I follow Mairi through the winding streets of the slums. The signs of life that I failed to notice on my casual inspection earlier are everywhere. It’s not quite the life I am familiar with, but life nonetheless. Dirty, thin children play in the streets, woman and men barter —or fight— over meagre scraps of food. Dirty laundry is washed, hung, and dried. Laughter and crying can be heard in equal measure. It’s far from glamorous, but it’s life.

At the same time, there’s things here that I don’t think you’d see elsewhere in the city. A man is in the process of being beat up in an alley we pass by, but Mairi doesn’t spare him a glance, and her pace is fast enough I don’t either. A bit later we pass by some emaciated man lying on the side of the road we pass through, he’s not moving, and I’m not certain if it means he’s asleep or dead. Even if it’s the former, he’s not far from death’s door. It works here though.

To some extend it baffles me that people live here, as life appears objectively better out in the fields. There’s more than enough space for many more farms out there. Why do they choose to live here? Even I didn’t have a particularly hard time traveling overland for 5 days. But I guess it’s hard to imagine how you’d set up a farm if you’re like that man. You’d need some help from people around you, and at least a year's supply of grain before you could support yourself from your own land. Come to think of it, would you even be able to use the land? It looks like no-mans-land to me, but it’s probably owned by someone?

The road Mairi takes is long and winding, and at several points I wonder if she’s leading me in circles. Is she trying to hide where she’s going? At several points she pauses for a bit, seeming to look around for something, and then continues.

At long last however, we seem to arrive at the location she has in mind. At the end of a narrow alley between two large buildings, we enter some sort of courtyard that’s formed by the blind back walls of three two story buildings all facing outwards. No doors appear to open on this courtyard, and it’s not all that big, but it’s larger than I’d expect, measuring near 10 meters on a side. What’s more attention grabbing though, is that the space is full of children of various ages.

In one corner, a group of teens seems to have a heated argument, in another, an older girl seems to be teaching a younger one how to mend clothes. There’s a kind of ball game going on in the center between a horde of smaller kids. One boy seems to be sifting through a heap of knick-knacks, picking out stuff by some unknown measure. Further back, another teenage girl with blonde hair seems to be in the process of cooking something in a pot over an open fire.

Before I can take in more though, one of the teens that was having the argument earlier notices us and immediately makes a beeline towards the entrance we are standing. The rest of the kids in the clearing stop what they’re doing and gaze warily at us, at me really. Mairi receives a few exasperated glances, but not much more. Then I notice that some of the older children have surreptitiously pulled out what I imagine is some form of weaponry, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

Mairi waves at the boy coming towards us, but he doesn’t return it, and actually doesn’t look pleased at all. She loses some of the confidence she's displayed while leading me through the city.

The boy that comes up to us has a shock of hair that’s somewhere between brown and dirty blonde. He looks around 15 years old, but it’s hard to tell due to the grime that clings to him. Something tells me he doesn’t usually smile, his face seems set in a permanent scowl. He’s wearing some sort of brown tunic, but it’s seen so much use that it’s falling apart at the seams. There’s hardly any fabric that hasn’t been patched, and even so there’s places where a cut was never fixed. He might be 13 or 18 for all I can tell. The frown on his face isn’t quite hostile, but it’s not far off either.

"Cò tha seo, mata?” “Who is this?” he directs the question at Mairi, his tone carrying a hint of criticism, causing her to shrink slightly under his gaze. Her confidence quickly rebounds, however, as she straightens up and says, "Lorg mi i a' spaidsearachd mun cuairt. 'S e mèirleach a th' innte.” “Found… “ I'm unsure how to interpret this.

The boy looks at me, and his eyes narrow. I hold up my hands, palms toward him. No danger from me, I’m trying to say. He looks back and forth between me and Mairi, looking for something I can’t imagine. Eventually he shakes his head, as if trying to shake loose a silly idea.

"Carson a tha thu an seo?” “Why are you here?” I'm at a loss for how to respond. The simple answer is that Mairi brought me, so here I am. But why did I actually follow her? How can I possibly explain that I'm so desperate and worn down that I trailed after an 8-year-old who I feel just conducted a sly interrogation on me?

"Chan eil roghainnean ann” “No other options”, I eventually say.

I watch as the boy's eyebrows furrow, his skepticism evident in the way he studies me. He turns to Mairi, his voice low and questioning.

"A bheil i dha-rìribh na mèirleach?" "Is she... a thief?"

Before I can even process the question, let alone formulate a response, Mairi jumps in. Her small frame seems to vibrate with excitement as she rushes to answer, her words tumbling out in a torrent.

"Tha, tha! Dh'innis i dhomh gu bheil a h-uile càil aice air a ghoid!" "Yes, yes! She told me… stolen!"

I blink in surprise, caught off guard by Mairi's enthusiastic endorsement of my supposed criminal activities. I mean, I'd been sort of expecting it, but it still comes as some sort of surprise. It’s not perfect confirmation, but at this point I’m fairly certain that what looks like a band of ragged children, is also a band of thieves. I glance between Mairi's bright, expectant face and the boy's narrowed, assessing gaze. What to do here?

I take a deep breath, my mind racing as I weigh my options. There's a part of me that wants to protest, to explain the nuances of my situation. But as I consider everything I’ve done since coming to this world, I realize there's really only one answer I can give that won't be a lie.

"Tha e fìor," I say softly, the words feeling heavy on my tongue. "It's true."

I can't help but wince slightly as I admit it. Every item I possess, from the clothes on my back to the food in my pack, was either stolen or taken from the dead. The sword, the belt, the money - all of it acquired through means I would have once found inconceivable. It’s one thing to know it, but it feels quite different saying it to someone else. All the nuances of my situation suddenly lost.

As the boy's eyebrows raise slightly, my heart skips a beat, and I feel the need to add that nuance, even if my mastery of the language is woefully inadequate. "Cha robh... roghainn agam," I try, my voice barely above a whisper. "I had no... choice."

The boy's sudden bark of laughter catches me off guard, echoing off the alley walls and startling a nearby cat. His face, which had been filled with suspicion just moments ago, now breaks into a crooked grin.

"Sin mar a tha e dhan a h-uile duine," he says, his voice tinged with a mix of amusement and resignation. "That's how it is for everyone."

Mairi, standing beside me, nods her head so vigorously that her tangled hair bounces wildly. Her eyes are alight with a strange mix of pride and understanding, I’m not sure if she’s just agreeing with the boy, or somehow found some truth in what I said. I find come comfort in their recognition, even as I'm unsettled by the implications.

The boy takes a step forward, his posture relaxing slightly. He extends a hand towards me, a gesture that seems almost comically formal given our surroundings and the nature of our conversation.

"Is mise Calum," he says, his voice carrying a hint of authority that belies his young age. "I'm Calum."

I reach out to shake his hand, noticing the calluses on his palm and the dirt under his fingernails. His grip is firm, almost challenging, and I meet his gaze steadily. To my astonishment, Calum appears perfectly content to break our eye contact after a moment, apparently feeling no need to posture. He shakes his head as he turns to look at Mairi. "Tè eile?" he utters, "Another one?"

I furrow my brow, puzzled by Calum's last statement. Another one? What does he mean? Before I can ask for clarification, Calum motions for Mairi and me to follow him. He turns towards the rest of the kids in the clearing, raising his hand in a casual wave. The tension in the air dissipates almost immediately, and the children return to their previous activities as if nothing had happened.

I watch as the teenagers who had drawn their knives earlier now slip them back into hidden pockets or sheaths. It's a practiced motion, one that speaks of long experience. The sight sends a chill down my spine. While I academically know there’s probably kids like that in my own world, I’ve never had occasion to interact with any, and it makes me nervous. I can’t help but eye Mairi and wonder whether there’s a hidden knife somewhere on her body too.

Calum sets off at a brisk pace, heading towards the group of teenagers. I hesitate for a moment, glancing at Mairi. She gives me an encouraging nod, her small hand reaching up to drag me along by my sleeve. Taking a deep breath, I fall into step behind her, my eyes darting around the clearing as we walk.

The sounds of chattering, work and play fill the air, but there's an undercurrent of wariness that I can't quite shake. Every now and then, I catch one of the kids eyeing me surreptitiously, their gazes a mix of curiosity and caution. I try to keep my face neutral, not entirely certain what anything else will be interpreted as.

As we approach the group of teenagers, the girl with blonde hair that was cooking makes her way towards us as well. Despite the dirt and grime that covers her, there's an unmistakable air of authority about her, and I can’t shake the feeling that she’d be absolutely stunning if she weren’t covered in grime like the rest of them. She moves with purpose, her eyes scanning our little group with a mix of curiosity and caution.

Calum nods to her as she joins us, and I can feel the shift in dynamics. The other kids seem to defer to her presence, even Calum, whom seemed the leader to me so far. He clears his throat and begins to introduce the others, gesturing to each person in turn.

"Seo Eilidh," he says, pointing to a small, mousy girl with nearly white hair tied back in a ponytail. She doesn't meet my gaze, instead focusing intently on her feet. I can’t help but remember that just a moment ago she had a weapon somewhere on her body that, no matter how I look, I cannot detect now. Her tunic is nearly as bedraggled as Calum’s, but seems to be in a better state of repair.

"Iain," Calum continues, indicating a lanky boy with a mop of unruly brown hair. Iain gives me a quick once-over, his expression unreadable. I can’t help but note that of all the children there, he seems to have the cleanest clothes, wearing a natural off-white. Or maybe he just washes them, and they should all be this color.

Finally, Calum turns to the blonde girl who's just joined us. "Agus seo Rhona," he says, a note of respect in his voice. She's wearing the same dull brown as everyone except Iain, but her tunic is more dress-like, similar to mine. Somehow, she carries herself with a self-assurance that gives the impression of a queen holding court.

Rhona steps forward, her piercing green eyes locked on mine. Despite Calum's apparent acceptance of me, I can feel the wariness radiating from her and the others. The air feels thick with tension, and I resist the urge to fidget under their scrutiny.

"Cò th' innte?” “Who is she?" Rhona asks Calum, her voice low and measured. The question carries more weight than its simple words suggest, implying: Who is this woman, and is she trustworthy?

I stand my ground, trying to appear both non-threatening and confident as I wait for Calum's response. For the moment, I reckon I'll try to demonstrate that I pose no danger to them, which seems to be their primary concern. They're merely a group of youngsters, and I can hardly fault them for striving to survive. After all, who am I to judge?

Calum shrugs, his casual gesture in sharp contract with the palpable tension. "Thug Mairi a-steach i,” "Mairi brought her in," he states matter-of-factly. "Chan urrainn dhi a bhith na droch neach.” "She can't be… bad person." His voice remains almost nonchalant as he speaks.

I furrow my brow, trying hard to understand what he said. I gather the meaning, but why would Mairi bringing me mean I’m safe? I watch in bewilderment as the others suddenly nod in agreement, the tension in the air disappearing almost as fast as it came. As if Calum's declaration has settled the matter entirely.

Calum sees the confusion on my face, and tries to clarify for me. "Bheir Màiri a-steach clann eile gu tric." “Mairi brings… children.” Sure? But why would they place so much trust in Mairi? I eye at the girl standing next to me as Calum continues "Tha deagh fhiosrachadh aice.” “Good… something.” I curse my lacking vocabulary. What is Mairi good at?

I glance over at her, and am shocked at the transformation in her demeanor. Gone is the wary, street-smart child from earlier. In her place stands a girl practically glowing with pride. Her chest is puffed out slightly, and her chin is tilted upward in a gesture of unmistakable self-satisfaction. The corners of her mouth twitch, fighting against a full-blown grin that threatens to split her face.

I can't help but smile at her reaction. It's clear that Calum's words have struck a chord, validating her decision to bring me here. Her eyes dart around the group, soaking in their acceptance, before finally landing on me. There's a sparkle there that wasn't there before, a mixture of triumph and excitement.

For a moment, I’m shocked to see how young she truly is. Despite her street-hardened exterior, Mairi is still very much a child at heart, one who craves approval and recognition. There's something both heartwarming and heartbreaking about seeing such genuine joy on the face of someone who's clearly had to grow up far too quickly.

Calum's attention shifts back to me, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studies my appearance. "Ged a tha," he begins, his tone thoughtful, "chan eil thu coltach ri mèirleach." I catch the word "mèirleach" - thief - and piece together his meaning. "That said, you don't look much like a thief."

Sure man, as if you look the part. I nearly retort with a jibe, but it doesn’t feel like the tone of the conversation is quite ready for me to start joking around yet. I’m not quite sure what he expects a thief to look like though. Wouldn’t it be better for them to appear entirely unremarkable?

Suddenly Mairi's eyes lock onto mine, her brow furrowing in confusion. The pride that had been radiating from her just moments ago is replaced by a sharp, questioning look.

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"Seadh, bha gu leòr airgid agad airson còig bonn copair a thoirt dhomh!" she exclaims, her voice rising with a mixture of disbelief and accusation. I catch enough to understand her meaning: "You had enough money to give me five coppers!"

The others look startled at that, and I wonder what the average amount of money these kids steal is. Her words hang in the air for a moment, and I can feel the weight of the others' gazes upon me. Mairi's eyes narrow as she continues, her voice lowering to a near whisper, "Chan fhaighear sin le tubaist." The message is clear: "You don't get that by chance."

I take a deep breath, realizing I need to be honest if I want to gain their trust. "Okay, look," I begin, then realize I need to swich languages, my hands fidgeting with the hem of my dress. "'S e an fhìrinn, thàinig…” I pause, as I consider how to continue, "a' mhòr-chuid den airgead sin bho fhear a... uill,” saying this scraping the very bottom of the barrel of my linguistic knowledge, but I consider it a miracle I can figure out how to say it at all “...ruith e air falbh agus leig e às a sporan.” The truth is, most of that money came from a guy who just ran away and dropped his pouch. I pause, gauging their reactions.

Both Mairi and Calum give me incredulous looks. Mairi is the first to speak, still caught up in her disbelief "Agus theich e, dìreach mar sin?” “He… just… ran?” I realize I've omitted a crucial detail, but I'm unsure whether to share it. I look into the children's eyes, which moments ago were filled with trust, but now reflect suspicion. What kind of life have they led for their trust to evaporate so quickly? Something tells me it would be unwise to withhold information. If they catch me in a lie even once, I might lose all their trust, or—remembering the shivs—face worse consequences.

"Cha do, chunnaic e m' fhalt.” “No, he saw my hair."

Mairi's brow furrows, her head tilting to the side in confusion. "Do ghruag?” "Your hair?” she asks, her voice laced with skepticism. "Carson a ruitheas duine air falbh bho ghruag?" I can tell she's asking why someone would run away from hair.

I hesitate, my hand instinctively moving towards my scarf. In for a penny, in for a pound I suppose. I've already come this far.

"Alright," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "Seallaidh mi dhut" With trembling fingers, I reach up and slowly pull back my scarf, revealing what remains of my chopped up black hair.

The reaction is immediate. Mairi's eyes widen in surprise, but it's the older kids who truly react immediately. Calum and the others let out audible gasps, stumbling back a step or two, their weapons appearing in their hands near instantly. Their faces are a mix of fear and awe.

I take a step back myself, but suddenly I freeze, as I feel something sharp being pressed into my back. A glance behind reveals Eilidh, whom I haven’t even seen move, pressing a knifelike object into the area where I guess my kidney is.

Mairi, as skeptical as she was before, is looking panicked, glancing between me and the others. "Dè tha ceàrr?" she asks, clearly not understanding the gravity of the situation. "What's wrong?"

I stand there, my heart pounding in my chest, not daring to make a single move. I’ve sunk deep into the time slowing effect of the juice, but I can’t find a way out. Anything I do will result in a knife in the back before anything else. How did the freaking girl even get there? The tension in the air is palpable, and I wonder if I've just made a terrible mistake.

There's an eternity where we all stare at each other, the expression on the kids’s faces when nothing happens turning more incredulous by the second. Calum is the first to recover, his initial shock melting into an unexpected burst of laughter. It's a sharp, almost hysterical sound that cuts through the tense silence. "Seadh, dhèanadh sin an gnothach,” "Yeah, that'd do it," he says, shaking his head in disbelief.

His laughter seems to break the spell that had fallen over the group. Iain and Rhona visibly —almost forcibly— relax, though their eyes still dart nervously between my revealed hair and each other. Their hands slowly lower their weapons, but I can see they're still on edge. Eilidh hasn’t moved a muscle though, her knife still pressed into the same position it was before. Looking to Rhona for guidance, who seems entirely content to let her stay there for the moment.

Mairi, however, is having none of it. She stomps her foot hard on the ground, kicking up a small cloud of dust. Her face is scrunched up in frustration and confusion. "Dè tha dol an seo?" she demands, her small hands balled into fists at her sides. I don't need to understand the words to know she's asking what the hell is going on.

I nod emphatically at Mairi, feeling a surge of kinship with the young girl's confusion. "Seadh, na thuirt i,” "Yeah, what she said," I mutter, my eyes darting between the faces of the older kids. "Dè tha ceàrr air m' fhalt?” "What's wrong with my hair?” after I can't help but mutter, in English, "It's just hair, for crying out loud."

Calum's hysterical laughter dies down, and he exchanges a meaningful glance with the others. His eyes linger on Rhona, who gives him an almost imperceptible nod. He takes a deep breath, his expression becoming more serious.

"Nach eil fios agad?” “You don’t know?" Calum begins, his voice low and measured. There’s a hint of disbelief to his voice that indicates he cannot quite conceive of someone—maybe especially an adult—not knowing what the problem is.

The utter bafflement in my expression seems to convince him though, as he almost whispers to himself "Chan eil fhios agad.” “She doesn’t know." He can’t seem to trust his own words, because he repeats the same question again "Nach eil fios agad gu fìor?"

"Chan eil” “No”, I can’t really do more than refute. As I have zero clue what they’re on about. I knew there was something about black hair, but… I guess a few weeks of nobody remarking on it and leading a sort of normal life caused me to forget how violently people can react to it. Even the Supervisor lady that chased after me in the weavers was tame by comparison, and I nearly cut her hand off for her trouble.

Calum looks back at Rhona, Iain and Eilidth, none of whom seem to have anything to give him. Rhona gives an almost imperceptible shrug. And Calum turns back to me. "Nach eil thu mar phàirt den àrd-impireachd?” “Not part of… something?”. Considering I have no idea what he’s on about, I can safely say "Chan eil.” “No.”

He seems to consider his next question "A bheil fios agad mun àrd-impireachd?” “Do you know… ard-impireachd?” Whatever this ard-impireachd thing is, it seems to be the source of all my worries. Something, something empire? Are they talking about a country?

"Thig mi bho chèin.” “I come from far.” I guess I’ll have to make clear that I have no idea about their political situation or something. Are they at war? Is the black hair somehow representative of this ard-impireachd? "Chan eil fhios agam ard-impireachd.” “I don’t know ard-impireachd.”

Calum seems lost for words at this revelation. He makes a hand signal to Eilidth, and I feel her tense behind me, which drives the point of her weapon a little further into my back. A sharp pain pierces my skin, and I feel a trickle of blood seeping down my back. I nearly pull forward, but she doesn’t appear to go any further than that, and I suspect moving would be a very, very bad idea at the moment.

The reason for Calum’s hand signal is soon clear as he, Rhona and Iain huddle together, and have a quick whispered discussion, none of which I catch. Mairi, meanwhile, is glancing rapidly between me and Eilidth, as if not sure whom to support. After a moment, the group of breaks up again, and Rhona steps forward instead of Calum. She nods towards Eilidth, and the point that had seemed to be driven in my back for an eternity finally disappears. So does the girl that was holding it, and a moment later she’s back to flanking Rhona.

She still doesn’t meet my eyes, and I can’t suppress a shiver of fear. What the hell kind of assassin creature is this? It was disturbing to imagine these kids doing this, but it’s a whole different level of uncanny to see it happen. At least we seem to be through this part, and as close as they came, unlike Ronain's villagers, they haven’t quite tried killing me yet.

Rhona waves her hand in front my face, and I realize that I’ve been staring at Eilidth like she is a ghost, trying to determine where that knife went. I fumble my hand behind my back, and it comes away wet with blood. Not a lot, but...

"Tha mi duilich mu dheidhinn sin. Ach bha againn ri bhith cinnteach.” “Sorry… But... to be sure” Rhona speaks, seemingly genuinely apologetic when she sees the blood on my hand. She tries to catch my attention again. "Leig leam mìneachadh.” “Let me… explain.”

What follows, is a very intense ten minutes of Rhona—and Mairi, after she gets what Rhona is trying to say—trying to explain why black hair is bad, dumbed down to the point a toddler can understand it. What it comes down to seems to be, that the only people in this country with black hair are part of the High Empire, and the only females with black hair are almost certainly scouts or spies for this empire.

My stomach drops at this impartment. High Empire? Spies? My mind races, trying to process this information. I open my mouth to speak, but Rhona continues before I can form a coherent thought.

"'S e sin as coireach gu bheil daoine a' freagairt mar a tha iad,” "That's why... people react… like that," she explains, her eyes never leaving mine. "Tha falt dubh air boireannach an seo a' ciallachadh cunnart. Tha e a' ciallachadh cuideigin a tha coltach a bhith an seo gus fiosrachadh a chruinneachadh, gus ullachadh airson ionnsaigh, no nas miosa.” “Black hair… woman… danger..."

I appreciate her willingness to be verbose, even if she knows that most of what she says will go right over my head.

I stand there, stunned, as the implications of her words wash over me. My hand unconsciously reaches up to touch my short, choppy black locks. What was always a mundane feature of my appearance has suddenly become something far more significant. Even having said I come from elsewhere, and that my black hair has nothing to do with this empire, I can feel the weight of their stares, a mix of wariness and curiosity, and I realize that my life here just got a whole lot more complicated.

My hands clench at my sides, and I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself before I speak. Even if we’ve gone through this before, with my now improved vocabulary, I feel the need to state it clearly. “Seall,” “Look," I start, my voice coming out more forcefully than I intended, “Chan eil mi nam bhrath-fhoillsichear.” “I’m not a spy."

For a moment, I consider telling them the whole truth - that I'm from another world entirely. But the words catch in my throat. It sounds insane even to me, and I lived it.

I look at each of them in turn, willing them to believe me. Unexpectedly, I notice a supportive look in Mairi's eyes, as if she's attempting to transmit bravery to me through sheer force of will. My voice softens, tinged with a hint of desperation. "Tha mi dìreach... air chall.” "I'm just... lost."

Rhona's piercing green eyes bore into mine for what feels like an eternity, weighing the truth of my words. Even if they’re already satisfied themselves that I’m not a danger, that doesn’t necessarily mean they believe me, and I find myself holding my breath, waiting for her verdict. Finally, her shoulders slump ever so slightly, and she nods, though the wariness doesn't leave her face.

"Seadh," she says “Aye," her voice carrying a bitter undertone that makes me wince. "Tha mi a' smaoineachadh gum feum e bhith mar sin. Nam biodh tu dha-rìribh nad aon dhiubh, bhiodh sinn uile marbh a-nis, tha mi a' creidsinn.” “It must be…” She spits on the ground, her expression darkening. "Chan eil na daoine sin a' gabhail gu coibhneil ri bhith air am faighinn a-mach. Bhiodh iad air ar sgòrnain a ghearradh mus biodh cothrom againn fiù 's ar sùilean a chaogadh.” “Those people don’t… discovered. They’d… slit our throats...

I feel a chill run down my spine at her words, realizing what she’s implying. Even as quick as they were, they didn’t expect to survive when I revealed my hair. In this world, my appearance alone could be a death sentence, for others, and for myself, and I never knew. What would have happened if I didn’t make this scarf and walked into the city? I swallow hard, trying to find my voice.

"Tha mi... taing dhut airson creidsinn annam,” "I... thank you for believing me," I manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper. "Cha bhrath mi an earbsa sin." "I won't betray that trust."

Rhona's eyes narrow, and I can see the conflict within her. She wants to believe me, but years of survival on the streets have taught her caution. I can almost see the wheels turning in her head as she weighs the risks against the potential benefits of trusting me.

As the heavy silence threatens to suffocate us all, Mairi suddenly pipes up, her voice a mixture of disappointment and childish petulance. "Och, nach eil e na spaidh, ma-thà?" she sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes. "Is that all? She's not even a spy?"

I can't help but chuckle at her reaction, feeling some of the tension drain from my shoulders. Leave it to a child to be more excited by the prospect of danger than relieved by its absence. Mairi's disappointment seems to lighten the mood slightly, and I notice Rhona's lips twitch in what might almost be a smile.

Iain, however, remains serious. He turns to me, his dark eyes intense as they lock onto mine. "Feumaidh tu an fhalt sin a chumail am falach," he says firmly, gesturing to my hair. "Cha bhi a h-uile duine cho tuigseach rinn." I don't catch all the words, but his meaning is clear enough: “For gods sake, keep the hair hidden!"

I nod solemnly, reaching up to touch the scarf still wrapped around my head. "Tha mi a' tuigsinn," I reply softly. "I understand." And truly, I do. I had already decided to conceal my hair, and unsurprisingly, learning that it could be an even larger matter of life and death hasn't altered my resolve. As I adjust the scarf, ensuring not a single black strand is visible, I can't help but wonder what other things pass me by that could kill me if left as is. As much as this world appears to be the same, there’s clearly a whole layer aside from the magic that I’m missing here.

As the weight of Iain's warning settles over me, Mairi, apparently considering the matter settled, bounces up to Rhona, "Uill?” “Sooo?” Her attempt at puppy dog eyes looks oddly out of place on her tough little frame, leaving me puzzled.

Rhona's brow furrows as she ruffles Mairi hair, and studies me intently, her green eyes seemingly trying to peer into my very soul. I resist the urge to fidget under her scrutiny, forcing myself to meet her gaze steadily. The seconds stretch into what feels like an eternity, the only sound the distant chirping of birds and the occasional shuffle of feet.

Finally, Rhona lets out a long, weary sigh. Her shoulders slump slightly, and for a moment, that air of self-confidence disappears, and I catch a glimpse of the enormous responsibility she carries. When she speaks, her voice is firm but not unkind.

"Faodaidh tu fuireach an-dràsta," she says, her words slow and deliberate "You can stay for now". The others nod in agreement. Relief washes over me, but before I can fully relax, Rhona continues, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Ach bidh dùil agad ri obair mar duine sam bith eile. Chan eil àite againn airson leisgean.” “Must work… No place… idlers"

I nod eagerly, a mix of gratitude and determination flooding through me. "Tha mi deiseil airson obair," I say, hoping my pronunciation is correct. "I'm ready to work.” then I whisper to myself "Thank you, Rhona. Thank you all."

image [https://pub-43e7e0f137a34d1ca1ce3be7325ba046.r2.dev/Group.png]

As the sun begins to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the alleyway, I find myself caught up in a whirlwind of activity. True to Rhona's words, there's no shortage of work to be done. Throughout the afternoon, I've been shuttled from one task to another, my hands constantly occupied with something new.

For such a small space there’s a great many things to do. It’s not helped by there being so many little ones for every older child. They may all act older than their age, but there’s only so much a four year old can do. It very much seems as if they’re perpetually short on hands.

As the day winds down, I stand beside Rhona in what passes for a kitchen area - really just a small fire pit with a few battered pots and utensils. She guides me through the process of preparing a simple stew, her instructions so rapid that I struggle to follow. Despite my clumsy attempts, she remains patient, demonstrating each step with practiced ease.

I can’t help but remark on this. "Ciamar a thàinig sibh uile an seo?” “How did you all get here?” She glances over at me, a wry smile on her face. "Tha adhbharan againn uile.” “We all have our reasons.” I guess I should rephrase my question. "Ceart gu leòr. Tha mi a' ciallachadh, carson a tha uimhir de chlann òg ann.” “Sure. But why so many small childen?"

She turns to me with a fiery expression on her face, hands on hips. There is a deep seated anger in her voice as she spits out "Air sgàth 's gu bheil uimhir gan trèigsinn!” “Because so many have been abandoned!” The look she gives me suggests she's incredulous that I would ask something so utterly senseless. My next words stick in my throat, as I re-evaluate why Rhona does what she does. I can't deny that I had initially pegged her mostly as the leader of a gang of thieves, but... the way she says it now makes it sound more like a rescue mission.

I drop the subject, as I reconsider what I thought I knew, and she goes back to her cooking with a huff.

The aroma of the cooking food fills the air, and I can't help but feel a small sense of pride as I watch the younger children gather around, their eyes wide with hunger and anticipation. As we ladle out portions, I catch Rhona watching me, now with a hint of approval in her green eyes.

With bellies full, our attention turns to preparing for the night. Calum takes up a position near the entrance, a small fire behind him lighting up the narrow alley that is the entrance to their sanctuary. Eilidth puts down a mat near the fire, out of line of sight of the entrance, presumably taking second watch. Rhona directs me to help lay out straw mats for the younger children. As I spread them out, careful to make them as comfortable as possible, Rhona approaches me.

"Thu," she says, pointing at me and then to the edge of the group of mats. "An seo." She mimes lying down, then makes a rolling motion with her hand before pointing to the little ones.

I nod in understanding, a lump forming in my throat at this small gesture of trust. "Tha mi a' tuigsinn," I reply softly. "I'll keep them safe.” She snorts, and rolls her eyes a little bit, but the smile on her face takes any sting out of the action.

As I settle onto my designated mat, the cool night air nipping at my exposed skin, I watch Rhona move among the children, tucking them in and murmuring soft words of comfort. I can’t be anything but impressed with what she and the others seem to have accomplished here. Despite the hardness of the ground beneath me and the unfamiliarity of my surroundings, I feel a strange sense of belonging wash over me. I’m still an outsider, sure, but it’s the closest I’ve been to anyone since coming to this world—which, on reflection, is a bit sad.

It's been a long, exhausting day, but as I close my eyes, listening to the gentle breathing of the children around me, I can't help but feel that there are worse places I could have ended up. I’m still not entirely certain what I was looking for when I went after Mairi, but this isn’t bad.