Post by Veranda Kingsford on Oct 17, 2013 13:54:24 GMT -5
The rocks dug into her feet mercilessly. The sun beat on her head, making her ebony hair shine like flames in the darkness. Veranda had been walking for days, or so it seemed. The child’s body, small as it was, was battered, bruised, and clothed in the tattered remnants of a fine dress. Her dress had been white when she had donned it, pale blue stripes circles the hem and sleeves, and a bow of the same color had been neatly placed between the sailor-styled collar of the dress. Now though, the dress was dirty to the point that it looked gray rather than white, the hem horribly torn, the bow gone, and in the front was a large brown spot, dried blood. Blood also dried in streaks down her legs, their place of origin up between the nine year old’s legs, where the worst of her wounds was. Veranda could live with the bruises on her face and neck and arms, the cuts and scrapes on her feet from walking, but that place between her legs…that place where her father had hurt her…the pain was awful, and she felt an unexplainable sense of deep shame that brought tears more than the pain in her body.
She walked down the path, off to the side where the rocks were the thickest. It hurt more but it was also easier to dart into the trees when a carriage rolled by. She was afraid of seeing the carriage with her family crest on it. Deeply afraid. But the trees had begun to thin out, giving away to neglected farm land with scrubby bushes. She walked, being baked by the sun, hungry, thirsty, and bloody. Her walking had at some point begun to zigzag across the path, she stumbled a few times. It was getting harder to go on with the little sleep she had gotten last night. She had run from her father after his abuse, after he tossed her into a caged wagon and had her shipped towards the slave market. But one of the family slaves, a young man, had felt pity for the girl, and released her. She ran into the near forest and ran and ran, and eventually hid under a fallen tree when it got dark, all the while afraid her father or a slave hunter would pop up and drag her back. No such thing happened, and she found this little road and walked it ever since dawn.
She looked up, dark eyes scanning the horizon now that the forest and shrank away. She paused when she saw that the road split, a small, well oiled path going off to the left from the road, and along that long path stood a little cottage, probably the cottage that held the master of the neglected farmlands. The property was clean, and smoke came from the chimney. Someone was home. Fear crept its way back up her spine, and she reached for her dress, tugging at it. She looked down the road again, but didn’t see a town nearby. It’d probably be days before she reached another town. She wouldn’t make it. Not like this. Always assuming someone didn’t pluck her from the road and toss her into a slave market where her father intended for her to end up.
Veranda turned from the impossibly long looking road and faced the cottage. She only took a moment to think this over. Inside could be a nice person, and nice woman who would take pity on a child who was raped and without family, home, money, or hope. If not? Veranda had always been a silent girl, and could maybe sneak into the cottage when the person or family slept. Take some food, water, and carry on when the sun rose. After putting distance between herself and those she robbed of course. It was a shaky plan, but the best her child’s mind could come up with currently. She took a deep breath and approached the house, crossing the grassy field rather than walking the path. Half for the cool, sweet relief the grass gave her hurt feet, and half so that she could have a chance to sneak a peek in a window rather than be seen approaching.
Closer she crept to the cottage, and nothing stirred inside. She moved to approach a window, hoping to glance inside, but a sharp whinny cut through the mostly silent air, startling her. Veranda darted round the cottage, pausing to peek around the corner, looking behind the cottage. She spotted what she expected. A horse in a large corral. The wood of the corral looked fairly new, and the size was more than enough for one horse. There was a large shack that was designed to house the beast, also too big for one. The horse, a mare, was pacing back and forth in her large corral. Her hide was as black as Veranda’s hair, and the eyes a deep brown. She sported a diamond shape of white on her forehead and had white socks about her ankles. The biggest distinguishing feature to the girl was how round and hard the mare’s belly looked! The horse looked about to burst! The mare paused her pacing to give a half interested glimpse in Veranda’s direction, before she continued her impatient-like pace. Veranda, mesmerized by the large animal, slipped away from the cottage and hesitantly approached the corral, smelling the sap from the freshly cut wood. The horse once more paused, this time giving the child a more interested look. Veranda paused, then continued to approach. Finally she reached the corral, and peered through it up at the mare, who likewise approached the girl from her own side. The two eyed each other a long time, before the horse gave a loud snort and shook her head.
A door burst open behind Veranda, nearly making the girl scream. She whirled around, eyes as wide as a frightened doe’s. A man sauntered out of the cottage, back to her as he walked backwards, carrying a large bucket.
“Alright, alright! Calm yourself Raven! I have your food here blast it!” The man called, his voice grating like rocks smashing together. Veranda was aware of two things. One; she had plenty of opportunity to dart behind the horse shack and likewise head for the woods to hide from this tall man with the broad back and scary rough voice, and two; she was so scared she couldn’t move.
While Veranda was utterly terrified, the mare lifted her head and gave a jolly trot towards the side of the corral closest to the man, letting a grunt of happiness. The man turned, a bucket of oats in his hands, and he paused, eyes falling on the girl by his corral, and Veranda got a truly good look at the man. He was awfully tall, almost as tall as her father. But his eyes were a stunning blue, and sharp. Around those eyes were many wrinkles, which also ran around his mouth from perpetual frowning. His hair was a mix of brown and gray, mostly gray, but his body was well muscled and toned, as if he still had the strength of a twenty year old, which he probably did. His hands gripping the bucket were battered and callused. He was a working man. Most distinctive though was the scar, a white slash that went across his face in a rude diagonal line. He sported a few more scars that matched from what she saw on his arms. Slashes, cuts, a circle or two.
“Well, what have we here?” The man spoke, head tilting. Veranda was still glued to her spot, but this time she began to tremble. Tears began to blur her vision, blotting out his face, distorting those blue eyes. She quickly wiped them away, and with that her paralysis broke. She did not run though, not yet. Simply shifted her position, ready to bolt away if the man ran at her, if he wanted to hurt her the same way her father did. The man eyed her, eyes drifting to the brown patch of blood in front of her dress, drifted to the blood on her legs. He frowned, a frown of disgust, and that shame welled again in Veranda’s heart.
The mare, named Raven it seemed, stamped her foot impatiently. The man regarded her, seeming to dismiss the battered child altogether. He stepped up to the corral, opened a gate, and led the big black horse out. He set the bucket down, where the horse greedily ate at its contents. The man pulled a brush from his back pocket and began to brush the mare, glancing to Veranda now and then. Veranda stood where she was, unsure. Should she run? Should she try to ask for help? She looked back to the road, then to the mare. The man ceased to look at her completely now. Veranda thought, but nothing, no wisdom of her nine years, came to her. Finally she began inching her way towards the man and his horse, being sure to keep the horse between them. The mare gave her a glimpse, and returned to her meal. The man did and said nothing, not looking at Veranda. It was as if she were not even there.
It’s because I’m bad. I’m a bad girl, that’s what father said, Veranda thought, fighting tears. It’s because of what father did. Father marked me as a bad girl, and this man knows.
Veranda stepped to the horse. The horse continued to eat. Veranda lifted a hand and placed it gently on the animal’s muzzle. The horse gave a good hearted grunt, sniffing at the child, before resuming her feast. Veranda smiled for perhaps the first time since her ordeal, and stroked Raven’s muzzle slowly. She traced the white diamond, rubbed the soft fuzz that was between the horse’s nostrils, and looked up to the deep brown eyes. Her gaze drifted up further and her heart nearly froze as those blue eyes locked on hers. She withdrew her hands quickly, as if the horse burned her in some way. The man eyed the child longer and did something Veranda did not expect. He offered the brush to her.
“Here. Brush her chest will you? I’m too old to hunker down and brush Raven’s lower parts anymore.” He said. Veranda obediently took the brush, too scared to defy him. He had an air of authority like her father. He wouldn’t be denied. Ever. She began to brush the horse, but it was in awkward back and forth strokes, causing the horse to lift her head. Veranda never brushed a horse. Never rode one either. Only carriages. The man shook his head, reaching out in a fluid quickness like a cat, taking hold of the brush and Veranda’s hand, making the girl jump. She tried to pull back but he held her.
“No, child. Like this.” He said softly, lifting the brush, pressing it the Raven’s soft hide, and drawing it down. Lifting again to repeat the action. “Do you see? Nice and easy. Got to be gentle, as if you were brushing your own hair.” He said, releasing Veranda and letting her continued brushing the horse. Veranda did a few more strokes before looking down at the brush, her eyes too full of tears to even see the horse anymore. The man patted the horse a few times before he hunkered down to Veranda’s level, looking at her face, eyes tracing the bruises.
“Would you like some food child? And some milk?” He asked. Veranda, even though she was scared, nodded, and let out a sob, dropping the brush. She fell to her knees, fumbling for the brush, tears coming so fast they blurred her vision entirely. Large hands closed on her small hands, and the man slowly lifted her to her feet.
“No worries of that child. It’ll still be there when we come back. Come.” He said, his voice soothing despite the roughness to it. Veranda nodded once more, allowing the man to lead her into the cottage. It was only when the shadow of the doorway fell over her she realized he could be leading her inside to harm her. But what more could he do that her father hadn’t already done? A strange apathy stole over the child as she stepped inside, wiping the rest of her tears away. Who cares? No one did. Why should she?
The cottage had the good smell of cooking, unexpected for a man like this. And judging from the clutter there were no servants or women in his life. He lead Veranda by the fireplace and sat her down on an old of still plush rug.
“Wait here child. I’ll fix you up something.”[/b] He said, before turning and walking into a doorway, which presumable was the kitchen. Veranda turned and looked into the fireplace, which radiated heat from buried coals left over from last night’s fire. Last night was rather cold for that time of year. Veranda had spent it in the woods, shivering. She would know. A moment later the man returned, handing the girl a bowl of hot stew and a hunk of bread. Veranda eyes his hands a moment.
“Well go on! I won’t bite you.” He said, impatient. Veranda took the food, not quite convinced he wouldn’t bite. The scent of the food hit her nose and her appetite returned; with a vengeance. The old man smiled down at Veranda as she tore into the bread and greedily ate up the soup, slurping at the spoon. It was rather unladylike but Veranda currently didn’t care for manners. The man turned and walked to the back room of the cottage, returning a moment later with a towel and a giant shirt. One of his shirts it seemed. He folded them and set them neatly on the floor beside Veranda, who stared at the pile like it were some strange creature.
“I have a bucket of water in that back room there girl. It isn’t very warm but it’ll clean you up. Why don’t you wash yourself up a bit when you’re done eating and join me outside?” He said, before he turned and walked out, boots clocking. Veranda stared after him a long time after the door shut, leaving her in a sunny patch in the living room. She finished her meal quickly, picked up the towel and shirt, and stepped into the backroom. It must have been his bedroom, judging from the large bed, wardrobe, and overall scent. Veranda located the bucket, it filled with soapy water and a sponge floating on top. She hesitated before she stripped off her dress and what was left of her underwear. She laid them gently on the bed before grabbing the sponge. She shivered. He hadn’t been lying. The water was cold. But there was something liberating in the way it quickly made the blood and grime disappear off her legs.
Veranda finished bathing and dressed in the giant shirt, feeling stupid in wearing it. It fell to her ankles! With the done she turned and walked out of the bedroom. She eyed the cottage a moment longer, considering taking some food from the kitchen and running out the front door. Instead she turned and exited out the back, where the man still stood, brushing the mare. He turned and eyed the girl a moment before nodding.
“Much better. Here. I fetched another brush so you could help me. Got to pay for that meal don’t you?” He said. Veranda eyed him a moment before she approached, took the brush, and resumed brushing the mare. They were silent for a long time, nothing but the occasionally breeze and deep breathing from Raven. After a moment Veranda paused, eying the mare’s large belly.
“Why is she so fat?” She asked, her voice cracked a bit. The man paused, looking at her. Veranda feared he’d be mad for insulting his horse, but there seemed to be a happy shine in his eyes.
“Why, because she’s pregnant lass. She’s got a little horse inside her, and she’s due to give birth any week now.” He explained. Veranda mused over this a moment before she turned to face the man.
“Why are you being nice to me? Aren’t people supposed to hate bad girls?” She asked, and that brought a frown to his face. Veranda felt fear again as the man’s face darkened. He faced her and knelt down to her height, his bright blue eyes staring into her dark brown ones.
“No. No one hates little girls, good or bad. But, lass, I don’t think you’re bad. I think you’re hurt.” He said, and that brought tears to her eyes. “I’m being nice because…well…I had a girl I was once sweet on, back when I was a younger man. And some bad people came into town while I was away and they hurt her like someone hurt you. I know from that time that you got to be kind. You got to be kind to remind those hurt people that there is kindness still in the world, even if it don’t feel that way.” He stood up again and continued to brush the mare. Veranda stared up at him a little while longer.
I’m saved. She thought. It brought a tiny smile to her face, and she turned back to the mare and continued brushing her, and they both stood that way a long time, in silence, brushing the mare.
She walked down the path, off to the side where the rocks were the thickest. It hurt more but it was also easier to dart into the trees when a carriage rolled by. She was afraid of seeing the carriage with her family crest on it. Deeply afraid. But the trees had begun to thin out, giving away to neglected farm land with scrubby bushes. She walked, being baked by the sun, hungry, thirsty, and bloody. Her walking had at some point begun to zigzag across the path, she stumbled a few times. It was getting harder to go on with the little sleep she had gotten last night. She had run from her father after his abuse, after he tossed her into a caged wagon and had her shipped towards the slave market. But one of the family slaves, a young man, had felt pity for the girl, and released her. She ran into the near forest and ran and ran, and eventually hid under a fallen tree when it got dark, all the while afraid her father or a slave hunter would pop up and drag her back. No such thing happened, and she found this little road and walked it ever since dawn.
She looked up, dark eyes scanning the horizon now that the forest and shrank away. She paused when she saw that the road split, a small, well oiled path going off to the left from the road, and along that long path stood a little cottage, probably the cottage that held the master of the neglected farmlands. The property was clean, and smoke came from the chimney. Someone was home. Fear crept its way back up her spine, and she reached for her dress, tugging at it. She looked down the road again, but didn’t see a town nearby. It’d probably be days before she reached another town. She wouldn’t make it. Not like this. Always assuming someone didn’t pluck her from the road and toss her into a slave market where her father intended for her to end up.
Veranda turned from the impossibly long looking road and faced the cottage. She only took a moment to think this over. Inside could be a nice person, and nice woman who would take pity on a child who was raped and without family, home, money, or hope. If not? Veranda had always been a silent girl, and could maybe sneak into the cottage when the person or family slept. Take some food, water, and carry on when the sun rose. After putting distance between herself and those she robbed of course. It was a shaky plan, but the best her child’s mind could come up with currently. She took a deep breath and approached the house, crossing the grassy field rather than walking the path. Half for the cool, sweet relief the grass gave her hurt feet, and half so that she could have a chance to sneak a peek in a window rather than be seen approaching.
Closer she crept to the cottage, and nothing stirred inside. She moved to approach a window, hoping to glance inside, but a sharp whinny cut through the mostly silent air, startling her. Veranda darted round the cottage, pausing to peek around the corner, looking behind the cottage. She spotted what she expected. A horse in a large corral. The wood of the corral looked fairly new, and the size was more than enough for one horse. There was a large shack that was designed to house the beast, also too big for one. The horse, a mare, was pacing back and forth in her large corral. Her hide was as black as Veranda’s hair, and the eyes a deep brown. She sported a diamond shape of white on her forehead and had white socks about her ankles. The biggest distinguishing feature to the girl was how round and hard the mare’s belly looked! The horse looked about to burst! The mare paused her pacing to give a half interested glimpse in Veranda’s direction, before she continued her impatient-like pace. Veranda, mesmerized by the large animal, slipped away from the cottage and hesitantly approached the corral, smelling the sap from the freshly cut wood. The horse once more paused, this time giving the child a more interested look. Veranda paused, then continued to approach. Finally she reached the corral, and peered through it up at the mare, who likewise approached the girl from her own side. The two eyed each other a long time, before the horse gave a loud snort and shook her head.
A door burst open behind Veranda, nearly making the girl scream. She whirled around, eyes as wide as a frightened doe’s. A man sauntered out of the cottage, back to her as he walked backwards, carrying a large bucket.
“Alright, alright! Calm yourself Raven! I have your food here blast it!” The man called, his voice grating like rocks smashing together. Veranda was aware of two things. One; she had plenty of opportunity to dart behind the horse shack and likewise head for the woods to hide from this tall man with the broad back and scary rough voice, and two; she was so scared she couldn’t move.
While Veranda was utterly terrified, the mare lifted her head and gave a jolly trot towards the side of the corral closest to the man, letting a grunt of happiness. The man turned, a bucket of oats in his hands, and he paused, eyes falling on the girl by his corral, and Veranda got a truly good look at the man. He was awfully tall, almost as tall as her father. But his eyes were a stunning blue, and sharp. Around those eyes were many wrinkles, which also ran around his mouth from perpetual frowning. His hair was a mix of brown and gray, mostly gray, but his body was well muscled and toned, as if he still had the strength of a twenty year old, which he probably did. His hands gripping the bucket were battered and callused. He was a working man. Most distinctive though was the scar, a white slash that went across his face in a rude diagonal line. He sported a few more scars that matched from what she saw on his arms. Slashes, cuts, a circle or two.
“Well, what have we here?” The man spoke, head tilting. Veranda was still glued to her spot, but this time she began to tremble. Tears began to blur her vision, blotting out his face, distorting those blue eyes. She quickly wiped them away, and with that her paralysis broke. She did not run though, not yet. Simply shifted her position, ready to bolt away if the man ran at her, if he wanted to hurt her the same way her father did. The man eyed her, eyes drifting to the brown patch of blood in front of her dress, drifted to the blood on her legs. He frowned, a frown of disgust, and that shame welled again in Veranda’s heart.
The mare, named Raven it seemed, stamped her foot impatiently. The man regarded her, seeming to dismiss the battered child altogether. He stepped up to the corral, opened a gate, and led the big black horse out. He set the bucket down, where the horse greedily ate at its contents. The man pulled a brush from his back pocket and began to brush the mare, glancing to Veranda now and then. Veranda stood where she was, unsure. Should she run? Should she try to ask for help? She looked back to the road, then to the mare. The man ceased to look at her completely now. Veranda thought, but nothing, no wisdom of her nine years, came to her. Finally she began inching her way towards the man and his horse, being sure to keep the horse between them. The mare gave her a glimpse, and returned to her meal. The man did and said nothing, not looking at Veranda. It was as if she were not even there.
It’s because I’m bad. I’m a bad girl, that’s what father said, Veranda thought, fighting tears. It’s because of what father did. Father marked me as a bad girl, and this man knows.
Veranda stepped to the horse. The horse continued to eat. Veranda lifted a hand and placed it gently on the animal’s muzzle. The horse gave a good hearted grunt, sniffing at the child, before resuming her feast. Veranda smiled for perhaps the first time since her ordeal, and stroked Raven’s muzzle slowly. She traced the white diamond, rubbed the soft fuzz that was between the horse’s nostrils, and looked up to the deep brown eyes. Her gaze drifted up further and her heart nearly froze as those blue eyes locked on hers. She withdrew her hands quickly, as if the horse burned her in some way. The man eyed the child longer and did something Veranda did not expect. He offered the brush to her.
“Here. Brush her chest will you? I’m too old to hunker down and brush Raven’s lower parts anymore.” He said. Veranda obediently took the brush, too scared to defy him. He had an air of authority like her father. He wouldn’t be denied. Ever. She began to brush the horse, but it was in awkward back and forth strokes, causing the horse to lift her head. Veranda never brushed a horse. Never rode one either. Only carriages. The man shook his head, reaching out in a fluid quickness like a cat, taking hold of the brush and Veranda’s hand, making the girl jump. She tried to pull back but he held her.
“No, child. Like this.” He said softly, lifting the brush, pressing it the Raven’s soft hide, and drawing it down. Lifting again to repeat the action. “Do you see? Nice and easy. Got to be gentle, as if you were brushing your own hair.” He said, releasing Veranda and letting her continued brushing the horse. Veranda did a few more strokes before looking down at the brush, her eyes too full of tears to even see the horse anymore. The man patted the horse a few times before he hunkered down to Veranda’s level, looking at her face, eyes tracing the bruises.
“Would you like some food child? And some milk?” He asked. Veranda, even though she was scared, nodded, and let out a sob, dropping the brush. She fell to her knees, fumbling for the brush, tears coming so fast they blurred her vision entirely. Large hands closed on her small hands, and the man slowly lifted her to her feet.
“No worries of that child. It’ll still be there when we come back. Come.” He said, his voice soothing despite the roughness to it. Veranda nodded once more, allowing the man to lead her into the cottage. It was only when the shadow of the doorway fell over her she realized he could be leading her inside to harm her. But what more could he do that her father hadn’t already done? A strange apathy stole over the child as she stepped inside, wiping the rest of her tears away. Who cares? No one did. Why should she?
The cottage had the good smell of cooking, unexpected for a man like this. And judging from the clutter there were no servants or women in his life. He lead Veranda by the fireplace and sat her down on an old of still plush rug.
“Wait here child. I’ll fix you up something.”[/b] He said, before turning and walking into a doorway, which presumable was the kitchen. Veranda turned and looked into the fireplace, which radiated heat from buried coals left over from last night’s fire. Last night was rather cold for that time of year. Veranda had spent it in the woods, shivering. She would know. A moment later the man returned, handing the girl a bowl of hot stew and a hunk of bread. Veranda eyes his hands a moment.
“Well go on! I won’t bite you.” He said, impatient. Veranda took the food, not quite convinced he wouldn’t bite. The scent of the food hit her nose and her appetite returned; with a vengeance. The old man smiled down at Veranda as she tore into the bread and greedily ate up the soup, slurping at the spoon. It was rather unladylike but Veranda currently didn’t care for manners. The man turned and walked to the back room of the cottage, returning a moment later with a towel and a giant shirt. One of his shirts it seemed. He folded them and set them neatly on the floor beside Veranda, who stared at the pile like it were some strange creature.
“I have a bucket of water in that back room there girl. It isn’t very warm but it’ll clean you up. Why don’t you wash yourself up a bit when you’re done eating and join me outside?” He said, before he turned and walked out, boots clocking. Veranda stared after him a long time after the door shut, leaving her in a sunny patch in the living room. She finished her meal quickly, picked up the towel and shirt, and stepped into the backroom. It must have been his bedroom, judging from the large bed, wardrobe, and overall scent. Veranda located the bucket, it filled with soapy water and a sponge floating on top. She hesitated before she stripped off her dress and what was left of her underwear. She laid them gently on the bed before grabbing the sponge. She shivered. He hadn’t been lying. The water was cold. But there was something liberating in the way it quickly made the blood and grime disappear off her legs.
Veranda finished bathing and dressed in the giant shirt, feeling stupid in wearing it. It fell to her ankles! With the done she turned and walked out of the bedroom. She eyed the cottage a moment longer, considering taking some food from the kitchen and running out the front door. Instead she turned and exited out the back, where the man still stood, brushing the mare. He turned and eyed the girl a moment before nodding.
“Much better. Here. I fetched another brush so you could help me. Got to pay for that meal don’t you?” He said. Veranda eyed him a moment before she approached, took the brush, and resumed brushing the mare. They were silent for a long time, nothing but the occasionally breeze and deep breathing from Raven. After a moment Veranda paused, eying the mare’s large belly.
“Why is she so fat?” She asked, her voice cracked a bit. The man paused, looking at her. Veranda feared he’d be mad for insulting his horse, but there seemed to be a happy shine in his eyes.
“Why, because she’s pregnant lass. She’s got a little horse inside her, and she’s due to give birth any week now.” He explained. Veranda mused over this a moment before she turned to face the man.
“Why are you being nice to me? Aren’t people supposed to hate bad girls?” She asked, and that brought a frown to his face. Veranda felt fear again as the man’s face darkened. He faced her and knelt down to her height, his bright blue eyes staring into her dark brown ones.
“No. No one hates little girls, good or bad. But, lass, I don’t think you’re bad. I think you’re hurt.” He said, and that brought tears to her eyes. “I’m being nice because…well…I had a girl I was once sweet on, back when I was a younger man. And some bad people came into town while I was away and they hurt her like someone hurt you. I know from that time that you got to be kind. You got to be kind to remind those hurt people that there is kindness still in the world, even if it don’t feel that way.” He stood up again and continued to brush the mare. Veranda stared up at him a little while longer.
I’m saved. She thought. It brought a tiny smile to her face, and she turned back to the mare and continued brushing her, and they both stood that way a long time, in silence, brushing the mare.
