The Depth of Perception

A Noble Cause

The evening sunlight skittering about on the forest floor reminded Oriana of happier times. Times where everything she knew was within shouting distance of her home, and where her biggest fear was that she wouldn't like dinner that day. Times where her mother's constant presence was almost overwhelming.

She was singing under her breath—a hunting habit that she hadn't consciously noticed had followed her into adulthood.

What would her life look like right now if she had never made the mistake of showing Zane her eyes? Would she be making a living for herself and her mother, hunting and tanning, taking game to the village with one eye closed? Maybe she would have been caught some day regardless, by some small mistake, and not been lucky enough to escape. Maybe she would be sitting in a cell somewhere right now, instead of her mother.

She pressed her eyes shut and heaved a sigh, the breeze from it lifting her bangs. But a sound from the forest cut the breath short, and her left eye snapped open, only to wink immediately closed again as a floating strand of hair alighted on it. She swatted repeatedly at the annoyance before resuming her careful look around.

The rustling she'd heard was louder now.

She raised her bow, brought the string to her cheek, opened her other eye, took a deep breath, and waited.

One final rustle accompanied a wild bird's exit from the branches of a nearby tree before an arrow sent it tumbling noisily through the branches.

"Thank you," Oriana told her dinner, and her singing ended for the evening as she went to retrieve it.

* * *

"That's highly unpleasant."

"No, it's a Wildwood Red, and it's your dinner."

"I fail to see the contradiction."

"Well you'll fail to see a drumstick if you don't quit looking at me like that."

Zane opted to keep the look and aim it elsewhere, showing off his distaste to no one in particular. The flicker of the fire cast a wavering shadow of his profile on the canvas tent they had pitched, magnifying his expression.

"Zane, don't be rude. She's workin' hard gettin' dat bird ready fer us," Wrench said. "Ya eat meat, don't ya?"

"Yes, but the emphasis is normally on 'eat', not...," he risked a quick glance at the goings-on, "'witness unceremoniously plucked'."

"This is how you learn to value the life you've taken," Oriana lectured, dressing the bird as she spoke. "Getting one from the market or having it served to you at some fancy dinner, you can ignore it. It's just food. Now you'll appreciate the meal more."

"If I manage to partake..."

"Well if you can't even handle this, you might want to take a walk. I still have to clean it."

Zane looked back over and suppressed a shudder as his eye fell on the half-naked bird. "I don't see what's so awful about cl–" 

"Clean it," Oriana emphasized, brandishing a knife.

"...oh."