Chapter 1

***

“Dani! Come wash up! Dinner’s ready!” Her keen ears heard Mama’s call from across the farm.

She paused a moment, her hand wrapped firmly around the leafy shoots, a sharp tug later and the orange vegetables revealed themselves. Putting the freshly unearthed bundle of carrots into the cart, she turned to Papa. “Papa! Ma’ said dinners ready!” She called out to him, he wasn't too far away, kneeling next to the corn stalks, studying something near the roots.

“Thank you, sweetie, head on back, I’ll be right behind you.” He smiled at her distractedly before returning his attention to the dirt.

“M'kay, just don't take too long, you know what Mama’s like.” Maneuvering herself into position, she began pulling the cart across the field to the storage shed. Danica only made it halfway before the wheels of the heavy cart dug a little too deeply into the freshly upturned soil, getting jammed in the process. She could have kept pulling and forcing it out of the groove through brute strength. But as she and her family had come to find out the hard way, wooden wheels were rather fragile, and didn’t much appreciate having such forces applied to them.

With a sigh, Danica ducked out of the pull bar and made her way to the left side of the cart. Putting her hands between the wheels, she cautiously tugged, hearing no ominous noises, she slowly and effortlessly lifted that side of the cart completely off the ground. Once the wheels cleared the divots they had dug, she quickly went to work with her feet. A sweep to smooth, and a few rapid taps to compact it. When she finally set the cart back down, the wheels sat firmly on flat hard dirt, not sinking an inch. Happy with her work, she moved to the other side of the cart to repeat the process.

Fortunately, the rest of the trip to the storage shed didn't require an encore performance. Properly unloading and organizing everything was a pain, but keeping things tidy today made life easier tomorrow. At least that’s what her Papa kept telling her.

With her task done, Danica happily made her way to the house, more than a little eager to dig into the food she could already smell. Her Mama made the best stews. She practically floated through the door, being pulled along by her nose, following the deep savory scents wafting from the kitchen.

“No flying in the house!” Thwack!

Her half-lidded gaze snapped wide as she was brought back down to the wooden floorboards. Danica blinked owlishly at the wooden ladle in her mother's hand, she touched her forehead absentmindedly, wiping away the hot soup droplets left behind. “You know I can’t control it yet, Mama!” Danica exclaimed, she hadn’t even realized that her feet had left the ground. It was a new and somewhat rare development in the last few months, but when she felt particularly happy she would begin to float.

Mastery of that particular gift alluded her. Only the Nine knew how she tried! Being able to soar through the sky sounded like so much fun! Sometimes she would even dream of what it would be like! The dreams were amazing, but the accompanying fall from the ceiling was not nearly so welcome. The first time it had happened, she’d punched a hole in the floor in fright. To say her parents were unamused to being woken up to such a racket was an understatement.

She couldn't help but lick her now damp fingers clean, the soup tasted as good as it smelled. Her mouth salivated, and her stomach audibly rumbled.

Mama just huffed, turning back to tend to the pot of divine goodness. “Honestly, you let your stomach do too much of the thinking.”

“But I’m hungry!” Danica whined pitifully at her mother's back. The unimpressed look she shot over her shoulder said it all.

“And you’ll eat, after you wash up. No child of mine is going to act like some uncivilized mountain child.”

Danica tried pouting, but with Mama facing away from her, she didn’t even twitch. “Fine!” She proclaimed loudly before leaving the kitchen. The well outback was an old thing, dug before Mama and Papa were even born by Papa’s grandpa. Even with its age, it supplied clean refreshing water without fail.

Pulling the full pail up the shaft was easy, and emptying it out into the waiting barrel was even easier. The part that she hated was how boring it all was. Dip, pull, empty, repeat. Despite all her strength, despite all her speed, getting large quantities of water was one of the few tasks her gifts couldn’t help with. After all, being stronger or faster wouldn’t change how much water she could fit in the pail. Ma and Pa made a point of making her gather the water, ‘to keep you humble’ they said. Personally, Danica thought they did it because they hated doing it as much as she did.

Once the barrel was full, she could finally utilize her gifts properly, lifting the barrel and walking it over to the side of the house for easy access. Now that everyone else had water, she went back to the well, filling up her own personal bucket to wash up with. In the sanctity of Danica’s little room, wiping herself down was a simple affair, what with her not being able to sweat, a light brush from a damp rag was all it took to get rid of the dirt clinging to her skin.

Taming her hair, however, was a much more difficult beast. With her tough hair, combs and brushes gave way long before any knot would, so she had to improvise. Danica had no choice but to card her fingers through her hair. It took longer and wasn’t nearly as good as a brush, but it was the best she could do. Thankfully her hair was naturally straight, if she’d had frizzy hair like Mama, she wasn’t sure what she would have done.

She missed the days when her Mama could brush her hair, but as she aged, her gifts seemed to grow alongside her. After her sixth name day, Mama no longer had the strength to pull the combs through her knots. By her eighth name day, the knots of hair cut through the comparatively weak wooden tines of the combs.

There had been talk of getting her a metal comb, but such fine metalwork was much too expensive for a minor farming family like themselves. She’d overheard her Papa’s conversation with the blacksmith in the nearby village. It would have cost them nearly half a year's harvest just for one comb! And a brush would have been double that!

The stupid blacksmith said that it was hard enough to get good iron, that plus the fine touch required on such an item was what drove the cost so high.

Papa had told her that they would try their luck at Dordan during the next moonfall festival. The family had a stall there every festival. But as the moonfall festival only happened once every five years, and the last one being not even a year prior. With four more years to wait, she’d resigned herself to having to deal with her hair the only way she knew how.

“Mmmm.” Danica groaned as she ate spoonful after spoonful of the delicious soup.

“Honestly, its as if we don't feed you.”

“Imph Jmpht hmpungry.”

“What did I say about talking with your mouthful?” Mama asked reproachfully.

Swallowing quickly, “Not to do it.” Danica sheepishly replied. Seeing her Mom nod, she repeated herself. “I’m just hungry. I don’t know why though, I eat and eat but my stomach always feels empty.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“My gluttonous daughter.” Mama sighed dramatically with a smile.

She ignored her mother's teasing and kept slurping up soup.

As she reached the bottom of the bowl, Danica did her best to block out the rhythmic thumping sound and low-pitched whine. She wasn't going to fall for it this time!

A cold wet nose touched her knee, causing her to look down on instinct. Wide soulful brown eyes stared back at her.

Darn it. She bit her lip, turning back to her bowl. She paused at the mournful whine.

With an annoyed huff, she placed the bowl on the floor. Scowling as the dog happily lapped up the remnants of stew. She didn't even know when she had started scratching Jason behind the ears, nor when her frown had turned into a smile. It just sort of happened. Truly, the dog was a formidable opponent.

The next morning found Danica and her father by the chicken coop. They were supposed to be gathering eggs, but unfortunately, it seemed something had broken into the coop during the night. Whatever it was, it had torn a swathe through the hen population before leaving. Looking for tracks was useless as it had also rained during the night, completely washing away any signs of the attacker.

Before that night they’d had forty chickens, now they only had thirty. One of the remaining chickens had a rather large gash along its back. They would have to put it down, not only because it wasn’t likely to heal, but also because the fresh blood could send the other chickens into a frenzy.

Instead of doing it himself like he always did, he looked at Danica consideringly before handing her the injured chicken. “You’re old enough now, I think.”

Her eyes widened when she realized what he wanted her to do. She nodded firmly before putting the chicken in the position she had seen her father do countless times. Doing her best to mask her nervousness.

She took a deep breath to steady her shaking hand around the upside-down chicken's neck. It was already dying, this was mercy. This was a kindness, quick and painless.

“Dani, you can always use the knife instead.” Papa spoke consolingly in her ear.

“No! You d-do it t-this way!” She stubbornly stuttered in reply. She wanted to be like her Papa!

“Alright. Do it just like I taught you.” He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze.

Danica nodded, on a count of three, she gave a sharp downward pull on the chicken's head while hugging the body tightly against her chest. The crack was surprisingly loud. She clenched her eyes shut as she felt the dead body spasm and buck against her for half a minute. There was a bit of relief when she glanced down and saw that she hadn't accidentally ripped the head right off, with her strength it had been a real fear of hers.

“Good job, Dani.” Papa smiled down at her. “Now, you remember how to pluck the feathers, right?”

Danica pouted at her Papa, of course she knew how to pluck the chicken! She’d been helping Mama in the kitchen for years now.

He held his hands up, “Alright, sorry. I shouldn't have asked that.”

Somewhat appeased, she began cleaning the chicken. She even went ahead and gutted it with a nearby knife, a task she was more than desensitized to from growing up on a farm.

When it was all said and done, her Papa ruffled her hair. “Good job, Dani. I’m so proud of you.” Picking her up and placing her on his shoulders. “Now, let's go bring this chicken inside, I’m sure your Mother will turn it into something amazing.”

Despite being covered in blood, feathers, and guts, Danica smiled so wide it hurt.

Thankfully, her father noticed when she began to rise off his shoulders, and tightened his grip accordingly.

***

Shoes were the most pointless thing to ever be made. Danica scowled as she pushed the needle through the leather.

Oh, she saw why other people liked them of course. They protected their weak little feet from rocks or whatever. But her feet were tougher than any pair of shoes. And not to mention her feet were stronger than her shoes as well.

With her strength, it was all too easy to pop the seams holding them together. She needed to plant her feet when doing anything physical, and her shoes simply weren’t made for that kind of abuse.

But did Mama understand? Noooo. She had to be a proper lady and cover her delicate little toes. She snorted, as if her shoes didn't get full of dirt and muck anyways! They were on a farm! Her feet were going to get covered in filth regardless of if she wore shoes or not.

At least if she went barefoot she wouldn't have to repair these stupid shoes every week. In fact, if she didn’t have to be mindful of destroying her shoes, she would have been able to dig her toes into the dirt far more effectively.

The only plus side in the whole affair was that since she could push the needle through the thick leather so easily, she was able to finish it much quicker than a normal person. Of course, that didn't change the fact that she hated it with a passion. And as her strength grew, so did the number of repairs she had to make.

“Danica, hurry up. I need your help hanging up the clothes.”

“Yes, mother.” She snapped waspishly, still thinking about her shoes.

“Hmm?” Her mother hummed questioningly, and ice formed in Danica’s veins.

“I said, yes mama!” She yelped.

“Oh, of course you did, Sweetie. Now, once you're done with those shoes, perhaps you can also help me with the dishes later too?”

Danica nodded frantically, more than eager to take the out she was offered.

“Perfect.” Her mother purred with a sharp little smile.

Her Mama was scary!

***

The anthill bustled with activity.

Curious blue eyes watched on, utterly enthralled as the tiny ants went about their business. A seemingly endless stream of chitin-clad bodies pouring in and out of the dark little mound. Her small grin widened at the comical sight of one of the ants struggling to drag a clod of dirt many times its size. It was adorable.

Biting her lip, she slowly stuck her finger out next to the frantic line of ants. Holding her breath as she watched one of the brave little ants broke formation to investigate, tentatively touching her fingernail with its minuscule feelers.

After a few moments, it climbed up onto her extended finger. Slowly, as not to startle it, she brought her finger up to her face for closer inspection. Nearly cross-eyed, she beamed at her new friend.

“Dani? What are you doing?” Her Dad’s amused voice spoke up behind her.

She flinched in surprise, inadvertently sending the poor innocent little ant flying off into the wheat field.

Danica gasped in horror, staring almost blankly at her now empty finger. “Dad!” She spun around to face him, “You made me kill him!”

“Kill? Dani, what are you-” Dad just looked confused.

“The ant! He was so nice!”

“Tha ant?” Dad’s lips twitched upward.

“It's not funny!” She said, almost stomping her foot but then quickly stopping when she remembered she was still standing over the anthill.

“Of course, sweetie, it's not funny.” His shoulder shook.

She glared at him before walking off towards the cart, pretending not to hear him chuckling. Busying herself with harshly tugging on all the straps securing the crates and barrels.

Her father was still smiling when he climbed up into the front seat. Still annoyed with him, she opted to climb into the back, settling herself comfortably against a sack of grain.

As the cart started trundling down the path, he spoke back at her. “And rememb-”

“Don’t do anything to draw attention.” She recited dutifully, rolling her eyes. She’d heard those words a thousand times by now, in some form or another.

‘Danica, don't let the neighbors see you lift the cart,.’ ‘Danica, you can't just throw the hay bales into the cart like that! What if someone saw you?’ ‘Danica, Danica, Danica.’ She mockingly repeated in her head.

“Dad, this isn't my first time going to market with you. You don't need to keep reminding me every time.” She huffed, crossing her arms.

“Sorry, I can’t help but worry for my little girl.”

“Little!” She sputtered, “I am not a child, Papa.” She sniffed dramatically.

“...You’re nine.”

“Nine and a half.” She shot back imperiously.

“Guess I can’t argue with that.” He sighed in defeat, causing her to grin in satisfaction.