The next morning, Abrial woke up very sore.
However, she was able to move again, albeit weakly. It was an improvement from feeling like a useless sack of potatoes at least. When she checked, her bloody bandages had been changed out for fresh ones on both her torso and palms, and she'd been changed into that white sleeping robe again.
There was no other bed in the room, she noticed for the first time as she looked around grumpily. Where had that woman slept?
Speaking of that woman, and her sparrow, for that matter, neither was anywhere to be seen. Where were those two at?
Abrial wandered over to the table, following a savory smell that made her mouth and eyes water. The table had been set again for several people. Abrial counted three bowls this time. Weird! Did someone else live here besides that woman? Or did she always give her sparrow a bowl of soup, too? Huh.
With a shrug, Abrial settled down onto a stool. The soup she ladled out into her bowl this time was a warm brown and steaming. It smelled like simmered anchovies and sesame oil. Next to the pot sat a large bowl of thin white noodles. Abrial picked up her chopsticks and lifted a dollop of soft noodles into her bowl, separating them in the soup. Scallions had been poured into a small ceramic dish. She sprinkled these on top. At the house, the cooks had always used scallions as a garnish, so she sprinkled it like they did, carefully.
She brought a wooden spoonful of soup to her lips, blowing on it to rid it of steam. She touched it to her tongue.
Her obsidian eyes sparkled.
Delicious!
In a matter of moments, she’d slurped down the entire bowl, noodles, scallions and all. She gulped down another one after that. Only when she’d almost choked at least five times did she slow down to chew properly. The taste was absolutely fantastic! It filled her with shivery warmth from the roots of her hair to the soles of her feet! Where did this lady learn how to cook so crazy good?!
Afterward, she ventured outside.
She circled the house once, but didn’t find the woman or her sparrow. Huh. Weird. Around the back of the house, however, her eyes brightened to meet a familiar face.
“Dal!” she exclaimed, running to the horse. Dal’s black coat shimmered like obsidian in the pleasant summer sun. A loose rope kept him tied to a greeting pine. He whinnied upon seeing her approaching, tossing his head in a welcoming manner.
She threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his mane. It smelled sweet, like jasmine. The hairs tickled her nostrils, drawing a delighted laugh out of her.
“Dal!” she repeated, drawing back to stroke his beautiful muzzle. The horse whinnied in delight. “You’re the only thing that isn’t crazy-ass weird here. Hey — have you seen that weirdo lady or her annoying sparrow?”
Dal puffed a puzzled breath out of his nostrils.
Abrial couldn’t speak horse, so she didn’t really know what that meant. But she took it as a no, he hadn’t seen them. Hmm. Where could that lady have gone? it wasn’t like there was any town nearby to go to. Maybe she went for a nice, long walk with her sparrow?
She scowled suddenly. What if the ancient spirit of this valley had let those two leave to go to a town, or something? Because, how else could they be nowhere in sight?
“That’s not fair! How can they leave, but I can’t? Hmph! Stupid ancient spirit! Stop being so biased!”
Abrial noticed there was a basket of apples sitting neatly not too far away — maybe that lady had left it there? The apples were round and shiny, and stacked nicely in a pyramid. She fed two to Dal, who munched on them happily.
There was a river somewhere near the cottage, Abrial remembered as she watched Dal’s big jaw chomp the apples, dripping sweet juice. She’d sprinted past it yesterday when trying to run away and find Finley. The day was bright, a pleasant temperature — perfect for washing up. She hadn’t cleaned up in a long time, heh.
Abrial fed Dal another apple. Then she left him at the tree and headed for the river.
After bathing in the cool, flowing waters, careful not to get her bandages too wet, Abrial redressed and laid down on the riverbank.
The grass was long and ticklish here, like on all the other hills. She watched it sway peacefully around her head with the rhythm of the breeze. The breeze was really smooth and gentle here. It was kinda weird. Since when had the breeze ever been so consistent and nice? Well, whatever. She was enjoying it, so what did it matter?
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Lying there, Abrial suddenly realized she was bored out of her mind.
She hadn’t sat around this long in what seemed like forever, without a goal in mind that she had to sprint towards. The last time had been almost a year ago in the house, before she seriously began thinking about escaping her parents’ house.
She sat up frustratedly. What could she do here, in this ancient spirit’s region she was trapped in, or whatever? There was nothing!
Suddenly, something glinted silver in the river.
Abrial’s eyes widened with curiosity.
“Fish?” she exclaimed. She'd never seen a living fish up close — only heard about them before and seen them on plates, cooked and crispy. Were those flashing things in the river — fish?
With a closer look, Abrial was sure of it. In the water by her feet, silvery smooth scaled things were hopping wildly, attempting to flop upstream. They looked really silly, flapping and flopping crazily like bands of silver that had come to life.
“Silly fish!” Abrial taunted, laughing. “You’re going the wrong way! Down-stream! The other way, stupid! Aish…”
She rolled up her sleeves, tucked the white robe into her belt, and went splashing into the water to throw the fish in the right direction.
Their slippery bodies were so fucking hard to grasp! Especially with bare hands. Whenever Abrial saw a flash of silver, she dived down to grip the scaly fish as tightly as she could. But every time she tried to raise it out of the water to throw on the bank, it flopped crazily like it was on fire or something and slipped out of her grasp.
“You can’t escape me forever!” she hollered, as if the fish could understand her. “I’ll eat you up eventually! I’M COMING FOR YOOOU!!! ARGH!”
After an hour or two of splashing around, diving, and grinning, Abrial finally crawled out of the water, soaked from head to toe. Her dark hair hung over her face, sticking to her rosy cheeks. A big grin beamed across her lips. She hadn’t managed to catch a single fish.
And she hadn’t had this much fun in ages.
Brimming with childish energy, Abrial spent another hour or two just rolling up and down hills like she was a log. The white robes and her bandages soon got covered in dirt, but she didn’t take notice. Already, she had forgotten about her wounds. Her bandages were soaked and dirty, and so were her cuts underneath. She hardly felt their dull, pulsing ache.
The sun was past its high point now. It must be early afternoon.
Because she was wounded and became more easily tired now, and the warm sun was so pleasant and soothing on her skin, Abrial drifted off into a nap there on the hillside.
----------------------------------------
She dreamt a weirdly vivid dream.
Immediately, something felt off. Normally, she only dreamt when she had nightmares, and in her nightmares, she was always a part of the dream. But here, in this dream…she seemed to have no sense of self. It was one of those dreams where you just kind of hang there, this kind of ghostly presence watching a scene unfold.
A small boy, maybe five or six years old, sat crouched by the bank of a river. He was really skinny, like he was living off only a spoonful of rice for each meal, and his graying clothes were patched and frayed. His hair was unruly and especially dark, like the deepest shadows of night. It hung around his shoulders, partially tied up with twine. His clothes were made in an ancient fashion — they were poor peasants’ clothes, Abrial realized, recognizing them from an image her history tutor had drawn once. The kind of peasants’ clothes that were worn hundreds of years ago.
His face was thin, and very pretty, in a way. More interesting were his obsidian eyes, which had a dark fierceness to them. They looked familiar…somehow.
He tossed a smooth stone into the flowing water with a chubby fist.
“Lift,” he ordered. “Wind, come and lift this stone.”
The wind…didn’t come and lift this stone. The river water just continued to flow on merrily, while the stone sank to the bottom.
The boy frowned harder.
“Water, throw the stone back!”
The water…didn’t throw the stone back. The river water soundly ignored him.
The boy’s face contorted with frustration. He threw another stone, angrily, this time. Water splashed up.
“Come on! Why can’t you just listen? Why can’t you just listen to me? Why can’t I do magic, just like everyone else?”
He threw more stones, becoming fiercer and fiercer and scowling darker and darker. His eyes glinted with hatred as water splashed up, blinding him. By the time he’d hurled all of the stones within reach, his hair and face were damp and dripping.
There was a bruise on his forearm. In a furious manner, the boy tore out a clump of riverbank grass, ripped it to pieces, and smeared it on his wound. He forcefully reached his arm up into the sunlight.
“Heal!” he hollered, his voice cracking. “Heal…”
The bruise didn’t heal, just like the wind didn’t lift, and the water didn’t throw.
The little boy threw himself back on the bank, and cried.
His sobbing echoed, fading away with the scenery. The sound of calmly rustling grass, the rhythm of the swish-swish, swish-swish of green blades in the wind vaguely entered Abrial’s ears.
She gasped awake.