Dawn arrived at sunset. She bade farewell to the farmer whose wagon had borne her from Frera as she stepped onto the eroded stone that formed the bridge to Verdante. She would never forget the smell of the place. The smell of decay. Of the foundations that sank into the mud. Ochre could never stand the smell, crushing it mercilessly inside the post with pine and beeswax. Eighteen years and eight months had passed since he had kicked in the front door of the post and demanded her father’s head, and instead left with her hand. Even after all those years, the deep black tattoos on her right hand had not faded. It was comforting to know that Ochre had the same tattoos on his left hand.

The long, thin, bundle she carried across her back swayed as she walked across the bridge. Strips of linen cloth peaked out from beneath the leather wrappings. A convoy of wagons was trundling along the bridge towards her. From the morose expression of the lead driver’s face, it had been a less than pleasant stay in Verdante. She stepped to the side of the bridge and smiled up at him, her dark hair trailing a shadow behind her in the darkening light. The blonde man looked down at her, then turned his nose up.

Her smile remained as she nodded to the wagons that followed. They were polite enough to smile back at her grime-stained face. It had rained three days ago, and the farmer’s wagon had been bogged in the road. She had not had a chance to wash since.

She continued moving once the convoy had passed. The roadside stalls had already been packed away, and a few lamplighters stalked the streets placing and lighting rushlights on the main spokes. Their stilted feet and long staffs made them appear as ghastly specters in the dying light. She walked wide around them - it was bad luck to trip a lamplighter - and she soon came to the front of the trading post. Through the glass she caught a glimpse of Ochre polishing the countertop as Vix walked around lighting rushes. Her heart paused. It was Isidrian, not Ochre. She rubbed her eyes with her right hand and squeezed the bridge of her nose.

She knocked on the door. There was a pause, then a scuffling of feet. The sliding plate opened. “Who’s there?” Isidrian called evenly. Mother’s instincts immediately told Dawn something was wrong.

“Don’t take that tone with me, Isidrian.” Dawn snapped. “I’ll have Vix hang you from the second floor again.” The door ripped open before she had finished her threat. Isidrian stood just inside, and Vix had her hands hidden beneath the counter. “Hands away from the coins Vix.” The Gargan’s hands raised sharply above the counter, open palmed and empty.

“Come here, both of you.” Dawn commanded. Isidrian stood frozen. Vix half-ran to his side. Dawn looked down at both of them, guiding the door closed behind her with her left hand, her right hand stretched for the collar around Vix’s neck. The Gargan stood as still as her son now. Vix’s hand twitched towards Isidrian’s then stilled themselves at her sides. Dawn crooked an eyebrow as her other hand made its way to Isidrian’s shoulder. She gripped Vix’s shoulder and drew her in close alongside her son.

“It’s good to be home.” She said, embracing both of them warmly. They relaxed within her arms. Isidrian gripped her tightly back. Vix held her hands at her sides. Dawn released both of them and grew unsettled when she saw Isidrian’s pained expression. “There’s something you want to tell me, but bad news comes in threes. I already know one piece, so let me get cleaned up before you share the other two.” She pushed between them and laid her bundle on the counter. “Vix, draw a bucket and bring it to my room. Cold will be fine. It’s too muggy for warm water.”

Vix bowed to her master and turned to the door. Dawn cast a glance at her son who still stood by the door. She had seen this face before. It was the same face Vix wore when she spoke of Tread’s Grave. Dawn climbed the staircase. She would give him time to get his thoughts straight. The mud on her feet smeared the steps as she climbed. She walked to the far window and looked out into the night. Vix’s collar glinted in the moonlight below. The ability to see in the dark was one she always envied. Dawn wished she had been blessed to see in the proverbial dark as well. As she opened the door to her room, she realised just how many things she wished for.

The bed that had once held her and Ochre was gone, replaced by a small bed for one rested against the far wall. Ten iron. The dresser in the corner. Sixteen copper. The clothes it still contained. Five iron. Besides the earrings Ochre had gifted her on their disastrous third meeting, everything able to be sold had been. She discarded her muddy clothes in a pile by the door.

Vix arrived shortly after, a soft knock, followed by “Master”. Dawn bade her to enter. Vix carefully laid two clean buckets of water at her Master’s feet. She offered Dawn a small cloth with one hand, and keeping a towel over the other arm, turned around.

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Dawn soaked the cloth in the cool clear water. Pressing it to her dirt-stained face rejuvenated her. “How badly am I going to hate this news?” She asked. She watched Vix’s tail. The slave was good at masking her human emotions but lacked the finesse to hide her animalistic ones. Vix’s tail stopped its slow sway and hung low and still. “Not good then.” Dawn said.

“No, Master.” Vix replied softly.

“Care to explain then?” Dawn continued.

Vix paused, then said, “I believe that Isidrian would prefer to deliver the news. It is not my right.”

“And yet, he is not here.” Dawn continued. “If I had wanted to hear it from him I would have made him speak downstairs. I would rather know what I am about to hear and prepare myself than have to hear it first-hand from my distraught son.” She reached into the bucket again, bringing cold water to her neck. With prickly disdain she realised she had been sunburnt.

“Master, I know it is not my place to say so, but this is news to be shared only by dear ones.”

“You wound me Vix, all this time and you do not call me dear?” Dawn chided. Ochre was involved. Somehow he always was. Was he dead again? The first time she had been told she had cried until her eyes were raw, only for him to arrive three days later, caked in mud and blood, but alive. He had taken his sword and left for another three days, leaving only the barest kiss on her cheek in parting. When he returned, it was not his blood that coated him.

“What has Ochre done this time?”

Vix choked.

“It can’t be that bad!” Dawn laughed hollowly as the slave righted herself. “Did he kill some ponce? A deal gone wrong? Or is he dead?”

Vix turned to her master. “You knew?”

“It isn’t the first time I’ve been told my husband has died. It is far more common than you might think. This might be the first time Isidrian has faced it though. Speaking of, you two have grown awfully close in my absence, haven’t you?” Dawn pressed. Her opponent was off-balance. Emotion clouded Vix’s judgement. She was unprepared.

“Master Isidrian has been kind to me while you were gone.” Vix replied courteously, turning away from her master, hoping her master would mistake hiding for respect. Dawn did not buy it.

“He is too kind, I fear.” Dawn said, “Kindness causes people to make mistakes. He has his father’s metal, deep inside, but it is still warm and soft. He needs someone to shape it into a blade worthy of carrying Ochre’s name. That brings me to the bad news I bring.” Dawn paused, wrung the cloth, and began to work on her hair.

“The partner I had chosen for you rebelled against his master. Convinced quite a few of his fellows to join him in the destructive revelry. Burnt down the mansion too, I hear, and butchered most of the family at a feast. If only we could have gotten that fire in your pups. But again, this year, it seems you won’t be whelped. I’m sure we’ll find someone for you by next year though.” Dawn finished straining the water from her hair. “Any you find fanciable in Verdante? Not that there’s many left here.” She finished casually. It was too much to hope for her to choose a mate so close by. She entertained the slave’s fancies because it kept her loyal. Dawn was all too aware the reason for her choosing difficult pairings.

“None, I am afraid Master. Raki was the last male, and he died weak and sick. His children have already been sold to other cities, of which I don’t know where.” Vix replied courteously, a shadow of unpleasant joy quavering in her voice.

“It’s hard, Vix. I will not pretend to know what it is like to be a slave. But I know what it is like to be a woman. Even here in Verillia, to be bought and sold like cattle. My father sold me to Ochre to keep his own head, though we called it marriage. I want what is best for you. I want what is best for my son. You need to understand that these are two very different things. You may be a part of his future, there is no helping that, but you will not act the part you wish to play. I have seen it. Just as I saw Ochre standing at that counter tonight.”

Dawn watched as Vix’s ears drooped. Sadness. If they were not at war, born twenty years to later, or perhaps too early, there might have been a chance. The Gargans were losing the war. Vix standing before her was proof of that. If there was any fire left in their bestial spirits it was not in Vix. The fire, the iron, the shaping hands Isidrian required. A true pity. Dawn almost wished that Vix had raged, turned upon her then and unleashed her teeth and fangs. Instead Vix stood there tamed.

“Towel.” Dawn commanded, and Vix thrust the towel behind her. Covering herself with the towel, Dawn continued, “Take the buckets and empty the water outside. Clean the steps and floor of the mud. Once I have finished in here, clean the floor as well. I will speak with Isidrian alone.”

Vix curtsied and left the room. Dawn regarded her own reflection in the second-story window. Her eyes were red. She had not felt her own tears when she bathed, but she felt the warm salt flowing now. Perhaps that had been cruel. Cruelty and truth are so often the same thing. She towelled off and donned a night gown. Isidrian would undoubtedly have had a brisk encounter with Vix by now. It was time to sit down and talk.