Fawn's Veil

Cave

After some rest and having gathered water for herself from the moss around, there was a feeling of calm starting to settle in.

Does it feel better in the quiet, or worse?

With all that had happened already, the storm of thought that continued to rage in her mind was still doing damage: so many questions, and so little knowledge.

With a spare moment, Fawn turned to the wounds on her foot and ankle to see if she could ease the pain. There would be a great need to move soon, ideally without the restriction of the impeded motion she had dealt with so far.

If only she could remedy something, anything to make the way a little easier.

Recalling how her mother used to bind her wounds brought melancholy, as she looked down at her damaged feet. She fought desperately to stay ahead of the dark feelings building up, as the memories came flooding back so quickly.

Binding her punctured foot proved easy enough, but doing anything for her ankle presented impossible. The wound left by the Cast blade seemed resistant to any form of basic healing, and while it had finally stopped bleeding, it remained as fresh in look and feel as it did the moment it happened.

The cut from the rock was nothing more than the kind of thing that happened every day on the playing field. Although this one seemed to hurt more than usual, attributed to the rock that cut her being further serrated than those around the field. As her thoughts calmed and adrenalin dropped, she finally felt a massive pressure in her abdomen.

Oh God. How long have I been holding ...

With all overdue urgency, she dashed further back into the cave as far as she could, hoping to relieve the pain.

No. I’ll go outside somewhere ...

She made a highly motivated series of movements, running, then traveling on all fours. As she landed outside the cave she moved as far to the side as she could before the cramp of bladder control took over.

“Ow! Here will do.”

As she felt the tension in her body ease, there was an odd moment of almost normality—because through all that had gone wrong, there was still the same need as ever to be free of the demands of bodily functions. It brought laughter to her mind.

Some things don’t change.

The water finally stopped and she saw it vaporize against the still heated rock.

Something that began in her mind fairly quickly, was the idea that not only would she need food and water, but the capacity to clean herself. Otherwise, the trackers she had heard people fear, would find her too easily. She didn’t know much of anything about how or what trackers really were, but she knew that smell could be a strong leader.

She herself could detect others at quite a distance, and they always seemed so strongly odored up close.

How am I going to wash?

Fawn began to think about how to set herself up for future endeavors. Food was going to be a challenge; water would come from the mosses for now. As long as she kept away from the cave to relieve herself, the specifics of her hiding place would be vague enough to trackers.

So, food is the hard part. Mother never told me where our meals came from.

It was hard for Fawn to imagine anything other than the daily mash she had grown up on, it seemed to originate at ... the food bench. She had no idea how it started its life prior to that, but of course she was still young and that was the stance of most young children in the Village, that food came from their providers. There was nothing wrong with that normally, only in a normal situation a child was not forced to leave their provider to die.

So, this is it then. No food if I don’t find it myself.

Back inside the cave, she used some of the gathered moss water to clean herself a bit, making sure that her odor remained as mild as possible, while giving some relief from the dust and grime abrading her tender skin.

Having managed some form of cleanse, and feeling just a little more capable, the clear thought took over.

I must hunt or steal something to eat.

Night was setting in again so the cover of dark would work to shield her, but the Cast would be harder to see in the low light.

What about hunting?

She knew that was something that people did, the trouble was, she had no idea where to start, how to find creatures that were edible, or even how to get anything to kill them with. It was hard to imagine her razor knife being capable of such a kill, sharp though it was, the distance and knowledge required to use it escaped her.

Finally, with a deep and disappointed sigh, she understood that her only option at this point was to venture back to where the people were and try to get hold of food, without alerting anyone.

So, with a clearer mind, she knew where to start.

Taking an extra drink from the moss, she set about making her way back down the cliff, toward the Village. The first challenge would be seeing her way. She took some time to let her eyes adjust, to learn what was around her.

Straining to focus, she could make out some of the vague shadows that comprised her dark surroundings, but not enough to move around safely. The Razor Rocks would doubtless make shreds of her if she set a foot wrong.

What should I do?

Disappointed, she folded herself into a sitting position on the one piece of flat dirt she could find outside the cave. After a while her frustration focused her. She stared obsessively at one of the rocks she remembered the shape of. Perhaps if she could just make out some of the outlines, it would give her something to work with. She just couldn’t see what she expected ... and yet, something was there.

With more time passing, she noticed that the effort of staring at the faded outline wasn’t hurting her eyes. In fact, she felt like there was a growing peace coming from the experience, as though the dark was just slightly more comforting for her than the light.

This was all a new possibility, as she had never really been in the True Dark. Her mother had always had her brothers burn Oil Brush, a local shrub, to keep light present in the home. They had all said that it was impossible to see in the True Dark, but she was starting to make out more and more of the rock outline.

She couldn’t understand why it felt so comforting to be in the darkness, and with so little sound: the mild backdrop of the cave the only odor she could discern.

The peace was something she hadn’t experienced before, no strong smells; no noise. It was a salve for her senses as it all began to grow familiar: the comfort of cool darkness replacing the harshness of bright daylight, and all the threats it brought with it.

After sitting dead still for a long time, to her immense surprise, the rock became clear to her. She could see the outlines, the details and felt like she knew it somehow, knowing that it was ... solid, and not the least bit pliable.

Curiosity grew about other objects she could see around her. A small Oil Brush for example, looked frail and thin, regardless of it being a thicket of bristly branches and tightly packed leaves. Its bark was cracked and craggy like the surface of a broken sandstone covered in dried blood, where the red oil seeped from the inner layers of its trunk.

She had never seen such detail, perhaps she had never looked, or she just hadn’t noticed it before. It didn’t really matter anymore. Now she could see it: an advantage no matter what.

As she moved to examine the Oil Brush more closely, a pebble fell off the ledge she was sitting on and rattled its way down the cliff. With a start, she felt the immense volume it produced, and saw an effect reflected on the Oil Brush she was staring at so intently.

Did I really just see that? I have to be sure.

She took up another pebble and flicked it at the brush. With no equivocation, there was a reaction. The sound presented outlandish, she knew it wasn’t truly loud, only a contrast from the background while she focused so intently. What she saw was something else entirely.

The brush moved and created a shimmer around its edges. The impact point of the pebble was a darker, more pronounced shimmer, while the rustling of the leaves was lighter, with patterns made smaller.

Now I can truly search for whatever I need.

She could now make her way at least into the Village and have a reasonable chance of perceiving what was coming and hopefully avoiding trouble. After all, she wanted only to get something to eat and return to the relative safety of her earthen dwelling.

With renewed vigor and an immature sense of hope, she was pleased to be making her way down the cliffside toward what she imagined would be food and perhaps something she could use as a hunting weapon.

Maybe more, or better, clothing too—crucial against the sudden cold this heartless dusty rock could be prone to.

As she started to approach the less dangerous of the rocks lower down, her spirits started to lift. She remembered fondly a sweetened version of her mother’s mash that the younger of her brothers used to make for her, on the days when his workload was light.

As she descended further, closer to the familiar areas, her thoughts strayed from those of pure survival.

Oh, I know. I’ll find some Sweet Stars I haven’t had—

Suddenly there was a smell, that tone of char and blood that came from Cast Soldiers.

“OH GODS! Where are they?”

There was a dark figure in the distance moving with an irritation in his step and flicking his head left and right as he went, the unmistakable movements of someone that knew they were being evaded.

If she were to run drastically, he would surely notice the noise and changing environment as she moved.

She couldn’t slink away and hope to find food tomorrow, food she desperately needed to sustain her already vocal stomach. Time was working against her: she had to find a way around him, and in a fashion that satiated his curiosity, rather than piquing it further.

Watching carefully as the Soldier made his way around the lower part of the cliff, it became more obvious that while he was most definitely searching in this area, he hadn’t any specific idea of where she was.

But why is he even looking over here?

Then almost out loud, it hit her ...

When I was angry about mother in the cave ... but, how did he hear me?

This was the real evidence for her that the Cast were more capable than simply men with different clothing. She decided to be more careful and considered with her actions in future.

Holding so still as to rival the rocks around her, she waited to see if the Soldier would lose interest or come closer and make his way toward her.

As he came a little closer, she could make out the smell of blood on him. He had hurt someone. For a moment, fear took hold of her. She twisted as if to run, but then she felt a small stone just under her foot. If she moved now, it would fall and strike the wider rocks as the other did. It would be as though she had called out to him.

Summoning breath and calming her pulse, she stayed in place and watched as the Soldier’s frustration got the better of him and he turned back toward the Village. As he did so, she could see the different shimmer come from his clothing.

Not the same cloth.

The garb of the Soldiers was far denser than any of the cloth she wore. The weapon, the strength, the hearing, and now even the cloth that made up their uniform ...

How are they so different from us?

With the Soldier now withdrawing, Fawn saw an opportunity to make her way further down the hill, across and up into the Village, driven on by the pang in her stomach from the days of high exertion and strain with no food.

Deciding to move came with a new concern, that her scent was also detectable. Just as the thought gave her pause, the small stone poised under foot made its escape, just out of reach of her hand. It fell ... announcing itself against the rock beneath. She held her breath, uncertain if he had heard her.

His pace hadn’t changed, perhaps she had gotten away with it ... this time. She would need to place her feet more gently in future. She had no idea what she could do if he had come after her, as she had no combat advantages to wield. Taking great care to place her feet with all intention and no casual incident, she continued to carefully head towards the Village.

The Soldier she was following had seemed to lose interest in continuing his search. She was at this moment, a little grateful for the fortune of her day, regardless of the precarious situation she found herself in. She had seen chance lean her way just a bit.

As she approached the dusty buildings that made up this rustic Village, the ever-present worry of the Cast Soldiers crossing her path at any moment became more pointed than ever.

She felt the sharp nails of prejudice within the Village, ever waiting to make an example of her. Those who stood so idle, while her brothers walked every day to their demise, were not people she could turn to for friendship, support or shelter.

Eyes clear, ears open, stay on guard, no mistakes.

Rounding the first building, she found there was little to no light in the pathway. The Oil Brush had not been replenished in the outdoor lanterns.

Someone must be keeping the streets dark, or is just foolish and forgot.

Darkness worked as her collaborator, and she was able to move easily from shadow to shadow, never once meeting the light that came from the crude house windows, and public building doors.

Inside one of the larger, empty buildings, which looked like animal housing or storage, there were a few villagers gathering in a small circle: rough, tawny looking, exhausted and angry.

–Garrick M Lynch–