeth. She shut her eyes. “That’s it.” A single thought sounded in her head.
Time was dragging. It wasn’t clear what’s going on. The wagon was shaking heavily as someone prowled inside. They slapped the sacks vigorously, turning them from side to side. Then suddenly it all got quiet.
“Kitty, kitty, darling” the man sang in halftone. Ginger shrank in horror and cringed in disgust. She sensed the man’s presence so near. With a clap, he pushed down on the sacks that were just above Ginger. She got squeezed under the weight, it seemed that some bone was about to crack.
An unspoken prayer kept repeating in her head.
Ginger forced her eyes open only when she heard Marena’s voice again.
“No kids, no dogs, you happy?” she said with a hint of exasperation in her voice.
“Yeah, that’s it,” the man replied. “I promised to be quick. I hope this little secret stays between us? I wouldn’t want to…” wind gust swallowed the end of his speech.
It seemed there were no more talks, and shortly after the wagon started and kept moving like nothing had happened. Ginger kept in her hideout until the next stop.