Her eyes were pink. Not brown, or black, or green. Not normal.

Pink.

Tannel knew that eyes like that were dangerous. They belonged to horrible monsters disguised as people --thieves and liars and murderers and worse. He should be trying to chase her off. He should yell or hit or throw things, but he couldn’t seem to make himself move.

It wasn’t that Tannel was scared of her. He wasn’t a full man yet, but he didn’t frighten easily; it was a trait he took pride in. And even if he was easily spooked, the soggy young girl currently huddled in the corner of the old barn still wouldn’t have been much cause for alarm.

How could she be? She was pitiful. Her cheeks were hollow from hunger, her clothes looked more like a repurposed burlap sack than something a person ought to wear, her feet were bare, and mud and grime coated every inch of her exposed skin.

Worst of all, she looked terrified of him.

The muted taps of rain on old shingles droned on as if it were any other night. He raised his lantern a bit higher, and the girl shrank back from the light, pressing herself as flat against the wall as she could. He couldn’t tell if she was trembling from the cold or fear or both.

Her eyes were pink. And full of tears.

She squeezed them shut and guarded her head with frail arms, crackling out something barely audible. Her voice shook so heavily that it took him a moment to comprehend what she said: I’m sorry.

A heartbeat later, Tannel’s wool cloak was off his back and wrapped around her shoulders. They both went still, neither one knowing quite how to react to what the boy just did. Tannel closed his mouth (which he only just realized had been hanging open the whole time) and kneeled down in front of her.

Vivid eyes peeked out from behind twig-like arms. She still seemed to vibrate ever so slightly, but the terror had changed to uncertainty. She opened her mouth for a heartbeat, only to snap it shut twice as fast. She didn’t need to say a word, though. He knew what she wanted to ask. The only issue was that Tannel didn’t know why either, so all he could do was shake his head and give her a sad smile. 

The girl yelped, curling into a ball as thunder exploded overhead. Tannel made up his mind. When she nervously peered up again, she was met with an outstretched hand; her gaze darted between Tannel’s face and open palm. She slowly raised her own hand, hesitant to touch him, but practically flew into his arms when the second wave of thunder shook the barn.

He gently helped the girl to her feet and, with a tender arm around her shoulders, led her out of the barn.

~~~

Tannel gave her the small spare room in the back of the house, and she spent her first three days either in a fretful sleep or devouring whatever food he placed by her bedside. Somehow, he convinced the wary girl to accept a set of clean (though ill-fitting) clothes and to allow him to dress the small cuts marring her hands and feet.

Her name was Cherry.

It was a full two weeks before she spoke in complete sentences, and another passed before she revealed anything about herself, but Tannel finally learned her name. Cherry, like the flowering tree, named for her soft pink eyes. And definitely not like the fruit, named for her vibrant red hair --she, though usually too timid to look him in the eyes, was very quick to shut down that musing.

Cherry, as far as Tannel could tell, was not a thief or a liar or a murderer or worse. She was a thin, lost little girl who was too fearful to so much as request a cup for water.

She spent most of her time in the backroom, sewing away (it gave the poor girl something to focus on) while Tannel worked around the farm. When she ran out of clothes to mend, she moved on to making quilts out of old garments and fabric. 

She was skilled enough that he had to wonder where she had learned her needlework. He didn’t ask, though. The last of the Soratarian villages were either raided or tucked away in distant corners of the continent. If she was taught by a family member, then… 

He only hoped that she escaped before witnessing whatever end they met.

His own parents had left the farmhouse due to “war matters” and would return at some point within the next half-year. Tannel was at a loss for what to do. He couldn’t just force her out on her own again; she’d nearly starved to death before he found her. But if his family returned and found her in their house, they’d kill her. And then they’d kill him. Father wasn’t fond of traitors.

So, trapped by this dilemma, Tannel resigned himself to their bland living routine until one morning he realized what he could have been doing the whole time.

How did it take this long to think of this? Moron!

Tannel grabbed a pair of his old boots from a closet and made his way to the back room. Cherry was seated on the bed, engrossed in her stitching, but she set it aside when he entered. He handed her the shoes and received a confused look in return.

He explained, “We’re going outside today.” When she hesitated to reply, he quickly added, “You can say what you like, y’ know. I won’t be upset with y’.”

She looked up at him from her seat. “May I ask why?”

“I don’t see why y’ couldn’t.”

“Why?” She cocked her head as a sparrow might. Tannel smiled at the mental image.

“I wanna show you how to get by on your own in the woods,” he responded.  “For when-- y’ know, if…” he trailed off and stared at the floor, his smile gone. For when you’re living alone in the woods, trying to avoid the consequences of being born with those eyes.

“You’re very nice. You don’t have to do this, yet you do.” 

Her gentle reply surprised Tannel into looking up. Her pink eyes met his brown ones as she asked, “May I ask why?”

He coughed a little bit. “I-- well, I don’t see why y’ couldn’t.”

“Why?”

“I… well, y’-- you’re so…  Young. And you need some help. And I guess since no one else was helping, I had to. Or,” he laughed nervously, “I guess I don’t have to, so maybe I just want to?”

Her gaze shifted to the boots in her lap. After a quiet moment, she murmured, “Thank you.”

Tannel looked down and shuffled back out the doorway, hands shoved firmly in his pockets. “I’ll be out by the old barn,” he mumbled. “Meet me there when you’ve eaten and you’re all laced up.”

~~~

Cherry was a quick learner. A very quick learner... or maybe it was just because Tannel was slow? Either way, there was no doubt that Cherry was sharp. Few things ever seemed to escape her, and a second demonstration was rarely needed.

With a steady supply of full meals, she was back to a healthy weight, if a bit skinny. It made Tannel happy. Thanks to her wasted muscles, the poor girl could barely keep up with him their first day out in the woods. He didn’t want to think about what would have happened to her if she hadn’t found her way to the barn.

They had a good routine going: dawn wakeup, breakfast, morning chores, training, lunch, evening chores, and then a fairly relaxed evening, usually spent on reading lessons. Cherry, he learned, was only conversationally fluent in Central; the writing system was still fairly foreign to her.

She was loath to admit to her illiteracy. At first, Tannel thought that it was simply out of embarrassment, but he quickly learned that Cherry was not fond of reading. It was the only time she ever voiced a complaint. According to her, learning to read and write in Soratarian was “torturous,” and she thought she “was finally done with it.”

In her village, she explained, when a child reaches the age of ten, they are allowed to stop academic studies in favor of arcane ones or specialized trades.

“What were y’ goin’ to learn?” Tannel asked one afternoon as they strolled through the autumnally dyed forest.

“Learn?”

“You said that kids get to learn somethin’ new when they hit a certain age where you’re from. What were y’ goin’ to learn? Ah, if you don’t mind my pryin’.” He quickly added.

Cherry looked down at her feet, kicking a small rock along the leaf-strewn path as they walked. Just when Tannel thought she wasn’t going to answer, she mumbled something under her breath.

“What’s that?” He asked.

“I was learning to be a healer,” She said, sending the stone tumbling again with a firm kick.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“Like, fixin’ people up with herbs and medicine goop and all that?”

Cherry smiled a little bit. “Yeah. With herbs and medicine goop.” She slowed to a stop before quietly adding, “...and magic.”

Tannel’s shoulders stiffened at the word. When he turned to look at her, Cherry was poking at the rock with her boot. Blood red hair partially covered her face, but he could see she was chewing her bottom lip.

“...Magic, huh,” He murmured.

Tannel wasn’t sure why he felt such a pit in his stomach. She was a Soratarian for the sake of the Gods --what did he expect? He already basically knew. He was just too much of a coward to ask her outright.

Thickheaded simpleton.

Cherry dug her hands into her pockets. “Don’t worry. I never learned how to fight. Just how to fix bruises and little breaks and cuts.”

Tannel raised his hands reassuringly. “Hey now, I didn’t think y’ were gonna hurt me or anything...”

“Then why did you react like that?”

Tannel’s mouth went dry. He stared at his shoes.

She softly said, “You hate me now.” It wasn’t a question.

Tannel quickly shook his head. “Of course not, Cherry! You’re still you, knowin’ that doesn’t change who y’ are--”

Cherry cut him off, “They’re dead.”

Tannel froze. “...Who?”

She meekly faced him, her pink eyes shining as tears gathered and threatened to overflow. They seemed to glow in the light. “The people who taught me. They’re all dead. You don’t need to worry about them coming for you or anyone.”

He weakly sputtered, “I-- I didn’t…”

She continued, her quiet voice beginning to break, “They all died a while ago. It’s okay now, you don’t have to be afraid of me.” Tears finally spilled down her cheeks. “I can’t do anything and no one is coming.”

Her words stabbed at Tannel. He quickly drew her into his arms, but all he could muster was, “I’m sorry.”

Damned idiot.

Her body trembled with each breath. 

“You don’t have to be afraid of me," she shakily repeated.

Guilt clawed at Tannel’s throat. He murmured, “I couldn’t be afraid of you, Cherry. Never.” 

His heart only sank further as she said, “They wouldn’t have hurt you, even if they were here.” He barely heard her add, “I miss them, Tannel.”

He slowly lowered Cherry to the ground, softly hushing her. He cursed himself for fearing a mere word--

No, it wasn’t the word. He knew it wasn’t the word. Cherry was right.

He cursed himself for fearing her.

Dim-witted coward.

When her sobs died down, he collected Cherry in his arms, rose to his feet, and started the trek home.

Home. The farmhouse was the closest thing that Cherry had to a home, and even that wouldn’t last much longer, would it? Each step he took felt heavier than the last, but the house finally appeared through the trees.

“...They would have liked you,” Cherry whispered.

He paused. “What’s that?”

She tilted her head up to look at him. Her pink eyes were swollen but dry. The glow was gone. “My mom and my auntie Lily. They were healers." She shifted her gaze back to the grass. "They never liked the fighting. Lots of people got hurt.” 

There was a pause, and then the girl smiled ever so slightly. “They would have liked you. You don’t care about stupid sides.” She lightly gripped the front of his shirt.  “You’re nice.”

Tannel’s throat hitched, and he gave Cherry a little squeeze. He wouldn’t think about the future. For now, he would make this the most comfortable home he could. For her.

~~~

Tannel sprinted through the damp undergrowth, the angry fall wind clawing at his face. His lungs burned and his twisted ankle cried out at every step, but he kept running. He couldn’t be far now --the barking was close.

He bounded into a clearing and saw them. Cherry stood at the edge of the sheer cliffside, desperately trying to keep four snarling hounds at bay with a broken tree branch; a few more steps back and she’d tumble into the roaring rapids below. A man sat atop a grey mare, observing the girl’s struggle with mild disinterest.

The only color on his dark riding leathers was a golden boar stitched onto his right shoulder-- a patch proclaiming his rank of High Commander. A sheath hung across his back that displayed a threatening broadsword, and a belt around his waist held a dagger at each hip. His neat, brown hair contained streaks of grey that marked him as a man past his prime, but the cold dignity with which he held himself suggested his strength had not wavered with age.

His presence demanded obedience.

His presence commanded fear.

His presence was one Tannel dreaded.

Tannel corrected his posture and forced himself to approach calmly. He raised a hand and called out, “Father!”

The man turned his cold gaze towards his son. Upon seeing his child for the first time in almost a year, he said, “Ah, there you are."

Father wasn’t one for pleasantries.

Tannel swallowed. "I am glad to see you returned safely. May I ask what is going on here, Father?"

The old man’s eyes flicked back to the hounds. "Your mother found this,” he gestured vaguely towards Cherry, “in the spare room when we arrived. The dogs were going mad, so she opened the door and discovered it fleeing out the window. I have to say, this was quite the welcome. No son to greet us, and this thing roosting in our home, wearing our clothing.” 

His eyes were bored as he glanced Tannel up and down. “Care to explain?”

Tannel’s mouth went dry. He had left for less than half an hour to chop some firewood. They were supposed to have had at least another month left. He should have warned Cherry sooner. Gods, why didn’t he warn her sooner? 

Stupid. Careless. Foolish.

It took everything Tannel had to keep his face blank. “I had no idea, Father. If I knew she was there, I woulda dealt with her.”

“Would have,” Father sharply corrected. “You would have killed it. You sound like your mother, abbreviating like that. Speak clearly.” He turned his gaze back to Cherry just in time to see her bash the branch across the snout of a lunging hound. It scrambled back with a whimper, and Tannel suppressed a sigh of relief.

Father frowned and clicked his tongue. He studied his son for another moment, curled his lips, and letting out a screeching whistle. At once, the hounds fell silent and backed away from Cherry.

Tannel felt the pit in his stomach deepen. “Father?”

“This is quite the troublesome situation we find ourselves in,” the commander said in a tone that was far too even. “You claim that you were unaware of this creature living under the same roof as you, yet it wears your clothing. Additionally, you’ve always been irritatingly observant, noticing every little thing and relentlessly chattering away with pointless questions. How is it, then, that a little rat managed to slip past you, steal your clothes, and sleep in the spare room only a few doors away from your own?”

Tannel barely kept from flinching as Father’s steely gaze bore into him. “I do not know, Father. She must have only entered the house recently.”

“Another thing, Tannel. You keep referring to it as she. Why bother humanizing creatures like Soratarians?” He narrowed his eyes, and Tannel involuntarily averted his gaze.

“Apologies, Father. It looks female. I refer to the animals as she and her, and I thought that it would be a similar situation here.”

“It is not.”

“Once again, I give you my sincerest apologies.”

The old man’s stony gaze sent a bead of sweat dripping down the back of Tannel’s neck. After what seemed like an eternity, Father hummed and faced Cherry again. Tannel watched with horror as he dismounted the mare and began to approach the shivering girl, slowly sliding a sleek dagger from its sheath on his hip.

Cherry could only clutch the branch and watch as death approached.

“Wait!” The cry slipped out of Tannel’s mouth before he could stop it.

Father paused, unamused grey eyes returning to the boy. “Yes, son?”

Tannel tucked his hands behind his back in the hopes that standing at attention would conceal their trembling. “I… it is simply that the Soratarian seems too young to pose a threat. Why bother dirtying your hands with its blood?”

The commander gave the boy a soft, patient smile, an expression unnatural enough to send a shiver down Tannel’s spine, and his reply took on a tone generally reserved for children. “It has already stolen from us and harmed one of my hounds. That would be reason enough to kill it, no? And even if it hadn’t, it is best to cull these creatures young so that they may not grow into a threat later on. You understand that, yes?” He waited for Tannel to nod in agreement before growling, “I am well aware that you are an exceptionally slow child, but I believe that even you could have deduced that on your own.”

Father slowly turned and strode towards him, one hand clutching the dagger and the other held behind his back. He towered above Tannel, lean and well-built. Ruthless.

No stranger to killing.

Tannel swallowed.

A cruel smile tugged on the corner of the old man’s face, and he suddenly offered Tannel the hilt of the weapon. “Take it,” he commanded. Tannel obeyed, and Father returned to his mount. Once settled, he stared at his son through half-lidded eyes. “Well?”

Tannel’s blood ran cold as he realized what the man intended. “I don’t believe that I am capable of this, Father.”

“And why is that?  You’ve killed animals before, haven’t you?”

“Yes, but--”

“A moment ago, I believe you said she was the same. This should pose no issue for you. Unless you somehow happen to be fond of this creature, my son?” He seemed to spit out the word.

Tannel tensed. “No, Father. As I said, I have never seen h-- it before in my life.”

“Lovely. And I feel that you should know that I am simply responding to your suggestion. Upon further reflection, I agree, dirtying my hands this way is beneath me. Congratulations, it seems you are capable of complex thought after all.”

Tannel’s body went numb. “Thank you, Father.”

“Now then, go on, son.” He calmly inclined his head towards Cherry.

Tannel turned to the girl. At some point, tears had begun to silently roll down her face. Tannel took a step towards her.

Is there a way to grab her and run? 

Step.

The river is too wide. We can’t jump it.

Step.

I can’t swim, either.

Step.

The hounds are too fast to escape on foot.

Step.

If I attacked one hound, the other three would see me dead within a heartbeat.

Step.

But Cherry managed to keep the dogs back on her own.

Step.

Could we fend them off from the cliffside and edge our way down to shallow water?

Step.

No, she only survived this long because Father allowed it.

Step.

He would simply dismount and kill us both himself.

Step.

...She said she was a strong swimmer.

Step.

I hope she was right.

And then she was in front of him. The branch lay at her feet; her empty hands were limp at her sides. Hot tears ran down her cheeks, but her face remained expressionless. Pink eyes blankly stared through Tannel’s chest, then closed.

Tannel raised the dagger.