Neda sat by Kester’s table in the midst of the gloomy tavern. As was usual, the sunset shone its red rays in to illuminate the sooty duo staring into the table at their untouched mound of potatoes. Opposite to them, Barrel had folded his hands and listened to their recount- imagining that Asrael would be far from pleased as he returned. To his dismay, Neda once again reached for her face to sniffle loudly. Their reactions were as varied as the people who had taken to calling the abandoned tavern their home; Kester darted silently back into the kitchen, Barrel reached his short, fat arm over the table to pat the soot-covered wildling comfortingly, whereas Ellie only continued to stare into the wood with apathy. Hours had passed since they had left him there in the darkness and not a word- not a noise had sounded from below for all that time.

Neda felt as if someone were squeezing her heart asunder- stopping her breath in her chest, just short of her lungs. Asrael would definitively abandon her now- why wouldn’t he? She had cost him his arm and in so doing, damned him to the life of a cripple. In the Blight, people with his disability would be left out in the desert to fend for themselves, but-… this wasn’t the Blight. This was elsewhere- where there were far worse fates than simply being left out in the dusty dunes to die in the scorching heat. What would he do now that he had been reduced to this state? He hadn’t the looks to be a pleasure-boy, nor did he have the curves for it- Bartholomew had told her so. His gloomy, unfriendly face would make him a poor beggar- who, in their right minds, would give him coin?

“D-do... do you t-think... h-he'll... l-let m-me... t-take c-care o-of him?” She spoke between her loud sobs. Barrel wrinkled his nose to decipher her words. Before he could voice something uplifting, Ellie shook her sooty hair and spoke: “No. He’ll probably kill you.” Somehow, Neda was relieved to hear it. She shouted: “Good! I w-want t-to d-die!”

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She continued sobbing- even as the heavy steps sounded on the stairs leading down into the cellar. It was not that she hadn’t heard them- how could she not? In the deafening silence, Asrael’s boots thumped against the ancient wooden construct as if they were hammers against her eardrums. Still, she kept her tearful eyes down in her palms and continued sobbing. Asrael sounded a strict, muffled order to the tavernkeeper before swinging the door open. Barrel dared look over at the miserable creature’s grimace and verified that his thin lips were drawn further down towards his chin than ever before. He looked to the melancholic trio in turn before stepping out from beyond the bar to approach the table, where he slammed something onto the tired wood. Grabbing Eleanor by the chin, he forced her to face him and looked her over. Her freckles and her pale skin were all covered in a thick layer of soot, but more unnerving were the lingering cherry red lips. She met his green, glowing bulbs and swallowed in expectance of his punishment, only for him to command: “You are poisoned by the gasses. Stay outside.”

Not one to look a gift Master in the mouth, she heeded the command with a silent nod and stood up, pausing before leaving to look at the sobbing Neda. She opened her bright-red lips twice to speak a plea on her behalf, only to fall silent time and time again. He turned to Barrel to order: “Take her.” To his fortune, at least one of his companions knew better than to hesitate and the small, fat man immediately stood up, dragged his loose pants up over his distended abdomen and grabbed Ellie by the hand to lead her out in silence- leaving Asrael to stare at Neda.

Neda awaited harsh words- or perhaps a dagger to the back of her neck... but no. She was startled to feel a cold, limp hand touch the top of her head. She ceased sniffling for a moment to peek out between her fingers, only to suffer a relatively gentle slap across the face.

“Idiot.” Asrael muttered. Neda was stumped to see that it had not been Asrael’s hand that had touched her- nor had he slapped her... but the oddly feminine arm in his one, remaining hand had been the aggressor.