fire, wind, earth, water... (cont.)

Earth…

She sighed and stared out at the softly falling rain. Zaley was lost in her daydreams, dreams where she had the courage to tell Osi how she felt. The small fire cast its meagre heat and light on the small room. Drying herbs hung from the rafters, their smells magnified because of the dampness from the falling rain.
Her heart skipped a beat. Through the mist of the slowing rainfall Zaley could see Osi, shaking his sopping mop of auburn hair out his eyes. He looked around, then took off at a jog.
Where is he going? He told me he had to help his uncle today…

Osi’s eyes were stinging from the rain, he stopped to shake the hair out his eyes.
“Damn it all to the hells.” He muttered. If he was late, She might not be there.
He arrived at the barn and, taking a moment to get his breath back, pushed open the small wooden side door, cringing when it squeaked a little behind him.
A small figure turned at the sound of the door, her skirts swirling, giving Osi the tiniest glimpse of small bare feet.
“You’re late, mister.” She said, flashing a smile that had mischief in the corners.
“I’m sorry, I,”
“I’ve been waiting all morning,” she whispered so he had to take a step closer to hear, her face showing the slightest suggestion of a pout, her large sea green eyes sparkling.
He couldn’t help himself, he moved closer, so that he would have touched her if he had put his arm out, as he so wanted to.
She was looking up at him, her big eyes imploring, asking. A tiny wisp of gold hair hung loose from under her lar-ryn, his pulse quickened at the sight of it. If they were caught here, they could be cast out, or worse, wed to avoid embarrassment.
He couldn’t help himself, she turned her face up to his, and he put his down to hers. Their mouths met, and she pressed herself against him, giggling when he gasped. He put up his hand to twist the tiny wisp of gold around his fingers, cupping her head with the other hand.
As they stumbled together to the hay stacked against the wall, the door creaked behind them, but neither heard.
“No!”
They pulled apart, panting slightly, their faces red, his from embarrassment, their clothes twisted and her lar-ryn lying forgotten on the ground, revealing her long golden tresses. There was a glint of triumph in her eyes.
“What are you doing?” Zaley’s voice shook with indignation. Her heart was breaking, she couldn’t breathe.
The blonde girl, Mel, was saying something, and Osi was looking from one girl to the other, but Zaley’s rage stopped her from hearing what it was that Mel was saying to her so venomously.
Her breathing was fast and shallow, she clenched her fists, her rage was building up inside her, threatening to explode at any moment.
With a loud gasp, she collapsed. The instant her open hands touched the ground, it shook violently, pitchforks, lamps, and other farming tools rained down on the three cowering on the floor, Mel shrieking for somebody to do something.
The last thing Zaley remembered was a feeling as if her head were splitting, before the darkness consumed her.

A power surged through her veins, setting her hands on the loose soil, she released that power, letting it soak into the foundations and white stones being used to build the tower. The spell grew in strength as it settled.
“It’s because we’re building on the centre point”, she said, but the voice wasn’t hers.
“Centre of what?” Zaley murmured in her sleep.
“Shhh, dear,” a kind voice said near her ear. The fog surrounding her almost lifted, but she soon sunk into another dream, a dream of nonsense, a normal dream.
“My poor baby,” Zaley’s mother said to the empty house. “That shovel must’ve fallen hard on her soft head.” She busied herself with setting the pot swinging over the fire, and chopping vegetables to go into the stew.
Her brow was furrowed, the blasted rain had lasted all week, and her small garden, with its meagre collection of potatoes, carrots and other vegetables, had suffered from the watery onslaught. Spring was going to be late this year.

Zaley wiped the sweat from her forehead with her dirt stained hands, leaving a brown smudge. She didn’t want to be the one to tell her mother that they had barely enough vegetables left to last them the next few days. She cringed as her head throbbed. Her incident with the shovel had caused her to have headaches every now and then.
I would’ve thought it should have healed by now, after all, she thought, it has been three weeks.
Tears pricked her eyes, her mother was already rationing what little food they had, starving herself so that Zaley had enough to eat.
It was all so unfair, why should the village starve while the lord in his manor feasted each single night? At least they weren’t serfs, a small voice in the back of her mind told her. That she was thankful for.
Zaley clenched her hands in the dirt, silently wishing the plants to grow.
Come on, she pleaded with the seeds she knew were lying just under the surface, just a little bit?
She felt silly, kneeling in the vegetable garden, the grey clouds over her head a promise of more rain, talking to the dirt. She knew it was pointless to wish plants to grow, but she and her mother couldn’t last much longer like this.
An insect was digging itself out of the dirt next to her finger, pushing up against the topsoil. Brushing away a few clumps of moist dirt, Zaley gasped.
A green sprout was coming up, growing many times faster than what was normal. All around Zaley more shoots were breaking the surface. Scrambling to her feet, she swayed a little, and breathed deeply. She was so tired…
“Ma!” She called, shaking her head as if to clear it of her sudden exhaustion. “Come and see! Ma!”
The green shoots were fast becoming the leafy above ground counterparts of carrots, onions, turnips and cabbages. Even a few wildflowers were dotted amongst them.
“What is it?” Her mother came out, ducking under the doorway, wiping her hands on her skirt. Zaley could see just how dark the shadows under her mother’s eyes were in the grey sunlight.
“The, the, garden.” Zaley whispered. “Look.”
Her mother stood still, shocked, “Circle protect me,” She said, speaking the old prayer. As if she knew she could be arrested for mentioning the old religion, she clamped her hand over her mouth and sunk to her knees at the edge of the now thriving vegetable patch.
Zaley did likewise, her shaking legs no longer able to hold her up.
Her mother reached over and pulled Zaley close, silent tears coursing down her face. “My baby, my baby,” She murmured, rocking backwards and forwards, she wiped the brown smudge from Zaley’s forehead, planting a watery kiss on it. They sat there for some time, staring at the garden that had saved their lives.
Her mother seemed unaware of the confused battle going on inside her head.
Did I do this? She kept asking herself, but soon the exhaustion threatened to overwhelm her and she picked herself up and made her way inside the house, leaving her mother sobbing quietly over the garden. Zaley was so tired she didn’t even notice Mel watching from under a nearby tree, from where she had seen the entire thing.
Once inside, Zaley collapsed onto her bed and fell instantly asleep.
Barely moments after Zaley had closed her eyes, or so it seemed to her, there came a loud thundering from the door, interrupting the tune her mother was humming. Just as her mother reached the door, men burst into the one-roomed house, grabbing Zaley and her mother, oblivious to their cries of shock, dragging them outside into the dark night.
One of the men threw Zaley unceremoniously onto the floor at Lord --------‘s feet, the hard stone bruising her knees, making her wince as she bowed her head to floor in the position all women were to make to any man, she knelt there, her forehead resting against the stones, waiting anxiously.
“Wretch, do you know why you are here?” the lord demanded.
“No, milord,” she answered truthfully, failing to hide the fear in her voice.
“You are hereby charged with the most foul crime of witchcraft,” he replied. “The punishment for which, is death.”
Zaley began to tremble. Witchcraft? Could someone have seen what had happened that afternoon in the garden?
“She is but a child,” said a kinder voice. “She could not be more than thirteen, my lord. See how she trembles?”
“Well, yes,” The lord replied reluctantly. “But she was seen performing magick! She must be punished!” The Lord was becoming agitated; Zaley could feel him pacing back and forth past her head.
“Stand up girl,” said the second voice gently. Wiping her nose on her sleeve, Zaley obeyed, getting stiffly to her feet. A hand lifted her face by the chin, and she could see for the first time where she was and who was talking to her. The man who held her chin was elderly, with barely a wisp of hair on his head, a face wrinkled more by kindness than austerity.
The room could have fitted her house inside three times, there were candelabras holding many tall candles, brackets holding burning torches, tapestries larger than young trees, carpets on the floor and a dais up one end with a long table, clearly only recently been used for the evening meal, as servants were still clearing away plates and leftovers of a pork roast.
The smell of the meat made Zaley’s mouth water. The last few weeks had taken their toll on her. She was painfully thin, her colourless dress hanging off her bony shoulders making the well dressed attendants of his lordship wince, her hazel eyes that were bulging out of her face giving her a continually shocked appearance.
The Lord was looking at her with a an expression as though there was smell that deeply offended his delicate nose, but the man who had spoken so kindly was looking at her piteously, the ladies who had not yet spoken dressed in highly costly satins and velvet, thin veils hiding their faces, as all proper women should.
Zaley blushed, she was suddenly ashamed of her dirty homespun dress and lar-ryn, her bare face. She was sure the two women were whispering behind their veils about her.
“Are you growing soft in your old age? This is a trial!” shouted the Lord, his face turning a shade of purple to equal a beetroot. “She performed magick! She deserves to be punished!”
“If she has performed magick, as you say she has,” said yet another man, emerging from the shadows, his hands behind his back, “Then it is a matter for the council and the Order.” The man spoke quietly, but all in the room listened. He wore long robes in the Lord’s colours, green and maroon, his indistinct brown hair reaching past his ears.
He had a strange look on his face, and if Zaley hadn’t been so faint from hunger, she might have noticed and called it triumph, but in a moment it was gone, replaced by innocent thoughtfulness.
“But, Alvin, she has broken the law!”
“Then she will be called in front of a proper court, and the evidence heard against her.” The man called Alvin replied, Lord ------- resembling a recently caught fish.
A small voice in the back of Zaley’s mind warned her not to believe Alvin that she would receive a fair trial. She was a commoner, fatherless, a bastard child. She was a girl.
Zaley was more terrified now, shaking like a leaf, her huge eyes wide and almost entirely black from fear. She would be burned for sure!
The nobles continued to talk, apparently unaware that Zaley was still there, but Zaley could not hear them, her mind creating horrifying pictures of herself tied to a pole, screaming as flames burned her alive. She was now shaking so hard that it was a wonder she was still standing. The kindly man, with wispy white hair and leathery skin, noticed her trembling, and reached for her arm to steady her, not before she had collapsed onto the floor again.
It was just like that time in the barn, she became mysteriously deaf for a moment, and the ground began to shake as soon as her hands touched the cold hard stones.
Through her haze, Zaley heard a voice, “Calm down! Thee will shake the building to the earth!” And with an immense effort, stilled her shaking limbs and took deep shuddering breaths.
Looking up from her place on the floor, she saw the kindly man supporting one of the women, the other cowering beside a table, the Lord’s face contorted with a mixture of rage and fear. Alvin’s face however, was as calm and serene as if he’d just taken a leisurely stroll through a peaceful wood.
With a nod from the Lord, and an even smaller nod from Alvin, the guards seized Zaley, almost dragging her from the room.
They left the next morning, Zaley seated on a broken old mule surrounded by eight of the Lord’s men, a coarse grey blanket wrapped around her, held in place by a simple pin.
She was exhausted, nodding in the saddle, only her tightly roped hands keeping her upright. Few were up so early in the morning, but she barely noticed the hateful glares at her bare face and hair, her lar-ryn being taken from her. Zaley and her circle of guards made their way slowly through the village, before taking the road to the capital.
Every time she began to fall asleep, the throbbing in her wrists would awake her to her harsh reality.


Water…


The full silver moon shone on the calm water, making it glitter and sparkle. Beyond the headland a thundercloud swelled, lightning lancing between the clouds and the ground.
A lone figure walked along the waters edge. Small waves lapped against the dark sand, a persistent wind blowing the figure’s long hair and skirts around her, but she kept walking. The moonlight was shining off the long hair as it whipped around the girl’s head, playing chasing games across her face.
She stopped and seemed to make a decision, and stepped into the water, it swirling and foaming around her legs, when a moment ago it had been almost completely still. She walked on through the increasingly rough waves, her long dress slowing her down and making it a struggle. When she was almost waist deep in the surging water, she turned.
The wind continued to play with the long shining hair. The moon was glinting in her eyes, a single tear sliding down her pale cheek. The largest wave yet loomed behind her, Theralyse wanted to yell out, to warn her, but, like all her dreams, she was unable to do a thing. She watched as the wave curved over the girl, crashing down on her head. Theralyse looked and looked, but the girl’s head never broke the surface.
As she looked, like every other time she saw the dream, she realised that the girl had her face.
Gasping, Theralyse sat up, the swinging lamp throwing warm light over the small wooden room. It took a few moments for Theralyse to remember where she was, and that she wasn’t at home in her chamber. The thought froze her insides.
The sound of gentle slapping against the walls soothed her chaotic thoughts, and on an impulse, wrapped her blankets around her and slipped from the room.
Theralyse’s bare feet made no sound on the wooden floor, and she barely noticed the rocking of the ship after almost a month at sea. Sneaking past a loud, drunken, card game in one of the other cabins, she couldn’t help a tiny giggle. Her chambermaid deserved a bit of fun. After all, she thought, someone ought to have some.
She deftly climbed the ladder up onto deck, clutching her blankets closer about her as the ship pitched and the wind blew in her face.
Taking lungfuls of the clear salt air, she smiled as she stepped over a sleeping sailor. Her lar-ryn was still in her cabin, but what did she care? She was soon to be married, and then her life would end.
Her eyes changed to the colour of tropical waters, and she moved over to the side, leaning out to watch the ink black sea. How long she stood there, watching the stars and the sea, she had no idea, but she was eager to hold onto any time to herself.
While she stood she let her thoughts wander, from her eyes that were the only connection to her real father, to the man she’d believed to be her father for sixteen years. To the arranged marriage between Lord Belanin and herself.
Theralyse’s hands clenched the railing, her eyes reflecting the dark green depths of the sea beneath her.
Suddenly, the ship slammed to a halt, Theralyse gripped the railing tighter and tighter, she could hear the hull grinding against unseen rocks, wave after wave rocking the ship like the toy horse her little brother used to ride.
People were yelling, the waves were crashing, the ship was groaning. One violent wave jerked the ship so that Theralyse was flung over the rail, barely holding on by one hand.
The dark water below her was a velvety abyss, the lights from the ship reflected pitifully. At a yell, Theralyse looked up. Barrels were rolling along the deck of the ship, heading straight for her. Surprise made her let go, and she fell screaming into the sea. She plunged into the water. Her fall took her far below the surface, and opening her eyes, she could just make out the lamplight from the ship.
She struggled to reach the surface once more, but her nightgown was tangling her legs, and she could not swim. Her lungs were burning with the need for air. Stars were swirling in her eyes. The lights were further and further away.
She sunk into the darkness.
Pain lancing through her arm brought her back. Theralyse opened her eyes and saw the barrel that pinned her arm against the rock on which she lay. With a push she rolled it off her, and stared disbelieving at her arm. It was a mottled blue and grey, and there was webbing between each of her long slender fingers.
She looked around at the green underwater world. Theralyse could see people from the ship above her, their legs kicking wildly to keep afloat. It took a moment for her to realise that she was under water, and breathing as easily as if she were above the waves.
A strange sensation in her legs made her look down, and she nearly screamed. Where her legs should have been was a long silvery fish tail, gently undulating against the rocks. Remembering the shipwreck, Theralyse pushed off of the rocks and awkwardly sped through the water towards the surface. Her powerful tail keeping her afloat, she peered out of the water at the wreck.
People were screaming, some even jumping off the ship to plunge into the water far below. Others were clinging to the rocks, attempting to reach those who had not been able to grab a hold.
Theralyse could not just watch these people die. Diving under the water once more, she snatched up a man who was slowly beginning to sink, and a woman whose heavy gown was dragging her down, and towed them to a lifeboat that was already carrying a few others trying to save their comrades. Pushing the man over the edge, the others in the boat pulling him onboard, the woman slipped from Theralyse’s grasp.
Spinning about in the water, she spotted her and swam down to her. Tearing the heavy gown off the woman, she brought her back to surface once more, where the woman gulped in the night air, and pulled herself onto the lifeboat.
Theralyse managed to save several more that the watery depths would have made their graves. Hearing her name, Theralyse swam over to the rocks, where her maid was screaming her name into the night, sobbing loudly. Feeling sorry for her, Theralyse went up to her.
“Tammy, I’m right here.”
“”Mistress, what are ye doing in the water? Quick, give me you’re hand!” Tammy reached towards her, almost slipping from the rock, her hands white with cold, her dress sopping wet.
“No, Tammy,” Theralyse said, thinking quickly, “Listen. You must tell my father I am dead,” someone climbed past screaming a loved one’s name, Tammy’s worry wrinkled face was contorted with fear and as pale as the moon above.
“Tammy, listen to me. I’m sorry to do this to you, I truly am, but,” Theralyse began to pull herself more out of the water, she wanted to show Tammy why her father must believe she was dead.
When the maid caught sight of Theralyse’s mottled blue skin in the torchlight, she screamed, and began yelling at the top of her voice, so that Theralyse had to slide back into the water, grazing her arms on the rocks in her haste.
“My Mistress! My mistress has come to haunt me! Oh, help!” Theralyse could still hear her shrill voice from under the water, and confidant that she would not be searched for, swam further up the shore to watch the survivors from a small jutting rock.
She watched as the survivors clung to the rock and each other, as the wrecked ship began to fall apart and slip into the sea, as the sun tinted the sky mauve and gold, the tide turned and the survivors of the Bella Victory were able to wade through the receding water to the small beach at the base of a small cliff.
She continued to watch as a few of the remaining sailors climbed the cliff, and the others set themselves to collecting what the tide had washed up from the wreck.
When the sun was fully risen and beginning to dry out her scales, Theralyse judged it was time for her to go. She could do no more for the survivors.
Slipping off her rock into the water once more, she couldn’t help but smile at the feeling of the cool water on her scaled skin. Swimming over the rocks, she stared wide eyed at the water plants swaying in the current, gigantic fish swimming lazily through the reeds, looking at her with big round eyes and pouting mouths, paying her no attention.
Swimming out past the rock ledge, the dark depths of the ocean faced her. Feeling free for the first time in years, she flipped over and spun through the cool, clear water. Somersaulting, wheeling, jumping high out of the water to plunge smoothly back beneath the waves, Theralyse was happier than she’d ever been.
An odd sensation made her stop mid tumble. She felt as though there was something important she was supposed to have done, but she couldn’t remember what.
She was so tired. Theralyse turned towards the shore once more, the remains of her nightgown and her long blonde hair swirling about her.
With slow strong undulations of her tail, Theralyse soon reached a small sandy beach, and struggled her way to small clump of bushes. Exhausted, she collapsed on the soft grass growing in the sand, and fell asleep almost instantly. To her, the sandy grass was more comfortable than any featherbed in all the world.
When Theralyse finally opened her eyes, the sky was beginning to darken. Feeling refreshed from her long dreamless sleep, Theralyse sat up and watched the waves lapping on the sand. When she fully remembered why she was waking up on a beach and not a ship, why she was not wearing anything but a salt encrusted nightgown, she jumped up and looked around her frantically for some sign of what to do next.
Cliffs rose sharply on her right, gilded by the fading sun, and a small headland on her left created a sheltered bay whose beach she was standing on so forlornly, a solitary figure staring out at the horizon.
Hearing a dog’s bark, Theralyse scanned the land beyond the beach, and to her surprise, saw the outline of a farmhouse not too far away. She began to pick her way through the low scrub to the house, scooping up some dirt and rubbing it on her face and down her left arm, tearing her nightgown with her hands and knotting her hair. As she messed up her thigh length hair, her courage nearly failed her. Here she was, wandering about in the dark, wearing nothing but a nightgown, with her hair uncovered.
Theralyse went through the small gate and walked up the worn path to the front door. Taking a deep breath, she knocked hesitantly, letting her eyes fill with tears. The sun had now fully set.
“Please,” she called plaintively “Is anyone there?” She could hear thumps and bangs inside.
“Who’s there?” came a muffled voice from the other side of the door.
“Please,” Theralyse said again. “My ship wrecked. And, and” Theralyse let emotions make her voice falter.
“It’s only a girl,” the voice whispered, and the door opened a crack. The light from a single candle illuminated her tearstained face for a brief moment before the door opened just enough for a rough hand to haul her inside.
“Wha’re you doin?” The man was young, short and had a brisk way of moving. He quickly bolted the door behind him. “Wand’ring ‘bout after dark in these parts?” Theralyse was struck dumb, and could only think of her bare arms and her bedraggled hair falling down to her hips.
“I, I” For once in her life, Theralyse didn’t know what to say.
“Leave the poor thing alone, will ye?” said a voice from the other side of the room. A woman came out of the shadows, wrapping a thin shawl about Theralyse’s shoulders. Her face was pinched and creased, but soft kind eyes looked her up and down, the concerned expression deepening.
“Come, girl, sit by the fire.”

Theralyse was prodded awake the next morning. Blinking open her eyes, she saw a small face almost nose to nose with hers. Sitting up, she saw she was lying in front of a small fire in the wall of a tiny room, weak morning sun was shining through the window onto the head of a little girl with fingers in her mouth and clutching a homemade doll. The girl plonked herself at Theralyse’s feet and went on staring at her with big brown eyes.
Theralyse tried to say good morning, but her throat was so dry she couldn’t get a sound out, everything looked foggy and her head hurt, and she was exhausted, even though she’d only just woken up and had slept soundly. Seeing a bucket of water under the window, she remembered what was wrong.
If she didn’t bathe once or more a day and drink lots of water, she got terrible headaches and dry skin, and she would feel sick for days.
Theralyse crawled over to the bucket and, ignoring the little girl and her doll, grabbed the edges of the it and plunged her entire face into the cold water
The rush of the sea past her ears, she could taste salt in her mouth.
Gasping, Theralyse pulled her head out of the bucket, pushing the water and hair off her face. Scooping water with her hands, she drunk handful after handful of the precious liquid.
“I knew you’d be thirsty,” said the woman through the open window. “So I had my boys fetch a bucket from the well.”
Theralyse smiled her thanks and kept on drinking.
“Here, this was me old dress, it should fit ye well enough, and here’s an old shawl, it should protect your modesty.” The woman dumped a pile of grey onto the table and beckoned Theralyse over. The little girl continued to watch and suck her fingers.
“Thank ye.” The woman helped her into the plain, simple dress, and was helping her tie the shawl about her long hair when Theralyse caught sight of her reflection in the bucket.
“What be your name, dear?” The woman said as she twisted the long golden tresses.
“My name?”
“Yes dear, your name, we can’t keep calling ye ‘girl’, now can we?” She tied the hair up with the ends of the shawl.
Theralyse dragged her eyes away from the sight in the bucket. “Elsie. My name be Elsie.”
“Well, I be Sara, and my boys are Tod and,”
Lualyse looked out through the window. The image in the bucket made sense. Before Sara could finish, Theralyse ran out the door behind her and ran around to the back of the house, where there was a well.
Sara looked out the window just as Theralyse ran out the door. Tod and his brother were playing near the well, the younger leaning over trying to see the bottom of it. All of a sudden, with arms circling, he fell in, just as Theralyse came into view through the window, running towards the well.
“Jak!” Sara followed Theralyse out to the well.
Theralyse leaned against the rough wall of the well. It was exactly how she’d seen it in the reflection in the bucket, the young boy floundering at the bottom of a well.
Sara came running up from the house, screaming the boy’s name.
“Rope. Tod, find me a rope, hurry!” she called to her other son.
Theralyse stared down at Jak, he was staying under the inky water for longer and longer each time. She could only hear the splashing of the water, not the birds nor Sara’s cries for her husband. The water filled her mind, her hearing and her sight.
Just as Tod ran up with a rope, his father quick on his heels, Theralyse lifted Jack out of the well, a column of water falling back down into it with a splash.
“Shh,” She rocked the boy against her shoulder. “You’re safe now, shh.”
Sara took Jak from Theralyse, avoiding her eyes, which had become the same colour as a storm tossed sea, foam flecked and turbulent.
“Who are ye?” asked Sara’s husband, hands on the shoulders of Tod and his little daughter.
“I told ye, I be Elsie.” Theralyse said, giving them a sparkling smile, though her eyes were still frightened and confused. She knew that the question was really, “What are you?”
Her smile faltered and she looked down at her trembling hands. “I don’t know,” she whispered.

“Here,” Sara handed Theralyse an old blanket and a pin. “Use this, Wairowdin gets cold this time of year.”
“I spoke to the leader, his wife will take care of ‘er.” Sara’s husband, Luke, came and put his arm around his wife. “We owe ye a debt, Elsie.” They all stood on the outskirts of the village, a group of tired, unhappy, unwashed peasants gingerly shouldering bundles of belongings and preparing to continue on to the capital.
“Nay,” Theralyse said with a smile, “It is I who owe ye. I didn’t know there was any kindness left in the world.” After an awkward moment, she embraced Sara and ducked a quick curtsy to Luke, Jak refusing to let go of her hand. He had been her constant shadow for the past three days. With a quick hug for each of the children, and a reassuring word to Jak, Theralyse pinned the blanket about her like a cloak and bundled together the few spare clothes that Sara had given her, then followed Luke to meet the leader’s wife.
Sara watched as Elsie, her long pure sunlight hair hidden by an old shawl, walked away.

“She’s a strange one.” Sara said to her husband, who wound his arm about her waist. He just grunted in reply. But her heart’s in the right place, she thought.
“Todd, there’s a good lad,” Luke said to his son, a hand on his little shoulder, “Run to t’others, tell ‘em they can come out now.” To his wife he whispered, “It’s time.”
She merely nodded, her eyes following Elsie as she introduced herself to a large, bustling woman who gave her quick instructions, Elsie trying not to look too out of place.
It didn’t take long for the people to move out, walking tiredly, some with carts drawn by old mules, others carrying what they could on their backs, children hanging on to their mother’s hands. They were a pitiful sight, asylum seekers from all over Saele`ne, the coastal region of Aiganthea, hoping for a better life in Wairowdin, Theralyse along with them.