She has wandered Crealia for ages.

Many have seen her hair down.

None of them have lived to tell the tale.

***

The bearded man popped up from behind the shrubs like a jack-in-the-box.

“Hello there, beautiful,” he boomed, blocking her way.

“Why the hell are you here all alone?” Another male voice came from behind, giving her a start. Glancing behind her, she saw that her escape route was blocked by a young man barely of age, short but stocky.

“Lost in the woods?” The third man, a tall, stooping senior with very long arms, grinned with his toothless mouth. He looked over her shoulder to confirm that the path was indeed empty, then he turned to the bearded man. “She is alone.”

“I can tell,” the bearded one replied, looking her up and down maliciously. “Not from around here, this one.”

All the primal thoughts swarming inside his shaggy head showed immediately on his wrinkled face. Lucky me. Such a sweet babe crossing my path all on her own. Not much to profit from her. A dozen coins, maybe, if any at all. But she has some curves. And this smooth skin…No other women like her in this place. All ugly as hell.

“I’m not lost. And I’m not alone,” she said flatly. Her heart had been racing at first, but she’d already calmed down. It had been a long time since she had truly felt any fear.

She had a reason not to.

“Not alone? Ha, ha. Who the hell is here with you?” The youngster laughed, glancing at the path.

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If he were smarter, he’d have grown suspicious a while ago. The young girl was much too calm. But the lust gleaming in his eyes had already overcome whatever little inclination he had to use his brain.

His more experienced companions—the bearded man and the senior—were somewhat disturbed by the girl’s composure, but, eventually, they decided she was just paralyzed by fear.

“If you don’t put up a fight,” the old man whispered, bending down to her ear and breathing nastily, “we won’t kill you. We’ll do it once and then let you go. Of course, we’ll trim your tongue. Just a little bit. So you won’t tattle. Heh.”

“Hey!” The youngster scowled. “Why once? Let’s go for two rides. Just look at her!” His outstretched hand patted her olive cheek, sliding down to her neck.

With a dry snap, like that of a twig breaking, the girl’s red hair fell down to her shoulders. The leather hairband that had been holding it up in a bun slipped down her back and disappeared in the grass.

An eagle-eyed observer would have noticed that the grass above the fallen band had stopped swaying for a split second while the girl remained frozen, staring ahead blankly. But, fortunately—or perhaps, unfortunately—there was no one else around.

“Oh, look! She’s already let her hair down! Good girl.” The bearded man smiled, baring his crooked yellow teeth, and took a confident step towards the girl.

At that moment, a giant snake sprung up from the grass to knock him down. Wrapping itself briefly around the man, the snake tossed him up like a large, grotesque doll; his bones crunched.

Before the bearded man’s body had reached the ground, the serpent charged at the old man, its sharp, broad tail slashing at the man’s head. The old man froze, then slowly collapsed face first, his skull split down to the chin.

The youngster finally came to his senses and, dropping his ax, ran into the woods. The serpent soared over the treetops, spreading its webbed wings. It froze for a moment, detecting its prey. Then it dove, and, brushing the grass, it chased the escaping human figure.

The boy’s hair had almost disappeared behind the trees when the monster covered him with its broad wings, sinking its dagger teeth into the back of his head.

Soon the grass at the girl’s feet rustled again. It was the serpent. Tossing her head, the girl held her hair up in a ponytail. A small snake whisked up her back, cool against her skin, and wrapped itself around her red hair as the scaly leather hairband.

The sun was setting, accompanied by the loud buzzing of cicadas. The sweet aroma of death was spreading in the hot, still air. Fat, green flies were droning as they circled over the site of the massacre.

The girl looked into the old man’s clouded eyes, which were sitting abnormally far apart in his cracked face. Her gaze slipped down to the tongue hanging out from his open mouth as she whispered, barely loud enough to be heard, mimicking him: “Of course, we’ll trim your tongue. Just a little bit. So you won’t tattle. Heh.”

She didn’t actually sound like him.

Too much time had passed since she’d done any talking.

Going around the bearded man’s body sprawled on the ground, his neck unnaturally twisted, she continued on her way.