Arin kicked her awake when the Caravan started to rise. As she did every morning. She had come to trust her always being awake before dawn. Lena never saw the child sleep, she was the last to lay down and the first to rise but whenever Lena would get up to relieve herself at night. She was always sitting up, staring off into the darkness. She looked harmless enough, walking alongside the wagon with bare feet, in her tattered rags. Lena had asked for better clothes for the child. But most of what they had was for the markets and anything they had to spare was for someone twice her size. And since the only seamstress among them died from a snake bite weeks ago, no one was there to mend anything. She offered the young girl her cloak, but she refused. And so she sat atop her horse. Watching Arin march along with the rest, as other children her age shouted and screamed, running up and down the column. Unaware of the gloomy forest around them. Completely oblivious to the danger they were in. Had she ever been so careless? Was there a time when worry didn't constantly weigh down her every step? She liked to think so. But something inside of her knew otherwise. She was Denvali, born in harsh and unforgiving winters. Struggling every day to make the harvest what little they could grow to see them through the winter. She had never known ignorance such as this. |