New Wings

Chapter 3

The rickety old terraces and sidewalks of Brooklyn were a lot noisier than Cress had anticipated.

And a lot more crowded. This new discovery proved to be a little more shocking.

She yelped as a passerby slammed into her back, shoving her into Thorne's back. He turned around, the exasperating smirk still on his features.

"Try to keep up, Birdy." He shouted over the clangs and rattles of sound around them.

Birdy?

In her confusion she shifted to the right, and immediately the lace on the bottom of her dress was run over with a passing vegetable cart. With a violent rip, the bottom two inches of her dress left the rest of it, settling in a muddy patch of cobblestone before being trod on by a horse. The owner growled at her before going back to his shouts about discounts and fresh produce.

"Eek! My gown." She moaned as yet another cart rolled past her, splashing what remained of her dress with dirty muck. Without even turning around, Thorne reached behind his back and grabbed her elbow, gently bringing her in front of her.

"We're almost there, okay? I've got you." Cress felt her spine relax as he put a hand on her shoulder, pushing them through the crowds to safety. A tingle ran down her back every time his finger slipped and grazed her neck. She actually felt...comfortable. Like he was keeping her--

"And besides, black isn't your color, so losing the dress isn't much of a tragedy darling." He added offhandedly, squinting at the signs.

The warm feelings dissipated. She glanced down reproachfully at her dress, biting at her lip nervously.

What was wrong with it? Sure it was a little stiff, and a little stifling, maybe, but not that bad. Isn't this what everyone wore?

Cress lifted her head and took in the groups of people surrounding her. A small boy was eyeing a large man's expansive watch near the market street wall. A woman was trying to gather her children into a dusty Ford. Two girls were chatting over the ribbon stall. An old man walked past walking a pig, a trail of little boys following behind.

Her eyes finally landed on a woman next to her, holding a basket of laundry over her head. Her mouth gaped open at what the women was wearing. A loose, button down white skirt and cream blouse with nothing resembling a corset. No underskirt either! Her hair was flowing down her back in tangles, her face sweaty and stained.

Glancing around once more, she realized all the other women were wearing practically the same thing. What is this?

While she was processing this, a small girl ran up to Thorne. Breathlessly, she stammered; "Please sir, spare a pence for the poor."

"Stay away, girl." He replied, dragging Cress away from her was quickly as possible. Now Cress was gaping at something else entirely.

"How could you do that? She could've been starving!"

He spared no expense, rolling his eyes at her while turning into an alley-like street.

"Really, you must've noticed. That little girl had just stolen from the butcher. She was a thief. Surely you know what those are."

Cress turned away from him too quickly to hear the rest;

"You happen to be traveling with one."

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Well, a retired one at least. Thorne was glad she'd already moved her focus to another discovery. She was currently staring at the boxing square across from them. Angry men clamored around, beating each other to a pulp. Her horrified expression was enough to know what she was thinking.