In Search of a Homeland - Part Two

Parting

Tiersu stood at the gates to the city, biting her lip. She was seventeen, and all alone. True, she had been preparing for this moment for the best part of two years, but she hadn't expected the finality that had accompanied it.

Why did you say it? she kept asking herself, each repetition hitting her like a blow to the gut. Why couldn't you just hold your tongue? 

So, she was foolish and childish, was she? Doomed to failure in this dangerous, dragon-blighted world? She subconsciously gripped her staff tighter. No. I might be young, but I'm made of sterner stuff than that.

She swallowed, and walked down the hill, deliberately not looking back. Her eldest sister Kinu might have sneaked out to say goodbye, and she couldn't face another goodbye. Not now. Now was too recent, too raw; she needed time to collect her thoughts and work out how she really felt about the rest of her family.

The wagons and carts that ferried goods from here to there, beyond and back again lumbered past her with rattles and creaks. Their drivers and attendant staff nodded casually at everyone they saw, cheered by the good weather and the prospect of making money. Some called ahead to family members who watched for their return, and Tiersu found herself getting increasingly tense.

She adjusted the pack of her belongings slung onto her back; her focus was poking her below the ribs. She never had liked using the stupid thing, but it was good for protective work. Definitely something she would need on the road.

And what a road it was. Winding down into Shaemoor so invitingly – promising safety which she knew all too well was in short supply. Hadn't that been part of the problem, that it wasn't “safe”? As if she didn't know that – as if she wasn't careful - how dare he talk to her like that!

Her temper was flaring, and she bit her lip. She wanted to hit something, hard, but there was nothing to hit. Instead, she held out her palm downwards, and flexed it once, which brought a pebble up on a shockwave of air to hit her hand. She gripped it reflexively, and squeezed until her fingertips turned white. It would have to do until she could get off the road and just...scream or something.

Her staff thumped the ground solidly with every step she took, and the small segment of her that still cared about things was glad she had fitted a protector for its foot. It would never do for it to be damaged. As her temper calmed, she remembered its value, and carried it instead, stroking the ancient wood with city-soft fingers. There were no splinters after all its years of service. Six or seven generations of polishing had seen to that.

She looked it over once more, wondering what it would make of this change in its circumstances if it were capable of thought. More than two centuries sat propped in a corner, and here it was again; off for good hard use. May it grant me the protection it gave my ancestors,she thought. I'll need it.