![]() What kind of man do you think has to run so far and so fast to end up like that?” He shakes her roughly as if that can make the pieces in her mind come together faster. She goes to move towards the stranger, thinking others will help, until Jonathan grabs her around the arm, his other hand on her shoulder and his face pressed against hers so that she can’t look anywhere without seeing him. Something sparks in his eyes, and she almost thinks she’s persuaded him. “Ealdor has never once turned people away who needed it.” “We take him in we help heal him.” She glares up at Jonathan her hands clenched into fists. She can’t turn her back, not on those eyes. She looks at him, and through the mess of hair, dirt, blood, and gods-know-what-else, his eyes find hers. It’s what she’s always done, and it’s worked out fine for her.īut then she looks down at the stranger again, seeing his shoulders' weak sagging. ![]() For a moment, she considers just running home, going back to having her head down and carrying on with her life. She pulls her face out of his hand, her cheeks turning redder as a ripple of laughter moves through the crowd. What should we do with him then? Since you want a say in how we run things, give us your thoughts.” He’s always been taller than her since they were children and never once hesitated to use it to intimidate her or anyone else. He takes her chin and tilts it up to his face. He steps over the stranger’s body, as quickly as though he stepped over a log, and comes face to face with her. He laughs at her, the sound cold and hollow like a winter wind. ![]() He looks around the crowd, searching perhaps for supporters. Jonathan looks at her, his mouth half-open. Instead, she fixes him with a stony glare and asks, “You?” She’s even surprised herself, but she doesn’t let it show. He might have decided he is some authority over the village, but that doesn’t make him the sole voice here. Fury at seeing a helpless person tormented like this, at the callousness on Jonathan’s face. Something runs through her, something from deep inside. ![]() “But he isn’t our problem.” Jonathan pokes him with the edge of his boot, hard, eliciting a sharp whimper from him. It feels particularly strong now, the way she eyes the stranger with such caution. A grandmother of three now, there’s a protective edge to her as of late. “Who is he?” Niamh asks, her arms wrapped around herself. Only when she sees his fingers curling, the movement so slow, that she dares breathe again. She’s seen death before, not too long ago, but that doesn’t make seeing it again easier. His body trembles, the dust on the ground blowing as he lets out a shaky, unsteady exhale, and Hunith grabs Lizzie’s shoulder. He curls in on himself, his face half-pressed into the dirt road beneath him. People think her naive but she knows enough to know things aren’t always as they seem. If she weren’t looking at him, she wouldn’t think him human, not with the laboured, aching breaths and the strained grunting she can hear. As she cranes her neck, she sees the red matting his hair, and her hands begin to shake. He can’t be much older than her, although the dark hair and dirt smeared across his face make it hard to tell. Quickly, Hunith couldn’t take it anymore, pulled forward by both her curiosity and her friend Lizzie tugging on her hand, dragging her over where almost the whole village was gathered.Īnd what a sight she found when she and Lizzie pushed their way to the front. But then the murmurs grew and grew, and people jumped from their seats and ran from their houses to see what was going on. A small village will do that people will do anything for some excitement. She had brushed it off when people around her started murmuring, knowing from experience that people here tend to make mountains out of molehills.
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