The dark room seems more stuffy than my head as I awake, the dim light from the window to my right barely making a dent in the shadows. Staring at the ceiling, my body sore and stiff, I look at the shadows above me and wonder why I'm awake. It's too early, I shouldn't have woken up like this, at the very least not naturally. Thinking about the day I had yesterday, I almost don't understand why I woke up at all. My dreams were too peaceful and obscure to remember, fading into the shadows about me as I groan, turning to my left and away from the window.  My back muscles resist me, pulling against the movement as I turn to my side. My shoulders are sore as I put the weight of my body upon it but too fatigued to care I rest myself, allowing sleep to slowly crawl back in. Facing away from the light into the darkness, I see Phara sitting on a chair, watching me calmly as my eyes slowly close, giving into the...

"Hagghhhh!" Pushing up before I could take the time to think about it, I push off the bed and sit up, groaning as the blood begins to rush to my head. "What in the Skies!" Groaning, I put my head in my hands and wait for nausea to pass.  Regaining some control, I put one hand down and ask, "Have you been... watching me sleep?" 

"Yes." Phara gives no sign that she understands or at the very least cares why what she said is wrong.  Looking through my hand, she stands as calmly and sighs, leaning against the door frame. "I told them that I wanted to assure myself that you were doing well," I scoff. "But I was unsure that you would ever wake. Maybe this is something we should train upon more, you should awake faster in someone else's presence. I could have killed you." Though it might be my fatigue fueling my agitation, by the already dark room seems more austere by her presence. "The reason I came, however, was to inform you of Janob's livestock."

Groaning as I roll my shoulders back, feeling the skin tense against the stitches, the muscles in my back screeching, I wish I could lay down. "More important than how long you watched me sleep?" I'm still hunched, it hurts too much to sit up. Or maybe it's too much effort.

"Yes." Of course it is.  "The man is, as it turns out, quite influential in this town. He often trades well with the merchants, and this village isn't far enough from a major civilization to not rely on coin. That said, he is willing to pay quite a sum to the person who finds the people who stole his livestock, or at the least to the people who find his livestock. I think I have a trail, so today I shall go tot follow it. You have two days to rest, heal, and recuperate before I go without you."

I rub my eyes. "You seem pretty sure of yourself." Turning, I look for a shirt or tunic. The wood creaks as Phara stops leaning against the door frame. 

"I am. Take your time, I don't need to allow you to come." Failing to find a shirt or tunic, I turn back to Phara, rolling my shoulders back again. I knew she could handle this by herself, which has been proven many times over to me. But I need to get stronger, whether she can do the task alone or not. The stiffness in my back as I roll my shoulders, however, tells me that I won't be much use fighting as of yet. "I'll leave you to yourself for now. When I come back later today, I'll inform you of the situation. Rest, and eat well. Don't do anything to get us chased from he village, I require rest as well." 

As she turns to leave, I grimace and try to sit up straight, the bed creaking as my weight shifts. I didn't notice her staff until now and find it odd that she had brought it with her. She is most likely to go straight to where she thinks the crime or whatever is happening and isn't likely to fight. I'm sure a woman carrying a sword in this village is informal, seeing as how close we are to Kara, where women's rights aren't highly enforced in the general sense. She most likely carried her staff to keep formality. 

I put my head back into my hand, trying to alleviate the pain and stuffiness while pulling my fingers through my hair, trying to pull out the knots. On the other side of the door frame, Phara stops moving, her free hand still on the door. "Do you... need anything?" The way she spoke lets me know that we could both feel it, that hollowness in the words. 

"No." It wasn't because she cared, neither of us can fake that. She doesn't look at me or in my direction as she asks. It just feels like we're trying to. 

Phara closes the door behind her as she leaves, saying, "Rest." Her footsteps recede as she walks down the hallway, and I'm left alone again in the dark. The knots in my hair don't seem to be coming out by combing my fingers through, so I stop, breathing out and looking up at the ceiling. I just want to go back to sleep now, though I've never been good at sleeping once woken. Scooting back, I put my back against the wall and let out a sigh as I no longer have to support myself. The wall is cool as fatigue returns from its momentary flight, the shadows pulling over until my eyes close. Maybe falling back asleep won't be so hard after all. Every breath nags at sleep, pulling the mind from consciousness. Too tired to fight back, I feel myself sinking into the cover upon the mattress... 

-

Groaning, I peel my eyes back as the brightness coming from the window pierces through sleep. I thought I had pulled the curtains, but the glaring light says otherwise. Laying down as I slowly push the cover off my body, I stare at the ceiling until I convince myself to move through my fatigue. My back is sore, and my mouth is dry. And I'm hungry. My breath screeches through me as I sit up, then look around for something to put on. My bag, against the wall; and utop it, my tunic. Sighing, I place my head into my hand, rubbing my eyes. Hath there been a greater fool?

Looking back up at the tunic, mouth still covered in my hand, my motivation drips away. Breaths come almost too soft to hear as the mind slips away, something like emotion taking over as I sit, legs hanging off my bread and brain barely cognizant, sinking deeper into a mood. Getting up seems too much, moving. Maybe I could just sit here and just feel. I'm not much use as I am now anyways, Phara already leaving me behind. 

A knock comes upon the door, and my mindset is broken. Turning my head towards the door, I hear a familiar voice. "Kuxalo? Are you awake?"

Rubbing my eyes, I stretch my back with a grimace and turn towards the door. Samantha. Turning myself on the bed to face the door, I cross my legs and allow her to enter. Samantha walks in, a cup held in her left hand, and blushes as soon as she enters. Why did she... as she averts her eyes towards the floor, I faintly realize that I had forgotten to put my tunic back on. "Oh, sorry." Shaking my head to get the hair from my eyes, I say, "I was just so tired. Hold on, I'll go put my tunic on."

"No, it's fine." I stop moving, mildly curious, as she gently places the steaming cup on the edge of the window sill. "Mrs. Serna said that your body is trying to heal and that you should expect to be tired." Take grabs my tunic from atop my pack, and turns, handing it to me. Oddly less shy than yesterday I see. As I grab it, she once again averts her eyes. "Serna wanted someone to check on you. I had already talked with you, so they decided I should come." I slip the tunic over my head, ignoring the slight pain in my back and it's soreness as I move my arms. Samantha still isn't looking at me, but she no longer seems embarrassed. It's almost uncomfortable. "The cup is a tea that Serna had made to help your recovery." Reaching over, I grab the cup, the warmth of the fluid seeping through the smooth wood, comforting in my hands as the warmth seeps through. The scent wafts up, smooth and spiced, like mint but with the textured smell of cinnamon. I look up, meeting Samantha's eyes as she looks at me, wondering why she's still here. She seems to understand. "They... Serna and Harold would like you to breakfast with them, seeing as how your aunt is trying to be helpful to our village, and you are injured. You may not remember the way back to their house, so I was told to bring you when you're ready."

"Oh." I don't think I want to go eat with them. They seem to be nice people, but I'd prefer that I eat alone. Or simply be alone as much as possible. "Could I not just eat here?"

Samantha looks at me sympathetically, then turns almost embarrassed. "Serna wants to make sure you're doing well, and Harold most likely considers it hospitality. I suppose you could stay here but it would be... very rude. And they would come to find you either way. " 

Sighing, I take the bring the cup to my lips. The tea tastes very good at the least, warming me as it's flavor slows smoothly down my throat. I suppose that there is no way for me to avoid this. Samantha turns from me, walking towards the door. "When you're done, I'll be in the first room.¨ 

When she reaches the door, I bring my cup up once again, saying "Thank you."

She stops, as do I. I don't know why I said it, but I suppose it was deserved. She doesn't seem to want to acknowledge it, instead simply opening the door and leaving, closing it behind her. I stare at the door when she leaves, then shake my head and finish my tea, this time downing the cup. It's hot but feels good as it settles. Putting the cup down, I take the linen strip from my pack and scrape my teeth, remembering I'll need a different one soon. Putting it down, I reach to my back and feel the stitched cuts. They are slightly puffed, and tender but otherwise fine. Walking out from the room, I grab my shoes from the edge of my bed... I don't remember taking off my shoes. I look at them, turning them over as if that will help me understand why they came off my feet. No one was with me after Samantha dropped me off... did she take them off? Phara? Phara seems the most likely, but at the same time makes the least amount of sense. Shrugging, I walk from the room and down the hall, the smoothed wood floor softening my footsteps. The right turn takes me into the first room of the inn, three tables placed randomly in the room, benches along the wall. Samantha sits at one of the tables closest to the door, picking up her head as I walk in, and our eyes meet. She looks at me as I walk to her, and stands when I draw near. No one else seems to be present, for which I am thankful as I slide into my shoes, wiggling my toes inside as they push against the fabric. Pulling the strings tight just above my ankles, I shake out my feet and stand straight, eyes meeting Samantha's as the embers in the hearth go low. The soft reddish-orange light hits off of her light brown eyes, shadowing the left side of her face. Her matted hair almost seems enticing, and for a moment going to the house doesn't seem as important as it was coming into the room. 

I blink and she coughs, turning from me and walking out of the inn door, me following as the hinges creak open. The sun can be seen above the horizon as we walk out, the blue sky bright and the town lit, people about and hens clucking. The grasses are tall in most parts of the village, and as Samantha turns left towards the place where I entered with Phara, I look around us. The inn itself is spaced from a house, and we walk past three more heading to what I assume is towards the center of town. Samantha is right- as the path turns again I realize that I most likely wouldn't have remembered the way back to the house in this largely spaced plain village. Too many of these houses look much of the same, and the roads that diverge from this one also seem as though they can lead to a house that looks like the ones when we came in. As we walk, a boy who looks to be my age but skinnier and smaller walks past with pails of water on his shoulders, looking up at me as we pass each other. He has a mole on the side of his face, small but noticeable, which I only see when I move to the side of him so that he can carry his water without me in the way.  The look he gives is one of interest, too much interest as I turn away from him. Samantha moved to his side as well, and we come back together after he passes. 

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

"We... don't often get travelers through here," Samantha says. "Most people that come through are traveling merchants and soldiers. With the village being small, everyone here knows everyone else. You're bound to stick out... that and with your skin being..." She looks at me now, as if trying to be polite but scared to say it. I look back, waiting for her to say what she has to say. "Being as dark as it is."

It almost seems ridiculous that she had to build up at all just to say that, and I feel some mirth at the fact. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her look away from me, turning towards the fields on our right. For a second I almost wonder why it even matters. Is my color truly so important? As I think of this, I remember Lysiria some weeks ago, as we first walked back towards the cavern in the hill. Her eyes as she looked me over, and her statement that with brown skin like mine I'm "obviously" not Karan. Though I don't know where I am native to, I can assume that Kara is not the origin. I don't have the same hair as other Karans or the same brown eyes as most. I'm taller than other Karans and have never once been acknowledged as one. Being here, in a Karan native area, might explain their  Most Karans don't leave Kara; it is one of the reasons why Kara became strong over time -  they consolidate their people and power, slowly growing in strength into the plains. The current Queen of the Throne is holding to the traditions and seems to be on the way to a great and prosperous Kara from the way she is spoken of. As an orphan, politics never concern us. However, most of the people that live in Kara are Karan, and it is for this reason that I'm sure I stand out. Phara, at the least, passes for a Karan. I never will, and in honesty, I am not sure that I want to. 

As we walk, I notice that I receive many of these looks from people outside their huts or longhouses, watching me as I pass. I regret not bringing my knife or short spear, though I confess that what good it would do I do not know. We eventually reach the house, much to my relief. We walk to the well first, where Samantha asks me to wash my hands. I do so, politely waiting for her to say something else, some other instruction. Looking up as I dry my hands against my rough breeches, I find Samantha looking at what I assume is her house, a hundred or so spans away. Sighing, I find myself sympathizing with her. I would want to be home as well, at the leas with my family, calm instead of running about with someone I don't know as a courtesy for a neighbor. Shaking my head, I walk up behind her. She turns when she hears my footsteps, and when she sees me blushes, backing up and turning toward the house. "Sorry, I got distracted."

"It's fine."

"I've probably kept you later either way."  She says this without an apology or a hint of one. As I notice this, she stops walking to the house and for a second her eyes squint. Before I could identify what she is looking at, she puts her shoulders back as if to either cast it off or prepare herself, and continues to walk. It most likely wasn't anything to concern me, so I put it out of my mind as I follow her. We stop at the front door, and soft voices manage to peek through the wood as Samantha knocks. She doesn't seem to hear them or maybe pays them no mind as we stand there, waiting. Some seconds later footsteps are heard, and Harold arrives to open the door. He looks as though he has been awake for some time, dressed in a woolen shirt and a good pair of breeches, nicely sewn and hemmed. That must have cost at least six bronze. Maybe he had an occasion planned for the day. As he sees me, he smiles politely and waves his hand behind him, smiling to Samantha as well. 

"Please, come in, ya ought to come in!" I follow Samantha politely as she walks through the door, our footsteps loud on the smoothed and hardened wood.  The room is large, ar hearth on the opposite wall twenty spans away, and a table to the wall on our left. On the left end of the far wall is a door left ajar, from which the voices are coming. As Harold closes the door behind us, I see Samantha tense out of the corner of my eye. I look at her, yet she doesn't seem to be looking at anything that would cause her to become tense in that way. Harold walks from behind us, saying, "You will have to give Serna a moment as she is with company. She'll be out soon." As he passes, I understand. Samantha heard the voices, and apparently she hears someone that she doesn't want to. 

A few seconds after Harold left us, Serna exits the room with Samantha's mother, and I catch the words, "...Of course, I'll do what I can!" As Serna finishes talking, Samantha's mother smiles and looks as though she is about to say something else, then sees us. She falls silent but maintains her smile as she sees her daughter. Samantha is not smiling, and the look on her face is hard to disconcern. She looks at her mother almost aghast or irritated. "Mother..." 

Her mother cuts in, though the way Samantha trailed off leaves me unsure that she would have said anything either way. "Oh Samantha, I see that you led him here! I was wondering why you left as early as you did, I forgot." Samantha won't even look in my direction as her mother turns to me, continuing to look at her mom in a way that makes me unsure why she is looking. Her mother ignores this and says "You seem well-rested. Has my daughter treated you well?" The enthusiasm in her inquiry is almost a put-off and bringing caution into my answer. 

"She has treated me fine. You raised a good woman."  

My answer seems to satisfy her, and her smile almost intensifies as she responds. "Good, good, I hope you find your meal here to your liking, as well as our village!" This has now most definitely made me more uncomfortable and cautious than I was when entered the village. "If you have any problems or questions, don't hesitate to ask me or my daughter." Her niceness almost feels hostile, and I step back and almost reach for my knife instinctively. I have yet to be more disappointed that I didn't bring a weapon. 

"Yes ma'am." I try and smile, as though I find this pleasant or at the least to mollify her. I find myself relieved when she leaves me, turning to her child. I was loath to come, but now I wish I hadn't woken up. this only reaffirms the idea that I shouldn't have come here at all. I resist the urge to simply walk from the house, but not only would I have nowhere to go, but Phara told me not to do anything dumb. Messing with the hospitality of the nicest and the most influential couple in the village would, to my dismay, not be something she would approve of. Silently I scoot further from the mother and child, and notice Serna quietly looking me over, not far from Samantha. She has a soft smile that does not ease the firmness of her expression, and I see her looking at my hair before settling to my eyes. I look away, uncomfortable. I'm getting tired of people looking at me. 

Samantha turns to leave with her mother, purposefully avoiding looking in my direction, when her mother stops her. "No love, stay. See if there's something else that you need do." Her mother's tone was kind, but her eyes had more meaning than her words. Not aggressive, but weighted. Her daughter looked at her, but then simply nods and turns away, looking at first the floor then the wall as her mother closes the door. I feel once again that she is aiming to avoid me as she looks opposite direction. I'm not sure what happened, but I do wish that breakfast would've been simpler. I could've eaten by now at the inn. This is one of the worst meals I've had and I have yet to eat.

Serna nods slightly toward my direction, greeting me as though she wasn't looking me over moments ago. "You look as though you have rested well. How are your wounds?"

I almost deign not to answer, but common sense comes back to me. "My wounds do feel somewhat better, though still stiff and sharp in pain. Thank you for what you did, it really did help." 

Serna nods politely, her expression one of professional courtesy. "You'll have to let me put more salve not eh wound, it will help it heal faster and ease some of the stiffness. It should be applied daily." 

I almost decline, but it is a matter of my health and it would be impolite. "Thank you."

She nods again, then looks at my hair as if to notice it for the first time. "You haven't washed your hair, have you? It looks more tangled than a bird's nest." I have barely time to register the smallest amount of suspicion before she says, "Samantha, go mind clean and comb it for him. He doesn't seem to know how to take care of it himself- he is a boy after all- and the pastry has yet to finish baking. You know the room, and there should be a comb back there as well. By the time she's done with you, the pastries should be ready." And she turned as if with that alone the matter was resolved. 

Slightly irritated that people seem to enjoy making decisions about me without me, I turn to look at Samantha. For a moment, she stands still and simply watches Serna go to the hearth and check not he pastries she prepared. When she turns to me, I can't read her face. Suddenly she seems to become embarrassed again and looks at the floor. I don't have the capacity to care about it any longer, but as I follow her into the back room and she tells me to sit on the stool, I remember why I was sent back here in the first place.

"It's ok, I can comb my own hair." I would rather she not touch me, or come near me. The discomfort between us at this moment is palpable. Samantha pushes back her stringy and wild hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear as she grabs the comb.

"It would be impolite." She still won't look at me, but I feel like there is some hostility in her voice. "I was told to do so anyway."

I sigh, wondering why she's resisting me doing this myself. "I can tell you that you don't want to do this. I promise you I can comb my hair by myself."

Her face seemed to go through multiple emotions at once when she looked up at me. It was sudden, but remorse, then embarrassment, and finally irritation and frustration seemed to flash across her face. "If you could have done it, then you should have this morning."

The change in attitude shocked me and honestly annoyed me as well. She was getting mad at me for something I couldn't control but wasn't getting mad at the people ordering us around. "I didn't have a comb to do it this morning." 

She turned her head to her left, away from me. "Then you couldn't have done it this morning, could you?" I feel my eyes narrow as my irritation fades and fingers flex. It's harder to be mad when she's right. "Could you sit on the stool."

Acquiescing to my hair being combed, I sit stiffy on the stool, more rigid than I intended to. I hear her move another stool behind me, and turn to see her place a water pail utop it. She slides the end of the comb into her hair then puts her hands into the water shaking off the droplets as she pulls them up. Without looking up to my face she says quietly, "Turn around." I do, somewhat confused at the now meekness in her voice. Her attitude was still firm, however, and as soon as I turned away from her she pulled my hair down, yanking it into the pail. My head continuous to bob up and down as she pulls her fingers through my hair the best she can, cleaning it in the bucket. When she finishes, she sits me up and allows the water to drip down my back, pulling my hair back with her left and combing it with her right. 

"Why are you so stiff?" I wasn't aware of how uncomfortable this made me until she said those words. Trying to relax, I felt more tense try to get my muscles to become loose than I was before. Forcing relaxation doesn't work as well. As Samantha tugs the comb through my hair, yanking my head back, she awkwardly asks, "Are you always like this... I notice that you..." She stops for a moment and pulls the comb through the same part of my hair, for now, the fourth time. "You don't like anyone touching you, or coming near you. Or at times you don't like being around people." She pauses, as if unsure, while she grabs another lock of hair and begins to comb. "Why are you always so...tense?"

For a moment, I don't answer. I realize that it's because I'm not sure myself. One experience has put me off from every person, and I can't understand why. "Before I was with my...aunt... I was with other family." I squint, trying to force myself to put words on feelings I neglected to revisit. "I lived with them, and I had no one else. Family was all we had- we didn't really associate with anyone that wasn't with us. To me, my life was the family because that was the way that we lived. One day, the town that we lived in was attacked. People came and attacked my family, and I had to leave them." I shrug as if to cast the moment away. "I don't really have a good reason to trust people or be around them. The only people I wanted left me."

She combs my hair silently for a moment, and in the silence, the soft sound of the comb parting my hair became the rhythm to me trying to numb the emotions rising inside. It was something I would have left  After a while, she quietly says, "I'm sorry."

I stay quiet. Eventually, I stop thinking and respond. "It's fine. You weren't there."

She finishes combing my hair in silence, then fives me a towel to dry it off. I take it and do so, before walking out to the first room to finally eat breakfast.