Prejudice
With a moment of rest, the pain in her once-skewered foot became more pronounced. Pulling her foot up to her face, she examined the wound. There was still the hole that the sword had left, but the flesh had begun to close over the edges. The idea that the Soldier may actually have wounded her forever was both depressing and aggravating.
She wrapped her foot again, grateful that the water of the Veil’s cavern didn’t dissolve her foot as it had other things. She began to think about the fiber and sap combination she had found at the top of the immense tree. As she got up and continued walking, she thought about how she might fashion the fiber into something she could use.
Mulling over the idea as she walked, she imagined there must be some way to do it, but she knew precious little about the making of clothing or armor, from such a rudimentary material. The idea had taken a firm hold now and she would work on it until she had some kind of design in mind.
Her walk felt a little more like a time to think, rather than a desperate hunt for survival. She was about halfway now, and the sun was getting too high to travel comfortably. Moving herself further off the path she had taken before, she sought out somewhere to shelter. She found a large rock formation with natural shelving made from dust, sediment and time. The high and broad nature of the layering meant shade, and that was what mattered.
Hiding from the sun was something that had been a daily habit for her and everyone else in the Village for as long as anyone knew. It was part of normal life. The shade felt like an old friend, and she positioned herself in an indent in one of the taller rocks and resolved to wait. The position had plenty of space for her, and a gentle breeze. Before too long, she began to feel a little more settled. Looking out around the area, she enjoyed the sight. Being able to take the time to just watch was a privilege.
Enjoying things as she was, she almost forgot that she was still being hunted. It was a nice break, but she eventually realized she couldn’t see in all directions. With the mountain range behind her and the Village ahead, she had thought herself walking a path that no one else would travel, but she knew it was better to be cautious than off guard.
Examining the rock formation more carefully, she found a way to climb up higher and scout further afield. She was still alone, but feeling the need to check was enough to put her back on edge. She wanted to stay shaded for longer, so she climbed down and settled in for an extended wait.
Some time passed and the sun was easing into the afternoon. A dust cloud—smaller than those that blew across the open areas normally—disturbed her rest. She turned her attention to the direction of the cloud.
People!
Her calm was gone: there were clearly voices and movements coming her way.
They must have been gathering brush in the fields.
She focused all her attention on the sound they made. There was no doubt they were coming from behind her.
I thought there was nothing out there ...
She moved around the rock, sidling away from their incoming noise. As she did, she could hear the voices, in four or five different tones. Distinction was easier for her now, having spent so much time in silence. The group seemed to be dividing: three voices continued along the common path towards the Village, while the other two came closer to the formation.
A man’s voice: he sounded older, but not elderly.
“I’m so hot ... I need some shade.”
The voice of a young woman replied.
“Ok fine, I’ll wait with you. I told you not to come with us.”
As they came closer, Fawn crossed to the opposing side of the formation. This would once have been considered just a game. The man rounded the corner first. She could see him from the space she had found. He was older with gray hair and stiff movements. The woman behind him was carrying a large bundle of Oil Brush and a waterskin.
Where did they get so much?
She got caught up for a moment by the surprise that there was somewhere to gather brush in such quantities. The idea of having a water container was appealing as well. Moss was not always easy to carry.
As the man sat himself down, she could see he was tired. Gathering in the sun for any length of time was draining, but it was mostly left to the young. The woman kicked at the small stones scattered about the ground in her frustration.
“Why do you do this every time?”
She turned, infuriated, looking at the man sitting under the shade of the outcropping.
He turned to meet her glare with indignation.
“You can’t instruct me, woman.”
“Yes, I can! You slow us down and annoy me.”
This contempt went on for a time, until eventually the woman strode away in anger. As Fawn watched the woman go, she began to move from her hiding place to find somewhere safer.
The man stood.
“I’m not carrying all this, stop being lazy!”
Aggravated, the woman spun to react. Fawn had moved too soon.
“You!”
Fawn panicked and froze. This woman was the first person to lay eyes on her since the Hunter. There was no Veil to save her this time.
“I ... I was just walking ... to gather brush.”
She struggled to sound genuine. Fawn was not a liar by nature. The situation got bad for her quickly.
“I don’t believe you! You could be trying to steal from me.”
The woman steps closer. Fawn takes up her gift from the Veil and holds it close with both hands.
“No, I was just––”
She cowers away from the woman, having no idea what to do. Confrontations of this type were exactly why she shouldn’t travel during the day.
“Sheya, why must you assume the worst of everyone? She may just be gathering as we are.”
The man steps forward and reaches for Fawn’s shoulder.
“I’m sure she means no harm.”
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He turns her gently to face him.
Fawn clutches her precious claw to her breast. Wrapped in the fiber cloth, and so dear to her, she holds it like a child’s comforter, rather than a weapon.
“Please. I just want to be on my way.”
The man looks her up and down momentarily, his gaze stalling as he meets her eyes.
“My, you are a stunning wee thing aren’t you. I don’t think I’ve seen such a beauty in my life.”
Caught up in his admiration of the child, he forgets the woman still storming toward them.
“What difference does it make what she looks like?!”
Sheya reaches to turn Fawn back toward her. They are both taller than Fawn by quite a bit, the usual differential between children and adults.
“She looks not more than ten cycles.”
The woman grabs at her roughly. Fawn hopes for just treatment.
“Please don’t hurt me.”
“You ... can no more tell me what to do than he can.”
She snatches Fawn by the shoulders and begins to shake her violently.
Hurt and tension form in the man’s voice.
“Stop it, Sheya!”
She pays no attention and pushes the little girl against the rock.
“Tell me your intent!”
She continues on at Fawn as she cowers further, holding tightly to her fiber-wrapped claw.
“And what are you holding?”
Her voice bears a strained tone, getting louder with each question.
Fawn curls herself in fear, clenching her eyes, and trying to imagine what to do.
“I will not be tricked by you, how you look is ... is nothing to me!”
She gains a more acute anger as the clear lie falls from her lips.
“Sheya! What is wrong with you?”
The man, horrified, reaches out to prevent any further shaking and threatening of the child he sees panicking before him.
“I want to know what she’s doing! Why she’s here, and what she hides!”
Her words are grating now.
“There is no good reason for a Girl Child to be out here alone like this unless she’s a criminal. Even this ... ugly little monster.”
She pushes at Fawn again and again, knocking her into the rock behind her.
“You should know better than to be so awful. I can’t allow this.”
The man grabs at her, trying to pull her away.
“That’s not your decision!”
She reacts in utter fury as he grasps at her arm, striking him with her elbow.
He looks hurt and shocked as his eye wells with a fresh bruise.
“Wha—”
He reaches for her again, disbelief replacing sense, as her elbow again comes flying back and up at him.
“No man will ever control me!”
Her elbow hits hard, striking the older man right under his nose. A strange wet cracking sound comes from the impact. Still obsessed with her target, Sheya lays blame.
“You wouldn’t have a broken nose if you had just stopped.”
Fawn hears the rest of the sound that comes from the impact, a dry snap and a dull thud, then the sound of the man hitting the ground. The angle of the strike not only breaks his nose, but shatters it––driving a splinter into the soft tissue of his brain.
Fawn screams as she watches him collapse suddenly to the ground.
“You’ve killed him!”
Sheya slams her heel onto the top bones of Fawn’s foot.
“Shut up animal, he’s ok.”
“No, he’s not, LOOK!”
Fawn feels terrible for the poor, well-meaning man bleeding onto the dust.
Sheya turns her attention to the downed man.
“What are you doing? Get up.”
She finally looks closely at him.
“Troen?”
She stares at his motionless body.
“TROEN?!”
She shakes him and pulls back, her hand over her mouth, turning to Fawn with hatred amassing behind her tears.
“This is your doing, you little beast.”
She puts full force into a wide swing of her arm and slaps the cowering girl hard across the face.
Fawn starts to cry.
“I did nothing!”
Desperately, she tries to defend her innocence of the situation.
“It’s your fault, stupid girl.”
Sheya begins to slap her again, alternating both hands, each strike, punctuating the hits. She keeps hitting her, first left hand, then right.
“Stupid girl”––whack, whack––“who thinks pretty”––smack––“can save her.”
Fawn tries to plead with the hysterical woman as she ducks down, lifting the claw to shield her head.
“Please stop!”
Sheya starts screeching, pulling Fawn’s outermost hand from its place around the still-wrapped claw.
“How dare you! I will punish you for hiding.”
She pulls Fawn’s arm out straight.
“You won’t be so defiant with a broken arm.”
Holding her arm stretched to its maximum, the enraged woman begins to bludgeon at it with her hand.
The obtuse injustice of Fawn’s suffering now takes precedence over the harsh pain building in her terribly bruised arm.
“Why?! I ... DID ... NOTHING!”
Sheya’s frustration accumulates as she is not able to break the child’s arm.
“Don’t shout at me!”
Eventually, she scoops up a large stone from the ground.
Still hoping to find a reasonable person buried somewhere within her assailant, rather than nothing but a savage animal, Fawn tries her appeal once more.
“Gods! Please don’t!”
She pulls frantically at her trapped arm. It has no effect on the maddened woman.
“My uncle couldn’t stop me: you will NEVER stop me!”
She brings the stone down with all the force she can muster: driven by hate, misery and subjugation. Cycles of feeling less than other women; a lifetime of failing to defend herself; and a generation of anger are being visited on a little girl’s arm all at once.
The rock lands hard.
Sheya readies herself to take advantage of the atrocious injury she has inflicted.
Fawn’s arm, however, does not break. The stone bounces against the bone, slips from Sheya’s grasp and falls to the ground.
Fawn screams and lifts the parcel in her other hand.
“Stop hurting ME!”
She strikes the claw down onto the forearm of the seething woman. The force with which she brings the claw to bear is more than she imagined she was capable of. It pierces through its fiber wrapping and into her attacker’s arm.
Sheya lurches suddenly as she learns that what was concealed in the child’s hands is no mere toy.
Her movement takes her backward, while Fawn holds her precious claw with all her strength.
The crystal-lattice edge of the Veil’s claw sinks quickly into the shrieking woman’s arm, passing deep into the flesh with no resistance––like a spoon into soft mash.
The claw slips between the two primary bones of her arm, cleaving veins and arteries. The woman pulls away harder, driven by excruciating pain.
Holding her claw with every ounce of strength that she can muster, Fawn closes her eyes and pulls it back.
Unable to believe what has happened, Sheya tries her escape one last time. She watches so much of her blood flood out onto the ground, that it splashes onto her cloth shoes, as though someone emptied an entire waterskin filled with blood onto the dirt beside her feet. The movement she chooses proves to be her worst mistake.
Although it is held by a child, the predator’s claw does what it has evolved to do: sliding through the woman’s tendons, then cartilage without resistance.
Finally, she slips in the fresh, shallow mud made of her blood and stumbles backward, yanking at her arm.
She watches as the claw splits her wrist bones, palm and then second finger. The sound of her screams grow ever louder, until her will fails.
Falling into shocked silence, she tries to clutch at her arm as it peels away in two separate directions. The bones divide from each other, taking with them all flesh.
Trying to walk, she stumbles a few paces.
“But ... I ... I hit her ... the rock ... but ... I ... why didn’t ... it break? ... But she’s just ... I ... I can’t ... ”
Her breath is broken, sharp and final. She falls onto her face with a dull crack.