In Service to the Beast King [18+]

Cinder

Cinder

“Where is your bravery, Breya? They are hurt,” her mother exclaimed, rushing to a small boy, younger than Moro, even through the soot, and touching his frightened face.

Breya was fully chastised. Where was her bravery? She thought and remembered the water she had prepared for them. She reluctantly left her mother’s side briefly and returned with a wooden goblet full of water. She offered it to the small child and realized, as she looked up, that many more of these strangers were revealing themselves. She counted twenty-three heads in total in front of her home.

Again, she rushed inside but returned, this time with a large bucket and a ladle. She was silent as she let them drink, her mother cooed over the children attempted to wipe their faces with her sleeping grown. They huddled close together, perhaps they feared us, she thought.

Breya noticed eyes on her then. When she turned to look, she saw that it was the green-eyed person she’d initially met and feared. She flushed with embarrassment and turned away, ashamed at her behavior. It was then that she realized that the green-eyed stranger had not had any water. He’d allowed all other to go before him and stood a little apart from the rest.

She went to him and offered him a ladle of water. He took the ladle from her and drank deeply but did not remove his eyes from hers. It was a dark look, intrigued but wary, and sensual. The coughing of a child broke the link of their eyes and he moved away from her, toward the sound. Kneeling, he offered the last of his drink to the young girl. She was very frail and though she was old enough to walk, was carried.

“Do you need a place to rest?” Breya asked the stranger when he returned the ladle to her. Though his face was covered in soot, she could tell that he was confused. They did not speak the same language. She accompanied her words with motions and gestures. She placed her hands together and tucked them up against her cheek, leaning and closing her eyes. Just to make sure he understood, she made a rude snoring sound. When he laughed, she opened her eyes. It was a rasp of a sound that ended with a strained cough.

He made a gesture to encompass the whole of his people and repeated her symbol for sleep, minus the sounds, and made a steeple with his hands to place above his head. He wanted shelter. Through a few stumbles and bumbles of communication, her mother decided to take the surviving group indoors, away from the prying eyes of the neighbors.

Everyone endured a cold bath or washcloth to remove the majority of the cinder on their bodies. Breya and her mother helped everyone and pulled all the sleeping furs out to comfort the survivors.  Moro woke to find the house full of people and asked sweetly to help. Though he did not speak the language of the other children, he could play with them very well.

Their home was much more elaborate than the other homes in the village because he mother was not only a great artisan, but she also had many children. Breya had many brothers and sisters though they were all wedded with their own children and the home had many unused rooms. All of the Forest people stayed in one room, feeling safest together. Ruta curled up with Moro and many other children, humming everyone to sleep.

The green-eyed stranger cleaned himself off when everyone else had been cared for. Because she watched him out of the corner of her eye, she saw as he cleaned the black soot off of his limbs that he had strange black markings. At first, she thought it was stubborn cinder, but the more those markings were revealed, the more enlightened she became until she was staring at him straight on. When he noticed her intense gaze, he turned his warm eyes onto her. She became increasingly interested in the spice rack to avoid any further eye contact.

Because it was almost dawn, Breya stayed awake and started on her task to peel potatoes. The green-eyed man was with her, mostly clean, and helped her in silence. When dawn came, they’d finished peeling most of the potatoes she’d dug up the day before, two potatoes per person. He helped her take the potatoes outside to cook in the large vat that her mother used to wash the beautiful cloth she wove. There they let the potatoes boil while Breya slipped into the chicken coop to retrieve all seventeen eggs and one chicken to slaughter.

The green-eyed man watched her cook but did not speak to her. When he had to, he made gestures with his hands to help her. He kept his eyes on the fire when she disappeared into the house to retrieved dried spices, and he helped her clean the surfaces of tables and gathered enough chairs outside where it was warm and the air smelled sweet, but not of burning wood.

The people roused themselves, coming down to the smell of cooked meat and spicy potatoes. She served them, along with the green-eyed man though she noticed that the people tried to take his place as server so that he would sit. Eventually, he relented, he seemed quite exhausted, and allowed her to serve him. He ate heartily and beckoned for her to sit by him once everyone had been tended to.

There was a knock of the door before she could finish her breakfast. Breya stood to answer it. Orik stood there with a group of other men, fear strained tightly around their eyes as they peered at her dirty frame. Before Breya could even form words with her open mouth, they interrupted her and entered her home without an invitation. That was against their laws.

“Ruta, are you all right?” Orik asked, rushing to her side to physically pull her from the table. Breya’s mother pushed Orik away, showing him a small frail girl that seemed too fearful to finish her breakfast.

“I am unharmed, Orik. They are my guests,” she explained. Still the men looked upon the disheveled group with a wariness that hid a glow of animosity. Their gaze rested on the green-eyed man who stood as they all approached, dark brows furrowing and teeth bore like a wild animal.

Breya stood before them then, tilted her chin up haughtily and narrowed her eyes at the men so that they understood they were unwelcomed and had not been invited. When they turned their wary eyes to her, their animosity faded but they did not back down.

“Do not fear them,” she repeated the words of the oldest mother. A reminder that though she was not a wise mother yet, she would be someday and her will should not be questioned in her own home.

The men glanced at one another before averting their eyes and allowing themselves to be herded toward the door. When Breya finally shut them out she headed back to her seat. The green-eyed man watched her with strange warmth in his eyes that made her face hot. They both sat in unison and though Breya busied herself with her brother Moro, she could feel the stranger’s eyes on her. She felt proud for standing her ground and the admiration in his eyes fed her confidence.