Tace’s mostly frozen hands scrunged around the rubbish pile. She could hardly feel her fingers, but her eyes lit up at the sight of metal scraps. Fascinated by their texture, their color was shinier than a polished spoon. As quickly as she could, she shoved them deep into the pockets of her ragged skirts, which blew in the wind. Her teeth chattered, causing her jaw to ache. Her shawl, which had been wrapped around her the previous night underneath a nearby bridge, had mysteriously vanished when she woken up.
Shivering uncontrollably, she hugged her thin arms, unable to withstand the sudden gust of fresh air. Wiping her bright red nose with her sleeve, she turned down towards the right edge of the street, hopping over the mounds of frozen manure and waste on the side. In a way, she had turned it into a game to distract herself from her hunger—to see how great of a distance she could make it from another.
She had learned to not look at people in the face.
Women immediately ushered their children out of her path, their colorful skirts a stark contrast to the now slushy gray snow that was pushed aside by the wagon wheels. Men hardly glanced in her direction, dressed in thick furs and crisp white stockings. The rim of their hats were covered in fresh snow that was falling from above. Due to there being so many people running about, the young girl did not flinch to the sight of carriages or horses again, although the idea of laying eyes on the headmistress’s face made her more alert.
The scent of bread from the bakery lingered in Tace’s nostrils. She had counted each of the shops on the last few corners, but somehow, she kept circulating to the same place. Salivating, she lingered in front of the door, hands deep into her pockets. Such a selection of muffins and cakes and biscuits—all golden brown and warm from the oven, with melted butter and peach jam on top. The sound of the ringing bell filled her ears. She had pressed her nose and cheeks against the glass window when the sudden sound of the door banging shut made her jump and abruptly turned her head to the side.
A short, scruffy man, wearing a large apron tied across his bulging middle glared at her. In his hands, he clenched a broom. His eyes resembled the small, round stones she used to skip across the lake. When he gritted his teeth, she noticed he had a golden molar that gleamed in the light. Before Tace had enough time to react, the broad wooden end struck her across the face. She landed sideways into the deep snow, her left cheek stinging from the sudden blow.
”Dirty, rotten, good for nothing little wench,” he yelled, shaking his grubby fist. “If I ever catch you here again, I will alert the constable. Get away from my property. You are scaring away my customers and driving them off my business.”
In a daze, Tace struggled to get to her feet. Her heart was thudding rapidly in her chest as another figure appeared—a woman bigger than he with chunky arms. Her blonde hair was tucked underneath a bonnet, and she was wiping her flour covered hands against her apron. Her face was deeply flushed.
“Edgar, dear, come inside now. You’ll catch a cold out in this draft. I will fix you your tea.” She then glared at Tace. “Are you deaf? Off with you!” A disgusted look fell on her eyes.
The child, stumbling awkwardly in the snow, began to pick up her skirts, dragging her numb feet within the mud. Her drenched dress, now clinging onto her, froze against her skin. It was only until she had made reached a couple of blocks down the street that she leaned her back against a brick wall, her eyes burning far worse than her cheek. She had only been out here for a week, but she was determined to never return to the Guadana House of Mercy. Placing a hand on her stomach, she felt around in her pockets, her frozen fingers suddenly making contact with small bits of metal she had collected.
The metal.
Tace licked her dried lips.
Only a couple of corners down, she remembered passing the blacksmith’s forge. She had seen men and women of all ages lined up, selling all sorts of stuff to him. After glancing down the street, she rushed past a group of men loading wood onto a wagon.
* * * * * *
The three copper coins weighed down Tace’s pocket as she skipped down the sidewalk towards the market, eager to lay eyes upon what was available. She could already imagine herself biting into a juicy apple, perhaps a couple of boiled eggs, or—
She landed face first into the snow.
“What do we have here?”
The sound of snickering made her look up, squinting her eyes in the dull evening light. Two boys, much taller than her, stood in her path. The one who had tripped her was grinning from ear to ear. He was dressed in worn, but clean breeches, and his dark brown hair was tied back into a queue. He couldn’t have looked older than thirteen, but when he suddenly grabbed her by the collar of her dress and lifted her up in the air, his strength resembled a fully grown man’s.
“Look at the rat,” the boy sneered. “Filthy.”
“Funny how she won’t say a word,” his comrade chuckled. “Most girls would scream.”
“She is a damned mumblecrust. What is it, little rat? Something has your tongue?”
Tace’s legs helplessly dangled below her. She squirmed, attempting to pry herself free from his grip, but it only tightened, causing pain to shoot up her skin. The boy’s dark eyes met hers as his comrade continued laughing. He opened his mouth to say something, but Tace sank her teeth deep into the flesh of his white palm as deep as she could. He shouted a curse word.
Tasting blood in her mouth, Tace turned away and began to run. But she had only gotten a few feet away when the boy placed a pocket knife against her throat, holding her back. The sharp edge bit against the flesh of her neck.
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”Scum,” he hissed. “You’ll pay for that.”
“Come on, Ben,” his friend murmured. “Let’s go already. I have to go home for chores.”
“Are you mad?” the boy exclaimed. “She just bit me.” Roughly, he made her face him, before striking her across the mouth. The impact made her incredibly dizzy. “Look at me when I’m talking to you, sewer rat. You probably gave me a disease.” His brown eyes then settled on something in the snow. “I see your pockets aren’t empty.”
Tace glanced down. To her dismay, her pennies were strewn across the ground. As she reached down to grab them, the toe of Ben’s boot came colliding against her face, causing blood to run down her chin. He roughly shoved her into a nearby pile of manure, before scooping the money in his pocket. Smirking, he folded his arms.
The young girl’s bloodied mouth was quivering. Her fists were balled up, her blackened nails digging to her palms. The other boy remained still, his smile fading.
“Aww, is she going to cry?” Ben murmured, breaking out into a deep laugh. He made a tsk, tsk, tsk sound with his lips, before pocketing the change. “Are you fixing to tell your mother? Oh, that is right. You don’t have one. No one wants anything to do with you.”
His laughter was all Tace could hear. The manure had seeped into her nose, mouth, the corner of her eyes. His hoots followed her as she pushed past a startled woman holding a dead chicken in a basket, fresh from the slaughterhouse. She couldn’t see much, just colors, mostly, and the sound of her bare feet crunching against the snow. Her arms and chest were throbbing, and she believed that they were close behind her, but it had begun to snow against when she finally stopped, breathing heavily in the middle of the woods.
She could still taste the blood from her nose. Slowly, she crouched within the snow beneath a large fur tree, her head into her knees, before finally falling apart into countless pieces. Her sobs were quiet, a gentle whisper against the calm wind and rustling branches.
* * * * * * * *
The silence of the trees comforted Tace.
She wasn’t too familiar with her surroundings, or how long she had walked, but as night fell and the large white moon shone in the sky, she could make out a silhouette of an owl watching her in the branches. Using handfuls of melted snow, she cleaned the manure and blood off her face the best she could. Her fingers were fiercely numb, but she managed to clear off a couple of pine branches, before selecting a small opening in a boulder as her shelter.
Faint and dizzy with hunger, she attempted to start a fire with the kindling she had gathered, but it was far too wet. Curling up on the wet ground, she attempted to close her swollen eyes. Yet, the unbearable stomach pains kept her awake, despite how exhausted her limbs were. Rolling on her left side in the dark, she once more forced herself to sleep, before the glow of an orange light came into view.
Tace slowly sat up.
It was quite hard to fully make it out within the shadows of the trees, but she could just about see it. Driven by the cold, she stumbled out from beneath the rock and blindly followed the hue, pressing her small hands outwards to remain balanced in the snow. She weakly leaned against another tree before making it out towards the clearing, where a small wooden shack met her large brown eyes. The scent of smoke rising from the chimney made her draw closer, despite everything inside of her wanting to pull away.
Her wet bare feet left prints upon the surface of the wooden porch. A dark red substance was spread across the stair treads and a nearby patch of snow, leaving a mark around the threshold and peeling white paint.
The child then placed her left ear against the door. It was silent, with the exception of the crackling flames from the hearth inside. With one eye, she peeked into the dimly lit room, where the scent of urine and tobacco met her nostrils. Silently, she propped the door open enough to slip sideways through the gap. The welcoming heat of the flames was too much for her to turn from, and she eagerly rushed towards the fireplace, holding both of her hands out.
Sighing with relief, Tace inched herself as close as she could, the orange glow illuminating the side of her face. As she glanced around the room, she spotted a large pickaxe leaning behind the door; the metal blade gleaming at her. The tool sent shivers down her spine—-it was as nearly as tall as her. Cobwebs hung in the corners above, and layers of dust and dead bugs littered the windowsill.
She had finished thawing herself out by the flames when she jumped and moved away.
A figure in the dark corner of the room stirred, their breathing heavy and labored. Tace immediately got to her feet, taking a few steps back at the sight of the giant man fast asleep. His upper torso was bloody, covered in angry lacerations, and his closed eyelids fluttered, like he was in a strange dream of some sorts. Strands of dark, matted hair had fallen upon his face, and on the pillow near his head were two small cornhusk dolls.
The young girl remained frozen for a moment, before taking a hesitant step forward. The giant did not move. Her large brown eyes fell upon the doll with the patterned purple dress—and as soon as her eyes fell upon its painted face—her deep, agonizing loneliness melted away at the sight of a new friend.
Her very first friend.
Unable to resist, her dirty fingers gently picked it up, and slowly, she hugged the doll as tightly as she could. She buried her face into its hair, slightly swaying back and forth.
Her lips, for the first time, formed into a small smile as she admired the doll’s plaited yarned hair, twirling the ends with a dark nail. Right there, she gave it a name. Isabel. She whispered the word. When she longingly gazed into the doll’s polished buttoned eyes, she gently caressed the side of its face with a blistered finger.
Isabel, she softly whispered again.
The giant’s abrupt snore suddenly jolted Tace back into her senses. Silently, similar to how she had entered the shack, she moved away as a child of the shadows would be accustomed to, with Isabel tightly tucked around her left arm. She glanced back a couple of times over her shoulder as the man turned over in his slumber, exhaling sharply.
* * * * * *
In the darkness of her small and cold den, Tace slept soundly on the thawed earth with Isabel’s button eyes touching the tip of her nose. After days of endless walking and the very short nights in Guadana, the fatigue that she had been fighting for nearly a week swallowed her whole. Unlike the chaotic noise of the city she had spent her short life in, amidst all of the buzzing and carrying on, the silence itself had lulled her into a deep, sweet dream. Her breaths were quiet, in rhythm with the now gentle wind humming around her new home.
A couple of mistletoes were tucked into Isabel’s two braids. The doll was locked into the child’s frail arms, close to her slow but steady heartbeat.
Tace’s muddy bare feet were curled up in the makeshift bed that she had created for herself, consisting out of pine branches and moss. Her stomach was filled with walnuts and mushrooms that she had collected in a nearby pile. Outside, it continued to snow once more, piling on higher than before until the shack and the trees around it were covered in fine powder.