The child and his mother walked for days alongside their captors until they reached the edge of the woods leading to an unfamiliar city, where wagons and a few cars bustled by on the main road.

Every night that passed by the woman grew weaker, although the frail white haired boy tried to help her along. He attempted to show her the key he hid in his hand from the men, tugging at her arm as she stumbled forward, desperately convincing her that they needed to turn back. But she struggled to form coherent sentences. It was until one morning when she didn't open her eyes that they left her where she lay. The child kept desperately shaking her shoulders in an attempt to wake her, but they pulled him off her as he begged and pleaded.

The woods were dark, threatening almost, and the men forced the boy along with pointed machetes and spears. He tripped and stumbled along the way, trying to keep up. Once a day he was offered a crust of dry bread, which he ate slower to make it last. While they slept at night, he silently cried himself to sleep.

I didn't see Michel's face as the villagers crowded around him, pointing and yelling and jeering. He was dangerously underweight with his ribs showing, being completely made out skin and bones. His head was hung low, but his hand was tightly clenched around the metal key, his eyes wide with fear and confusion. The chief came and glared down at the shaking child, scoffing.

”Where’s the mother?”

”Didn’t make it past the first week,” a man sneered. He shoved the frightened boy down onto the ground, causing the crowd to erupt in laughter. “It was just her and this rat. What a cowardly woman. She thinks she has the right to sneak back into here after all she’s done, profiting off of our land? Taking up our resources with waste that comes from the civilian’s seed.”

Michel shrank in his presence, scooting back. The chief narrowed his eyes.

“What’s your name?”

The boy stared at him, paralyzed with fear. I attempted to rush in front to protect him, but my feet were heavy, slow like logs.

”Speak up,” he yelled.

“M-Michel,” the boy whispered.

”What shall we do with him? He can’t stay here,” someone argued. “I wouldn’t want my own child around someone infected with civilian blood.”

"He's a half breed. His mother betrayed us," a woman hissed. "I say we throw him into the civilian world where he belongs, because it's not here."

The chief scowled, folding his broad arms. "They wouldn't want him either. We can't have him in our midst, infecting our people. Our brothers and sisters have had enough of these halflings running around; they ought to be somewhere else." He cleared his throat. “Perhaps he should be sent off to his father.”

”No, no, no,” the boy interjected, shaking his head. “No, sir. Please don’t. He used to beat my mama and I, which is why she left and came home. He’ll… kill me if he sees me.”

”You dare talk back to me?”

“Please don’t send me off sir,” the child cried. He grabbed onto the chief’s long robes. “I’ll earn my keep…if…if you let me stay. I won’t be in anyone’s way, sir. I can do chores and farm work and—”

”Enough.”

Michel wiped his eyes. "Please...please sir. Please don't send me away. I don't know anything about the civilian world, or their ways. Mama always told me--"

"Silence!" the man thundered. His dark eyes were full of rage. "Your mother was a whore—a prostitute who had spread her legs to appease the filthy appetite of the civilian. It has been decided amongst these good people that you must take your belongings and leave the premises for good. You carry your mother’s shame on your shoulders; you carry that wretched civilian blood. If anyone catches you here, further action will be taken. You are banished from our community, and from using our land. If you ever think of coming near us, or our people, you will be punished. Is that understood? Get out of our sight. And if we ever see you again, we will make sure you will regret it."

"Half breed!" a woman cried. "Half breed!"

The crowd went wild, throwing stones at the boy. He began running away. They could not find him after that. I started to follow after him, my face hot with rage. What right did they have to do this to a helpless child? He looked no older than nine years old. I tried to get his attention, but his eyes did not meet mine. More than anything, I wanted to help him, trying to keep up. The weather slowly began to change, rain pouring on the plants and trees around us. Sometimes he bent down to drink the diamond clear water from the leaves, his arms and legs scraped as he dug into the berry bushes looking for a bite to eat. Often he slept underneath a rotting tree and wandered around in circles, getting lost on the way. His hair was the color of the moon and stars.

My heart lit up as his home came into view. It had begun to fall into disrepair, the thatching breaking off and garbage littered the ground. The child stood in the bushes, clutching his key, watching a man and a woman sitting around a small campfire, roasting two small fish. I squinted my eyes in confusion. Were these simply travelers? Had they used this place for shelter during the night? A lump rose in my throat as the man suddenly jumped up, grabbing his knife and aiming it at the shadow.

"Who's there?" he demanded.

”Suki?” the boy whispered.

At the sight of the child, the man slowly lowered the blade. He appeared taken aback by his condition as the woman rushed to his side. The boy’s eyes were large, and he was completely filthy from head to toe.

”Go away,” he ordered. “Get out of here.”

Michel slowly stepped forward, his face reddening. "Suki? My sister. Where is she?”

"What?"

The man's look of confusion made a lump rise in my throat as the boy pushed past him, his bare feet pounding against the ground. Ignoring the man's shouts, he sprinted towards the darkened shack, moving blindly around. He flung items aside with great strength, pushing away moth- eaten tapestries, the two sleeping pallets, and furniture that was bigger than him. His little hands felt around. The sound of clay pots shattering filled the air as the man charged in after him, shouting at him to get out.

His wife silently followed the two and carried a candle, which allowed shadows to creep through the walls. I could see that she was trying to piece together everything on her face. Michel ran towards the chest that was presently visible behind a few dust covered boxes, which he shoved with all his might, spilling the contents they held all over the ground.

He dropped the key twice as he quickly fumbled with the lock, attempting to get it to turn. The man reached over in order to try to grab him, but stopped as Michel flung the wooden lid open, and collapsed to his knees, gasping, struggling to breathe.

The boy began to scream uncontrollably.

As the woman covered her mouth, her eyes went wide. Her husband gritted his teeth, stumbled back for a bit, frozen for a long time. Tears spilled down his face, before he scooped the shrieking child up backwards into his strong arms, and carried him out as he kicked and fought, his high pitched screams echoing in the air. A strong, putrid stench filled the shack as the woman slowly slid down to the ground with her back against the thatched wall. The melted wax from her candle formed a small white puddle in the dirt.

* * * * * * *

Someone's hands were on me. I fought them for as long as I could, swinging blindly into the night, but then a voice echoed in my ears.

"Relax! Relax. It is alright."

I sat up with a stifled gasp, coughing uncontrollably. By instinct, my hand wandered to my stomach, and I turned to see Svetlana kneeling next to me, steadying my back. Once I caught my breath, the cool night air was shocking against my skin. An owl hooted in the distance---I had to squeeze my eyes shut to forget what I had seen in my mind. The woman shivered, but tightly tucked the blanket we were sharing more tightly around us. Her white hair was frizzy and untamed.

"You were having a nightmare.”

"We have to go back to Selva," I weakly spelled into her warm palm. "We have to."

"No."

My face burned. "My husband is up there. I cannot stay here any longer. What if---"

"We stay here." Her tone was sharp. "That's final."

A long silence passed between us. Her eyes were visible in the dark, narrow. Ignoring the soreness in my legs, I picked up my satchel and slung it over my shoulder, dusting the dead leaves off my dress. Some papers slipped out, but I carefully pushed them back in to avoid any wrinkles before stumbling to my feet.

Svetty’s eyes focused at my satchel. “What is it you have in there?”

I was about to answer her, but stopped. Something about the way her face hungrily gazed at it made chills run down my spine.

“Nothing.”

“Give it here.” She held a hand out.

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I stared at her.

“I said, give it here.”

“No.”

“What is it that lowlife husband of yours gave you that you wish to hold onto?”

I adjusted the blanket around my shoulders and began to turn away.

"Where do you think you're going?"

I glared at her and signed, "I'm going to find my husband. With or without you. You can come if you would like. But I will not remain down here."

Svetty rested her hands on her lap. "You foolish girl. He’s gone. No one is coming back for you. He doesn’t want to take care of you anymore. Do you understand what you are putting yourself in? And after all I have done for you, this is how you repay me? And soon, this good for nothing halfbreed you are about to deliver and bring into the world---"

My heart skipped a beat as heat rushed over me. This heat was more so than the times that my own father had disowned me, had beaten me, then losing my brother, then all lonely days I had endured in the village. This heat was far deeper than before.

I suddenly found that my hand had reached out and struck her face, so incredibly hard, that it sounded like a clap of thunder. She stumbled backwards due to the impact of the blow I had delivered, nearly falling over, her strange colored eyes staring at me in disbelief more than rage. A trickle of blood slipped down her nose as she lightly touched her cheek, before her face fell into a stunned expression.

That word. Halfbreed.

She silently dabbed the spot with the edge of her skirts. Her breaths were shaky, and she looked down. A long moment passed before she quietly spoke again. “Do that again, and I’ll give you something else to worry about.”

"Don’t you ever say that about my child again.” The words were difficult to get out, but I barely managed. My eyes stung as I gritted my teeth. “You watch your mouth.”

"You've lost your mind, living in the woods with that schizophrenic maniac." She took a step forward, her face a deep shade of red as she stared with disgust at the band on my finger. "You whore. I’d thought you had more common sense. How could you do such a thing? I have no need of your burdens. No need."

"You knew they wouldn't want me down south," I weakly signaled with my hand. "They wouldn't."

"How could they?" she yelled. "You've betrayed your kind, uniting yourself with my own. Khonie and civilian blood do not mix. You have violated the natural order of the world. Do you understand what you've done?!" When she pointed to my stomach, my heart sank. "That child has nowhere in this world, just like you have doomed yourself too. You are a disgrace---you should be ashamed to be married to a murderer. Its pathetic excuse for a father."

My chest grew tight. "Svetty---"

"Seems that your wretched husband has lied to you about many things." she spat out. Her chest was heaving, hands shaking. "He murdered one of your own. George knows about it. Don't you see how much blood he has on his hands? Of course you don’t. You are too stupid to notice anything. You only see what he tells you to. He does not tell you the truth, because you are too weak to handle it. You are too weak to do anything. Everyone always has to look out for you, you stupid, weak whore.”

I stared at her.

She said nothing. She didn't have to say more. When I slowly turned and stumbled off, the impact of her words washing over the shock in my mind, her shadow became more faint until it disappeared.

* * * * * *

What had once been a generous supply of pine nuts and grubs that I found underneath each rotting log was now reduced to only a few lone brown earthworms and ladybugs that occasionally crossed my path. Using my index fingers I scooped them up and popped them one by one in my mouth, hearing the satisfying crunch of the shells breaking apart between my molars and the slippery wet texture of the worms sliding down my throat. Whenever a beetle landed in front of me, I pulled off its skinny legs one by one, which got stuck underneath my dirty fingernails, before allowing it to sink on my tongue. The taste hardly mattered; although the slight pain in my swollen abdomen underneath my ragged dress got to me.

I attempted to make sense of my surroundings, and I avoided sleeping for fear such horrendous dreams would come back to me again. And many times, more than once, I remembered Svetty's words, wondering what I had exactly done to make her so angry, and if I could somehow make a way for us to be friends again. By now, I was so famished I could hardly remember---all I desperately needed was to be in my husband's arms. I wondered about his whereabouts day after day, often if he was alive. I hadn't had the strength to read the notes he had left me in my satchel, so to manage the loneliness that came over me, I would simply flip through my sketchbook, caressing the metal band on my finger, missing him terribly as my tears would stain the pages.

I did realize that Papa and Benny had really disowned me all those years ago--that my family had disappeared. Svetty had already pointed out to me why they had. I was neither Khonie nor civilian--I was caught between the mix, left on the outside.

To avoid detection, I tried to keep moving, following the moss on the trees. When it poured, I remained underneath the trees to stay dry, watching the water drip off the branches and land into the growing puddles below. Mud was caked around my ragged skirts, which made it more difficult to walk. At night, in my mind, I told my child stories as old as time, knowing that they were indeed listening.

* * * * * *

Around nightfall in a few days the pain was so severe that sleep was impossible. I grunted, my breaths heavier, a fire settling between my legs and pelvis. The more I tried to ignore it; the worst it got until I finally sat up. My skirts were suddenly drenched, and when I raised them up, a small puddle had formed on the ground. Water continued to gush out as I scooted backwards into the bushes, panicked that a soldier would find me. I leaned my back against a tree, trying to deny what I knew was happening. How could this be? I was due in two months.

But the urge to push became irresistible, so I closed my eyes, drowning in the intense pain. My bare toes curled against the dirt; I wanted to scream. Beneath me the leaves were drenched with dark blood. The silence of the trees and my out of control breathing filled my ears. My hair spilled over my face as I released some strangled noises, letting the contractions take their course. I wasn't sure how much time had passed, but it seemed like an eternity. Sweat beaded on my face. I gripped the wet grass next to me, on the verge of passing out, short, animalistic grunts escaping from me.

The sky had become a purple hue when I finally heard a very faint, tiny cry. I leaned my head back, completely exhausted, struggling to breathe, my heart pounding.

Thousands of questions rushed in my mind—why hadn’t I prepared better? I had no diapers or blankets or anything, and all the clothes I had made for my child were back down at the cave. I cursed my stupidity, my failure to think ahead. How had I missed to consider such a possibility? I ran a hand though my hair, trying to ponder where to go next to get what I needed for my child.

But another weak cry broke through the sea of thoughts that clouded my mind.

When I slowly lifted up my skirts, a deep smile fell upon my sweaty face. I gently reached down to scoop up the wailing baby boy. He was waving his little arms and legs, the bright red hair on his head thin like chicken feathers. I managed to cut the umbilical cord with a stick and quickly undo the front of my dress, pushing it down so my swollen, heavy breasts were fully exposed. He was covered in all sorts of stuff, and I needed to find a way to clean him up, but I could not take my gaze off his sweet face.

He had the undeniable brown eyes of his father. It was an extra struggle to wait for the placenta to come, but once it did, I was more than relieved. Yet I found myself deeply concerned about his small size, since I knew that he was premature.

My inner thighs burned and itched under the thick coating of blood that covered them. Using my teeth, I tore off a piece of string from my sleeve and clamped the end of the stump on his stomach, my fingers shaking as I rested him on the crook of my arm, making sure to support his head properly.

I carefully positioned him next to my left breast, hoping to get him to eat. His little mouth was opening and closing, caught up in a long series of cries, still faint, and I instantly knew it was because he was so very cold, in this giant place full of sounds and noises. As I very gently wiped some of the dried blood off his face and neck with the corner of my sleeve, he released a small sneeze, snot bubbles gathering around his tiny nose.

A strange instinct came over me.

Using all of my strength, I ripped off as much fabric as I could off my ragged skirts and carefully swaddled it around his tiny body. I slowly adjusted my breast with my hand again for a good while, hoping he would suckle. But he didn’t. He just stared up at me, with those beautiful, round curious eyes. Although he had a darker skin tone, his father’s features were present on his face. I was unable to resist a smile, and an overwhelming sensation fell upon me.

Come now, sweet boy. I thought. Please. I know you’re hungry. You’re a tough little guy. You didn’t come all this way to quit now, did you?

To my relief, the warmth seemed to calm him down, made him stop the fussing. I gently eased the edge of my nipple into his mouth. He was able to latch on after a few tries, and I studied his little hands, his palms as smooth as velvet. Such tiny fingernails. I desperately wanted to sing to him as I stroked his damp hair, which was the color of a bright red flame. Something was odd about his right eye; it was a milky shade, as if covered with a thick film.

As he began to nurse, I tore off another large piece of my dress to add in more layers around him. I gently bounced him in my arm once he finished, and nothing at that moment mattered, because he and I were one. Once his eyelids slowly started to close and he drifted into sleep; I whispered a name for him in my mind: Evander.

* * * * * * *

A few hours later, I awoke with a start to see the sky was lit ablaze and the world had caught on fire. The air was full of smoke and ashes. Groggily, I rose to my feet, just as he was beginning to stir and whimper. Dried blood was crusted all over my shaky legs, but I began to blindly run, holding onto my son to my chest as firmly as I could, praying that he would not slip out of my right arm. Another explosion shook the earth, and I coughed heavily as I rushed through a cluster of trees, running as fast as I could, the sound of barking dogs filling the air.

When I reached a clearing, covered in sweat, the barking grew more faint. Evander began to cry, having woken up from the commotion. I paused for a moment and leaned backwards against a tree to lightly bounce him against my exposed chest, wanting more than ever to speak to him. The thought of him never being able to hear my voice crushed my soul. His tiny face was as red as a berry, hands balled into fists. He was still covered in afterbirth—there was no water nearby to wash him off.

It’s alright, my sweet boy, I whispered to him in my heart, desperately wanting him to understand. I gently wiped the tears streaked down his cheeks. He hiccuped in response. I held him close and immediately ducked, wincing in pain. Fresh blood was still trickling down what remained of my skirts, and my thighs and knees were coated in it. I dropped low and made my way through a cluster of bushes.

Two pit bulls, one yellow, appeared in the smoke. After carefully crouching down behind the bushes and placing my baby on my lap, my hand wrapped around a gnarled stick as I braced myself for their teeth to sink into my flesh. They would have to rip me into bits before they could reach my child. The dark brown one growled and crouched on its hind legs, and just as I was ready to swing at his head as he barked again, a loud, clear voice echoed in the distance. He snarled at me.

"Pepper? Honey?" A sharp whistle. "Come on! What you doing down there?”

The footsteps grew closer, and my heart thudded in my chest. Several dead leaves crunched under the women's boots, and when a barrel was pointed at my head, immediately, I scooped up Evander, who was screaming, immediately turning and shielding him with my body. I dropped the stick. It rolled on the ground, and to my utter shock, the yellow pit bull picked it up.

Another sharp whistle—then heavy coughing in the midst of all the smoke.

The dogs' tails thumped against the ground, saliva dripping from their panting mouths and long pink tongues. Evander’s cries filled the air, but I could hardly move, despite the hairs on the back of my neck rising. A tall woman's figure suddenly appeared in the shadows in front of me.

Her hair was short, cropped to her ears, and she wore baggy pants and a jacket, her rifle raised in the air. Her eyes slowly widened as they adjusted to the dark. My breaths were shaky—I could hardly breathe. Water escaped down my face as I saw her unmarked cheek. No scar. I was in their territory.

As she slowly lowered her firearm, my son's wails filled the air. I remained still, holding onto him as tight as I could, preparing myself. But as the rifle slipped out of her hand and landed to the ground with a thud, only then, from behind my matted hair, did I have the courage to look up.

"Mercy," she whispered.