Trrch. Trrch. Trrch.
Plop...
Trrch. Trrch. Trrch. Plop...trrch. Trrch.
This desert hadn't felt the crunch of footsteps in a long time. Especially not ones as little as these. Every time the liquid dripped, it left a redness that stained the normally tawny-white landscape, the liquid sucked greedily into the ground. Every few yards, the old footprints started to blow away, taken by the winds which make the white cloth billow around the figure so vigorously. The heat is unbearable, for any animal with a right mind was deep underground hours ago. The figure, though...something different is to be said of her.
The girl isn't particularly tall, isn't particularly noticable in the simple white shift she wears...even her blonde hair seems to agree with her choice of clothing, joining her abnormally-pale skin in attempting to make her blend in with this desert as much as possible. It was the reason she came here in the first place - to hide. The only thing which gives her away is the reflecting metal of her attacker's knife...admittedly, not much, since the blade is coated in blood, as is part of her hand holding it.
If it's her own, there's no sign. If her eyes are the source of the blood...it's unclear, since a large strip of cloth is wrapped around, covering them. The same cloth from her shift, ripped at the bottom. Trrch. Trrch. Her feet, though, are bare. And burned from walking for so long out here. Only her ears can guide her at the moment...and all she hears is the wind, howling at her. Yelling, like she's used to...they all yelled at her, like she couldn't understand them otherwise.
Trrch. Trrch. Trrch. Plop...
************************
Tink. Tink. Tink. Tink. TSSSSSSSSSS...
Another symphony is happening in a simple log-house, built on the outskirts of town. A quiet nook, where the people would be comforted by the fact that there was still a blacksmith here. Blacksmiths didn't last long these days, since most disappeared, never to be heard from again. The blacksmith in question had been comforting two generations of people with the sound of his work, reassuring them that there was someone who could repair their tools. Keep them in work, so they could harvest their meager crops.
This blacksmith had an apprentice, too, who was out at the moment, running errands. As such, the blacksmith worked alone tonight. A large, heavily-muscled man, he's well-bronzed from helping in the fields to earn extra coin here and there. A heavy dark-brown beard obscures a great part of his face, but you can see that he's getting old. It's in the chestnut eyes that you see the years...a few tiny sprinkles of grey run through his short-cropped hair, but anyone seeing him work knew that age wasn't his problem.
It was his habit of picking up orphans. The man, as far as anyone could tell...or even remember...had never been seen with a woman. Some had speculations as to the reason for this matter, but he would only grunt, shake his head, and tell the enquirer the price of the repairs they had just requested. It was hard to get answers out of this man who towered over so many people. Some people tried to ambush his young apprentice, who would only ask them politely to move out of the way. Some did not want to be polite, so the apprentice would politely do it for them. Many enquirers stop at the black eyes, broken noses, or missing teeth.
Tink. Tink. Tink. Tink. TSSSSSSSSSS...
The blacksmith finishes his work, pulling off the leather apron and revealing the muscles of his chest. He quietly hangs his hammer, putting out the fire of the forge. It was getting close to night-time, and he couldn't just walk around in his jeans anymore. The air is too cold for that, and tonight, a few snowflakes brush by. He puts on a coat, not really caring for or needing it, but only wearing it out of necessity. Someone who could walk outside in the snow in just his lowers attracts attention. Attention was something he didn't need.
He locks up the forge for the night, satisfied that the orders would be ready to present in the morning. He walks along the path, leading to his home and away from the small market in this outskirt village. It's a cozy place, made of fine wood hand-cut from the nearby forest. The light is on in the window, beckoning him to dinner, which is warm on the fire. Set out by his knowing apprentice. As the blacksmith continues up the road, he frowns at the chimney. The smoke...it's a bit darker than normal. Sniffing the air, he quietly approaches from the back door. Burning fish is not something he smells often.
************************
Clink.
Klang ki-king...
"..."
The girl struggles to get her wrists free, struggling to get the knife that she had worked so hard to conceal behind her back. Even leaving bloodstains. The blacksmith holds firm. Speaking in his deep, imposing voice.
"I'm not going to hurt you, little one..." Nevermind that she had somehow found a way through the window. Or managed to find the food left out for him. Even dropping the fish in the fire in her scramble to eat, as he watched. She hangs her head. "..." He continues softly. "...nobody's going to hurt you again."
He lets her go, putting his belt back on. She had been quick about it. He takes the knife and starts cleaning it in the wash-bucket carefully. And says to her, "So, eat up...you look like you haven't in days."
"..."
The blacksmith looks down. She was hugging to his leg, and tears were coming down from the bottom edge of her blindfold. He sets the knife down. And holds her close to him. "Shhh..."
************************
Taptaptaptaptap.
The apprentice hurries to get back home, having finished his errands. He's a thinly-muscled young man, quickly becoming taller as time goes by in his apprenticeship. His boots tap the cobblestones, his travelling cloak drawn around him. His black hair pokes out from the cloak, and his eyes are like green orbs in the shadows. Quietly, he gets to the door, breathing out in relief. He goes in.
"There are guards are questioning everyone in town about a fugit-" He stops as he sees the scene in front of him. There's a girl here. His master is rubbing boot-polish through her hair, and is almost done making it completely brown. She, on the other hand, is wearing an overlarge shirt from the bedroom, humming a little as she finishes what was the blacksmith's dinner.
The blacksmith looks up. "Meet your little cousin. Your aunt sent her from out of town." The look in his eye is...fatherly. Insistant, even.
"...so nice to finally meet you." The apprentice is a bit uneasy.
The blacksmith finishes, wiping his hands on a rag and handing the apprentice a jewel-encrusted knife, inlaid with silver and a family crest. "Go set this with the others blades in the cellar." It's a royal dagger, he thinks...who is this girl his master took in? Shaking his head, he takes it down to the cache, as he's told...
************************
*THUD*
"I want that little bitch's head on a platter! You hear me?!"
Royal guards scrambled to comply, running out of the room. *CLANKCLACKCLANKCLACK*.
The duke was being attended for the rather large cut that extended from one cheek, all the way to his head. He was still wearing the travelling clothes that had disguised him. It was well-known that the duke and his closest circle of friends enjoyed the company of women, wherever they could get them. Last night's run had been disasterous, though.
The royal seer comes into the room, dressed in her blue robes. Her cowl is pulled up, and she's wearing the traditional mask of the seers. Hers is made in the form of a badger. "You called for me, sir?"
The duke sneers. "Hours ago. The cunt messed up my beautiful face!"
The seer wisely declines to comment he looked like a muppet in the first place, in her opinion. "I see. What do you wish for me to do?"
He breathes in, and out. Such a marvellously stupid person, he thinks. In fact, he wonders why everyone can't be as smart as him. "Find out how one little whore was able to kill three men by herself. I lost some good friends tonight..." He even feigns a tear. Oh, how he thrived on manipulation...
The seer smiles broadly behind her mask. Only three? Should've gotten the fourth too, she thinks. "I shall see what I can do." And bows.
************************
The seer quietly pours over some of her readings much later, looking over them. And, as she puts them together, she gasps at what she sees.
"Bear, wolf, hawk, phoenix, fox, raven, cheetah, dragon...all surrounding a baby tiger." She shakes her head. "But the last tiger was..." She continues to pour the powder over everything. The images disappear, only leaving the dragon and tiger facing each other. The tiger's face...blindfolded. The seer thinks to herself as she cleans up, clearing the readings up.
"The last tiger united our land almost three hundred years ago..."
