Little Girl Lost
Tavera gulped as the ancient crone limped towards her, her eyes two points of shining black in her wizened face. The old woman’s hunched back loomed over her head, the shape of her body suggesting some powerful creature had bent her in unnatural ways. The little girl felt her heart beating in her chest as the wrinkled creature approached, the odor of spices and old sweat wafting from her. Tavera’s dark eyes traveled over the old woman’s small frame as the crone licked over her dried, cracked lips with a pink tongue as if the girl was a morsel and not another child up on The Block.
I’m not scared, Tavera told herself, balling her fists behind her back. She mustered all the courage she could. If nobody picked her for winter work, she would be thrown out on the streets to fend for herself till planting time. Tradesmen came to pick up cheap labor for winter work. If she did a good job and didn’t cry, maybe the person would keep her on in the spring so she wouldn’t have to go back to the fields.
The ancient woman finally stood before her, still licking her lips. Her dark, sharp eyes darted over the girl’s tattered clothing and body. Amazingly, she waved her hand to signal an attendant with great vigor, her shawl billowing with the movement hinting at great strength inside the sinewy, twisted frame.
“Yes…Madame Greswin?” The tall sinewy attendant stood out with his albino coloring. His heavy lidded eyes gave absolutely nothing away; Tavera couldn’t read his expression. He held a formidable looking spear in his right hand, more for effect than use; the children up on the stage were usually too frightened or accustomed to The Blocks to try and get away. The old woman’s mouth curled into a grin, her teeth yellow and cracked with age. She cackled somewhat cheerily before turning her head sharply, setting them on the girl again.
“So, you know who I am?” she asked, narrowing her eyes so they were almost lost in the wrinkles of her face. “Well, I imagine you know what I’m here for. How old is this one?”
“We’re guessing she’s around seven or eight,” said the albino, looking over the wooden card Tavera wore around her neck. All of the information they had about her would be on the card but the woman apparently was illiterate or near-sighted. She reached out a bony finger and poked Tavera in the ribs. Tavera almost cried out; it felt like she was being stabbed with a knitting needle. But she held her tongue, and pressed her lips together hoping it would over soon.
“Is she a good worker? What has she done in the past?” The pale man with the spear leaned over, his face somber as always as he read over the card, not bothering to look as the sound of a child crying out pierced the air.
“Gleaning on farms, mostly…coal sorting, fruit picking. Did a stint at a launder.”
“Ah, and her fingers…let me see them.” To Tavera’s horror, the old woman’s hand darted out and grabbed a hold of her wrist, pulling her forward and almost off the block as she brought the girl’s hand close to her eyes, looking over the digits. “Very skinny, I see,” she commented, squeezing one of the knuckles. The old woman licked her lips yet again, a bit of spittle landing onto Tavera’s hand. The girl half expected it to burn through her skin but found it to be inert. She wiped her hand on her dirty apron as soon as the woman let go of her.
“Well, their kind do come on the lean side,” said the albino, sounding unimpressed as he turned his reddish eyes to Tavera, his face void of expression. “She’s part Forester, as it seems. Not sure how much.”
“Forester, eh? I haven’t seen an elf of any amount since I was a girl, by her bosom! Ah, well, I’ll soon mend her leanness, I will,” the woman said with a cackle, reaching into the folds of her many shawls and pulling out a small pouch. The coins inside jingling merrily. “How much for her?”
“For the winter, five white
Tavera gulped as the ancient crone limped towards her, her eyes two points of shining black in her wizened face. The old woman’s hunched back loomed over her head, the shape of her body suggesting some powerful creature had bent her in unnatural ways. The little girl felt her heart beating in her chest as the wrinkled creature approached, the odor of spices and old sweat wafting from her. Tavera’s dark eyes traveled over the old woman’s small frame as the crone licked over her dried, cracked lips with a pink tongue as if the girl was a morsel and not another child up on The Block.
I’m not scared, Tavera told herself, balling her fists behind her back. She mustered all the courage she could. If nobody picked her for winter work, she would be thrown out on the streets to fend for herself till planting time. Tradesmen came to pick up cheap labor for winter work. If she did a good job and didn’t cry, maybe the person would keep her on in the spring so she wouldn’t have to go back to the fields.
The ancient woman finally stood before her, still licking her lips. Her dark, sharp eyes darted over the girl’s tattered clothing and body. Amazingly, she waved her hand to signal an attendant with great vigor, her shawl billowing with the movement hinting at great strength inside the sinewy, twisted frame.
“Yes…Madame Greswin?” The tall sinewy attendant stood out with his albino coloring. His heavy lidded eyes gave absolutely nothing away; Tavera couldn’t read his expression. He held a formidable looking spear in his right hand, more for effect than use; the children up on the stage were usually too frightened or accustomed to The Blocks to try and get away. The old woman’s mouth curled into a grin, her teeth yellow and cracked with age. She cackled somewhat cheerily before turning her head sharply, setting them on the girl again.
“So, you know who I am?” she asked, narrowing her eyes so they were almost lost in the wrinkles of her face. “Well, I imagine you know what I’m here for. How old is this one?”
“We’re guessing she’s around seven or eight,” said the albino, looking over the wooden card Tavera wore around her neck. All of the information they had about her would be on the card but the woman apparently was illiterate or near-sighted. She reached out a bony finger and poked Tavera in the ribs. Tavera almost cried out; it felt like she was being stabbed with a knitting needle. But she held her tongue, and pressed her lips together hoping it would over soon.
“Is she a good worker? What has she done in the past?” The pale man with the spear leaned over, his face somber as always as he read over the card, not bothering to look as the sound of a child crying out pierced the air.
“Gleaning on farms, mostly…coal sorting, fruit picking. Did a stint at a launder.”
“Ah, and her fingers…let me see them.” To Tavera’s horror, the old woman’s hand darted out and grabbed a hold of her wrist, pulling her forward and almost off the block as she brought the girl’s hand close to her eyes, looking over the digits. “Very skinny, I see,” she commented, squeezing one of the knuckles. The old woman licked her lips yet again, a bit of spittle landing onto Tavera’s hand. The girl half expected it to burn through her skin but found it to be inert. She wiped her hand on her dirty apron as soon as the woman let go of her.
“Well, their kind do come on the lean side,” said the albino, sounding unimpressed as he turned his reddish eyes to Tavera, his face void of expression. “She’s part Forester, as it seems. Not sure how much.”
“Forester, eh? I haven’t seen an elf of any amount since I was a girl, by her bosom! Ah, well, I’ll soon mend her leanness, I will,” the woman said with a cackle, reaching into the folds of her many shawls and pulling out a small pouch. The coins inside jingling merrily. “How much for her?”
“For the winter, five white
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