avoiding
a gasp. Her cheeks were covered by twisted masses of scar tissue. The
smooth, perfect skin abruptly became silvery, pink, and white, in mottled,
tangled bands across the sides of her face. The scar tissue tugged up one
corner of her lip so that she always
appeared to be smiling, but the dark blue eyes that she raised to his
face were the saddest he had ever seen.
"It's unbelievable, isn't it?"
commented the elf man, enjoying Seylin's shocked expression. "Ugly woman!
Get that ghastly thing out of my sight."
Seylin watched her turn away again,
her head bowed and her shoulders slumped. Goblin deformity was a deformity of
strength, but this was unnatural and
brutal. Why had this woman been disfig ured?
Why hadn't she been treated and healed? Seylin couldn't recall a single
instance of the deliberate maiming of an elf.
"Food's
ready," said Irina, and the men stood up. Thorn glanced down inquiringly at Seylin, but he was too upset to eat.
He just shook his head.
Thorn walked
forward to take the first bowl and a piece of bread from Irina. But when Rowan stepped forward to take the
next bowl, Thorn blocked
the way. He set down his own food and took the bowl
himself, weighing it critically and putting part of it back into the pot. Then
he took a piece of bread and laid it on the bowl.
"Puppy!"
he said. "Here's your share."
"Oh," said the blond girl,
surprised. "Thanks, Thorn," and she reached up to take the bowl. The
scarred woman stared in astonish ment at
this and looked up at Rowan. He gave her a shrug in return, as if to
say, Why would I care?
The scarred woman
spooned Rowan's bowl and then scraped the pot to spoon Willow's, but Thorn took the bowl as
Willow reached for it and faced the youngster
sternly.
"When's
the last time you've brought home food?" he wanted to know.
"You need to go hungry for a few nights, Willow. When I was your age, I
brought home my share."
"There's not
much out there," muttered the youth. "It's not like I don't
look."
"Rowan and I
do all right," challenged the man. "We keep the lot of you fed." The boy just scowled in answer,
staring at his boots.
"You still don't know what you're
doing," commented Rowan from his seat
on the floor, where he was rapidly devouring his stew. "Come with me on my
next night, Willow. I'll help you find some thing."
Thorn handed
over the stew, eyeing the young elf critically. "See
that you bring something home next time," he ordered. Then he picked up
his bowl and bread. He tore the bread in half and frowned at it.
"Ugly
woman!" he said. "Come get your food."
The scarred woman stood up, her eyes
on the strip of bread he held out. Her face
was wary and her whole body tense. She reached out for the bread, but at
the last second, he dropped it. Then he stepped on it as he walked back to his
place.
Seylin glanced around in outrage,
expecting someone to say something, but they were all busy with their food. What
had happened was no business of theirs. He watched with distaste as the woman picked up her bread and quickly dusted it off
She knelt down next to the hearth again, eating it hurriedly, like an
animal who has found a scrap that may be
stolen at any second. He realized then that she had no bowl of stew. She
began to scrape the remains out of the
cooking pot, trying to make as little sound with the spoon as possible.
Seylin watched her moodily. He could tell there wasn't much left.
"Doesn't
she have a name?" he asked. Thorn followed his gaze to the woman at the hearth. When she realized they were
talking about her, she dropped the spoon into the
pot with a clatter and froze, her eyes on the ground.
"The ugly
woman, you mean?" asked Thorn casually. "Oh, yes, she has a name. A grand name, in fact, passed down
from her father. Sable, his name was. We don't use that name now, out of
respect for him. He wasn't the useless trash that she is. You'd never
believe it, but that thing was engaged to me. I hunted for her when I was six teen, Willow," he said,
a gasp. Her cheeks were covered by twisted masses of scar tissue. The
smooth, perfect skin abruptly became silvery, pink, and white, in mottled,
tangled bands across the sides of her face. The scar tissue tugged up one
corner of her lip so that she always
appeared to be smiling, but the dark blue eyes that she raised to his
face were the saddest he had ever seen.
"It's unbelievable, isn't it?"
commented the elf man, enjoying Seylin's shocked expression. "Ugly woman!
Get that ghastly thing out of my sight."
Seylin watched her turn away again,
her head bowed and her shoulders slumped. Goblin deformity was a deformity of
strength, but this was unnatural and
brutal. Why had this woman been disfig ured?
Why hadn't she been treated and healed? Seylin couldn't recall a single
instance of the deliberate maiming of an elf.
"Food's
ready," said Irina, and the men stood up. Thorn glanced down inquiringly at Seylin, but he was too upset to eat.
He just shook his head.
Thorn walked
forward to take the first bowl and a piece of bread from Irina. But when Rowan stepped forward to take the
next bowl, Thorn blocked
the way. He set down his own food and took the bowl
himself, weighing it critically and putting part of it back into the pot. Then
he took a piece of bread and laid it on the bowl.
"Puppy!"
he said. "Here's your share."
"Oh," said the blond girl,
surprised. "Thanks, Thorn," and she reached up to take the bowl. The
scarred woman stared in astonish ment at
this and looked up at Rowan. He gave her a shrug in return, as if to
say, Why would I care?
The scarred woman
spooned Rowan's bowl and then scraped the pot to spoon Willow's, but Thorn took the bowl as
Willow reached for it and faced the youngster
sternly.
"When's
the last time you've brought home food?" he wanted to know.
"You need to go hungry for a few nights, Willow. When I was your age, I
brought home my share."
"There's not
much out there," muttered the youth. "It's not like I don't
look."
"Rowan and I
do all right," challenged the man. "We keep the lot of you fed." The boy just scowled in answer,
staring at his boots.
"You still don't know what you're
doing," commented Rowan from his seat
on the floor, where he was rapidly devouring his stew. "Come with me on my
next night, Willow. I'll help you find some thing."
Thorn handed
over the stew, eyeing the young elf critically. "See
that you bring something home next time," he ordered. Then he picked up
his bowl and bread. He tore the bread in half and frowned at it.
"Ugly
woman!" he said. "Come get your food."
The scarred woman stood up, her eyes
on the strip of bread he held out. Her face
was wary and her whole body tense. She reached out for the bread, but at
the last second, he dropped it. Then he stepped on it as he walked back to his
place.
Seylin glanced around in outrage,
expecting someone to say something, but they were all busy with their food. What
had happened was no business of theirs. He watched with distaste as the woman picked up her bread and quickly dusted it off
She knelt down next to the hearth again, eating it hurriedly, like an
animal who has found a scrap that may be
stolen at any second. He realized then that she had no bowl of stew. She
began to scrape the remains out of the
cooking pot, trying to make as little sound with the spoon as possible.
Seylin watched her moodily. He could tell there wasn't much left.
"Doesn't
she have a name?" he asked. Thorn followed his gaze to the woman at the hearth. When she realized they were
talking about her, she dropped the spoon into the
pot with a clatter and froze, her eyes on the ground.
"The ugly
woman, you mean?" asked Thorn casually. "Oh, yes, she has a name. A grand name, in fact, passed down
from her father. Sable, his name was. We don't use that name now, out of
respect for him. He wasn't the useless trash that she is. You'd never
believe it, but that thing was engaged to me. I hunted for her when I was six teen, Willow," he said,
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