35 Spring 517
A dull, distant growl of sound met Dove as she turned in through the Outpost gate, and the usual guards seemed to be either gone or distracted. Not that that bothered her much, they were all knights anyway, and the less attention she had from them the better. She headed for the market, not because she was out of food - a childhood of starving meant that she kept a stock of food at all times for fear of returning to it - but because she needed to see what there was. The harvest wasn't looking good, hadn't been good, and old fears boiled up that she thought she had buried long ago.
For a moment the sound had her looking up, scouring the sky hopeully for signs of thunderclouds and rain, but the sky was clear. Then she turned the corner and the growl morphed into the roar of a mob. Terror screamed through her bones. She was a child again, trying to hide, trying to flee, failing at both, and the riot rolling over her even as her brother tried to hold it back... She heaved in a breath, clenched her fist so tight that it hurt, and forced herself back into the now. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Her feet wanted to run, to flee back to her cottage and hide there. But her cottage wasn't the sanctuary it had once been. It had been invaded once too often for her to pretend she was completely safe there.
She stood frozen for what felt like bells, but were probably only chimes. Then the sound of the riot surged towards her, and above it, a child's cry of fear. Air jolted into Dove's lungs. Not again. Never again. Wasn't it enough that she had been scarred by it, without more children going through that? She set her fretting feet into motion and ran, not away from the mob, but towards it.