The only sounds Atraeya could hear over the bumpy wagon and pouring rain were the distant rumbles of thunder, creeping ever so closer. This carriage didn’t have a cover over it either, so naturally she was soaked to the bone. Even attempts to make herself smaller by curling up her knees and keeping her head down only served to send shocks of cold, hard rain down her spine.

It’s not like she had any choice though. It was the first wagon to pass by her that didn’t mind picking up some 12 year kid like some stray. Though, she suppose she was, if her grandfather didn’t want her either. “Too many mouths to feed,” her mother had told her, right before she threw her out with only the clothes on her back. Of course that had only been some pathetic excuse to rid herself of a witch. Atraeya’s family had been doing just fine up till they found out. Yet they all stared at her like she was a monster the moment they all found out.

If she hadn’t heard where her grandfather lived, Atraeya would most likely had been running around the streets, stealing and begging for food. Who knows how long she would have survived doing that.

Grandfather supposedly lived in a small village out east, named Verdantvale. It sounded like a village with beautifully green rolling hills and plenty of farmland and game to hunt. A paradise compared to her current situation. Freezing winds collided into her, prickling every inch of exposed skin and sending deathly cold shivers from her face to her toes. Lightning struck in the direction they were headed and the rain felt that much heavier.

Just this morning the sky was dark and dreary, but by now it was pitch black and she couldn’t even see the rain. She just had to deal with this little setback for a little longer, then she’d be fine. Atraeya tucked in her arms in a hopeless attempt to keep herself warm.

When the carriage came to a stop, she had no idea how long she had been in it. Her legs cramped and ached when she hopped down. Now no longer bundled up, a shiver ran through her and her teeth chattered. She wrapped her arms around herself. The merchant glanced at her with a concerned look in his eyes, but said nothing as she walked away.

Which house was her grandfather’s? She desperately tried to think back on her mother’s stories from her time as a kid. She always talked about a blue house by the river. Atraeya looked around. She couldn’t even see the river. Did she get off on the wrong stop? Was she going to die out here, all alone, where no one knew where or who she was?

Panic and grim thoughts filled her mind as she picked up her pace to explore the village. It was smaller than home, so it shouldn’t be that hard to find. If this was the right village. Tears welled in her eyes and she broke into a run. At least now the blood was flowing and it could keep her warmer than just standing around.

After a few minutes she did find a river, thankfully. A small sliver of hope bloomed. Now all she had to do was find a blue house. The houses in this area seemed to be mostly made from raw materials, and surrounded by small farms. Finding one that was painted should technically be easy, if she could see the colors on the houses in the dark.

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After a few minutes of walking around, Atraeya found a house that looked older than the rest. Weeds everywhere, chimney half collapsed, shutters boarded closed, and if her eyes didn’t deceive her, a dull blue paint job. It wasn’t exactly what she had hoped, but there were no other blue houses around. This was it. She gulped, and for a moment, thought her grandfather must have died if the house looked so dilapidated.

A loud crack of lightning reminded her that she needed to get out of the storm either way. Atraeya rushed to the door – slipping over upturned rocks in the process – and knocked on the door.

Silence.

And more silence.

She was about to knock on the door a second time when she heard a thump. Thump. Thump. The sound got closer and closer to the door. Fear spiked in her heart. It creaked open, just an inch. And out popped a pair of old green eyes, and furrowed gray eyebrows. The same green as hers and her mother’s eyes. This was grandfather.

He stared at her, shivering head to toe until he recognized something and opened the door wider. “Mel?”

Atraeya shook her head, wet wavy hair clinging to her face. “Mel is my mother. I’m her oldest daughter, Atraeya.”

Grandfather squinted his eyes at her, as if just now noticing the age difference, then his eyes widened. “So you are. So you are.” He began to look around. “Where’s your mother?”

Atraeya couldn’t help but frown. Should she tell him that she’s a witch? No. He’s old. He wouldn’t understand. He would more likely slam the door in her face. It was best to go with the excuse she herself was given. “She kicked me out. Said she had too many mouths to feed,” she scowled.

Grandfather shook his head, then moved from the doorway. His cane clacked against the floor as he did so. “Come in, come in. Let me get you something to dry off with. And leave those muddy boots by the door.”

She looked down to see her entire pair of boots, and a good chuck of her socks and the bottom of her favorite yellow dress was caked in mud. “Oh no…” How was she supposed to clean that off? It was the only dress she owned. Now it was all dirty and stained and she’d have to walk around in dirty clothes forever.

“Why are you crying dear? I’m not going to kick you out. At least, not until I figure out what’s going on,” grandfather said. He came back to her with some clean rags and guided her to a makeshift fireplace, since the chimney wasn’t usable. “But for now, warm up by the fire. I’ll get you something to sleep on. It’s very late you know.” Grandfather hobbled off again while she stood by the fire. For an old man on a cane he sure could move fast.

While he was gone she contemplated whether it would be worth it to get out of the wet clothes when she had no backup. She had her shift on, but that would be much too cold, and was also likely wet. But staying in all of her wet clothes, now gathering a pool of water under her wrinkly feet, would be much worse.

At last her grandfather came back with a quilted blanket and some furs to layer on. Along with an old shirt of his. “You’ll not want to stay in those wet clothes. You’ll get sick,” he said as he handed her all the items. “I’m going back to bed. We’ll talk in the morning, OK?”

Atraeya nodded and watched as he disappeared behind a door. Her attention shifted to the old shirt. It could work. She wouldn’t have to worry about sleeping in wet clothes. And with the layers of blankets, it should hopefully be warm enough that she wouldn’t notice the cold.