46th of Fall
Imellion could hear the caravan master's enraged screaming through the knife-edged wind. Worthless wench. Waste of space. Not worth the food you're fed. Other, more crueler taunts. Each one a hot knife lancing through her soul. Tears stung her eyes. Thunder crackled far above, and she jumped, landing badly, and crumpling up against the wall.
It was comforting in its coolness. Steady. Strong. Ancient. Trustworthy. Without even realizing it, Imellion pressed up against, and scooted backwards along it into a small recess. A cave, almost. Somewhere safe. Another burst of thunder rolled across the city, and she seemed to shrink even more, curling up in a ball and closing her eyes. She could wait this storm out here, couldn't she? It had already been going on for two days or so. It had to be almost over then. Just a few hours at most. That was doable.
She pulled her cloak up from where it had balled up, and spread it over her, tucking the edges underneath to form a cocoon almost. Hardly toasty, but it was an improvement. Somewhat. It would work until she could make her way back to the dormitories. Hopefully nobody would be looking for her there. She didn't want to get yelled at again. She'd had a lifetime of that. Hopefully there'd be no more. Not soon anyways. Maybe when she was older it would be more tolerable. Or perhaps not.
Another clap of thunder cracked the sky above, and she almost convulsed in her cave. She started muttering, not entirely sure what she was saying. Or if there were words at all. A prayer, throwing everything she could think of to say towards Priskil. Please let the storm end. Please send some more light. Is there anyone nearby that can help?