𝙋𝙡𝙖𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝘿𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙡𝙨 𝙂𝙖𝙢𝙚....
In which Thomas Shelby finds himself beaten by Billy Kimber and a rival Romani gang. Evelyn Heron, the daughter of Birminghams new leader, has spent years on the run, living in the shadows in an effort...
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AN: I just want to preface that I will be using language from the show via dialogue. For example, in will use the term Romani during narration but the character's will use the term 'gypsy/gypsies' while talking in an effort to align with the show as much as possible.
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EVELYN HERON was navigating through the British countryside when she stumbled across a group of caravans. There was about four of them circled around a campfire, and a black horse was standing idly off to the side.
She instantly recognized the set up - it clearly belonged to a group of Romani's, but she was unsure which clan it could be. Evelyn had been careful to follow signs and pathways that would avoid a run-in with any group, and for good reason. She had to maintain a low profile.
She surveyed the scene. They must not have been gone long, as the fire was still smoldering and smoking. As she made her way into the encampment, her feet crunched against the frosted grass, the remaining winter still gripping the air around her.
It was chilly, but nothing she wasn't used to. She pulled the thick cloth of her jacket tighter against her body, as a gust of wind blew across her long blue skirt.
Evy told herself that she would not stay here long. She would just steal some supplies, maybe some food, and be on her way. She could not afford to be caught by anyone.
She walked up to the black mare, putting her hand out for its snout to sniff. She clicked her tongue as the beast nudged its nose in her hand, requesting a pet. She smiled to herself, feeling the rough strands of the mane between her fingers.
Evy loved horses - they were simple company, never complained, and were much smarter than they let on. Evelyn reached into her side bag and pulled out an apple and a knife, the cold steel of the handle piercing her skin. She cut off a slice and fed it to the horse.
She shifted her attention to an open caravan door next to the horse. She looked around once more, and when she deemed herself safe, she went inside.
The surroundings were surprisingly well kept. The cot was made up, sheets pulled tight and smooth. The table had a handful of pictures in old, metal frames wrought with rust - but one caught her eye. It was a portrait of a pretty blonde woman, whose hair was pulled back into a low bun. She picked up the silver frame, her thumb running across the blonde's face before setting it back down. She was definitely not Romani, which Evelyn found odd.
A small, pressed white lily sat next to the photo. It was intriguing - Evy hadn't seen flowers lately. The winter had been bitter, spring was late. She plucked it off the table, fingers rubbing the dry stem gently as she examined it.
With her free hand, her fingers snaked under the hem of her shirt, pulling the locket out from under the material. The chain links clinked together, sounding like soft wind chimes. Evy clicked it open, examining the small photograph of a boy with tufts of light hair and a soft smile. Her heart ached at the sight of her son, but she pressed the small lily into the other side of the locket.
