shaking a finger at
the young elf "You could take a
lesson. I brought home two shares at sixteen, her share as well as my own. For years I took care of her, did
everything for her, and then our marriage moon came. She'd never turned
down a meal, notice. She hasn't turned down one since. But she told me on our wedding night that she wouldn't marry me. And
then" -- he pointed at the scarred cheeks -- "that's what she
did to her face."
Seylin gasped, wincing.
"She did that to herself? Why?"
"Because
she's a coward," snapped Thorn. "Because she wanted to stay a child.
She took the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, and she destroyed it just to
spite me. She killed my wife. I'm a widower, with a dead wife. But she eats more than most dead wives
do. How I hate to see my good food disappear
into that ugly face!"
Irina sat before
Thorn on the floor, finishing her supper, her back turned
to him, and her whole attention on the remaining food she had. His gray eyes bright with malice, Thorn
reached out and tugged on a lock of her dirty hair.
"But puppy here's no coward, are
you?" he said. "Six months from
now is your marriage moon. That's when pretty elf girls find a husband, but I don't know about clumsy puppies.
What do you think, puppy? Will there be a husband out there for
you?"
Irina shrugged, not particularly
interested. Husbands weren't something she
knew much about, and she still had a little bread left. But Seylin saw
Thorn watching his dead wife over Irina's shoulder, and he saw the scarred woman raise her blue eyes to stare at Thorn. The look
that passed between them was pure, poisonous hatred. Thorn glared at her in
malicious triumph, still tugging on the girl's hair.
"Ow,
Thorn!" said Irina irritably. "You're hurting me!" She jerked
away, completely unaware of the drama surrounding her.
"I'm going
to sleep," muttered Seylin. "I'm tired." And he jumped
up and headed for his tent before anyone could stop him with a question. But he needn't have worried. No one bothered to say
anything. They didn't even look up.
He hid in his
tent and listened to the elves preparing for sleep. No one bid the others good
morning or pleasant dreams. Seylin lay there for a long time, thinking of home and what he had hoped
to find. He hadn't found it here, and he was sure he
never would. Grown men and members of the King's Guard weren't supposed to cry.
He didn't, but he wished that he could.
Sable lay in her tent, next to the
sleeping Irina, worrying about the new elf.
Fine clothes, soft hands, well made boots, and he claimed to be the last
of his band. He didn't even eat with them. He'd never seen a single hungry night. Why didn't Thorn make him tell the truth? Her father would have dealt with that new
elf. But, then, he'd have dealt with her, too.
Sable had never known her mother. For
years, she hadn't even known that elves had
mothers. Her father ran their camp. He was the handsomest man in it, and
he had a hard pride because of the name that the two of them shared.
"Never forget, Sable," he
would tell her firmly, "we aren't like these common idiots."
Sable was six when
she saw and heard the first elf woman die. Rose
moaned and screamed for two days in her tent. At the end of it, Sable
and her friend Laurel held the tiny Irina, and the cold ground held Rose's bloody body. That was how babies were
born, her father told her. The women had to die. Her mother lay under
the ground, too, and so did countless other women. After that, Sable was sure
she saw the dead women crawling through the camp looking for their babies. She
woke up screaming from nightmare after might, mare, but when she told her
father, he beat her. "Never tell those dreams to anyone," he ordered,
and Sable never did.
Animals and birds
raised their children together, but an elf woman
had one happy year of marriage, and then she had to die. An elf man had to face the long years without her,
raising their baby and finding food. But not all the men lived up to
their
the young elf "You could take a
lesson. I brought home two shares at sixteen, her share as well as my own. For years I took care of her, did
everything for her, and then our marriage moon came. She'd never turned
down a meal, notice. She hasn't turned down one since. But she told me on our wedding night that she wouldn't marry me. And
then" -- he pointed at the scarred cheeks -- "that's what she
did to her face."
Seylin gasped, wincing.
"She did that to herself? Why?"
"Because
she's a coward," snapped Thorn. "Because she wanted to stay a child.
She took the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, and she destroyed it just to
spite me. She killed my wife. I'm a widower, with a dead wife. But she eats more than most dead wives
do. How I hate to see my good food disappear
into that ugly face!"
Irina sat before
Thorn on the floor, finishing her supper, her back turned
to him, and her whole attention on the remaining food she had. His gray eyes bright with malice, Thorn
reached out and tugged on a lock of her dirty hair.
"But puppy here's no coward, are
you?" he said. "Six months from
now is your marriage moon. That's when pretty elf girls find a husband, but I don't know about clumsy puppies.
What do you think, puppy? Will there be a husband out there for
you?"
Irina shrugged, not particularly
interested. Husbands weren't something she
knew much about, and she still had a little bread left. But Seylin saw
Thorn watching his dead wife over Irina's shoulder, and he saw the scarred woman raise her blue eyes to stare at Thorn. The look
that passed between them was pure, poisonous hatred. Thorn glared at her in
malicious triumph, still tugging on the girl's hair.
"Ow,
Thorn!" said Irina irritably. "You're hurting me!" She jerked
away, completely unaware of the drama surrounding her.
"I'm going
to sleep," muttered Seylin. "I'm tired." And he jumped
up and headed for his tent before anyone could stop him with a question. But he needn't have worried. No one bothered to say
anything. They didn't even look up.
He hid in his
tent and listened to the elves preparing for sleep. No one bid the others good
morning or pleasant dreams. Seylin lay there for a long time, thinking of home and what he had hoped
to find. He hadn't found it here, and he was sure he
never would. Grown men and members of the King's Guard weren't supposed to cry.
He didn't, but he wished that he could.
Sable lay in her tent, next to the
sleeping Irina, worrying about the new elf.
Fine clothes, soft hands, well made boots, and he claimed to be the last
of his band. He didn't even eat with them. He'd never seen a single hungry night. Why didn't Thorn make him tell the truth? Her father would have dealt with that new
elf. But, then, he'd have dealt with her, too.
Sable had never known her mother. For
years, she hadn't even known that elves had
mothers. Her father ran their camp. He was the handsomest man in it, and
he had a hard pride because of the name that the two of them shared.
"Never forget, Sable," he
would tell her firmly, "we aren't like these common idiots."
Sable was six when
she saw and heard the first elf woman die. Rose
moaned and screamed for two days in her tent. At the end of it, Sable
and her friend Laurel held the tiny Irina, and the cold ground held Rose's bloody body. That was how babies were
born, her father told her. The women had to die. Her mother lay under
the ground, too, and so did countless other women. After that, Sable was sure
she saw the dead women crawling through the camp looking for their babies. She
woke up screaming from nightmare after might, mare, but when she told her
father, he beat her. "Never tell those dreams to anyone," he ordered,
and Sable never did.
Animals and birds
raised their children together, but an elf woman
had one happy year of marriage, and then she had to die. An elf man had to face the long years without her,
raising their baby and finding food. But not all the men lived up to
their
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