Wine Woods

17. Currents

It had been four years.

It was hard. Constantly and unnecessarily difficult. He gained severe muscle during the time, and he adopted a lot of homeless children, whether they be female, queer, slave-born, disabled, whatever. He took them. That made it easier. He only took children older then eight, stalked the streets of New York or Virginia's plains or the docks where orphans or abuse victims would rest.

He gave most of them a new name, so they would shed their past skins and become new. Some did not want to forget, and they kept their names and wore them like badges.

"Bilhah," he said, the girl looking up, even if she couldn't look. Her dog looked up too, standing beside her leg, "get Marco, Julius, and Abia in here. I need to speak with them."

She nodded, the dog leading her out of the room. She only fiddled with the door handle for a second before finding it, and it made him happy. She was blind in both eyes, either acid or whipping, no doubt, so she had been abandoned. She was mix of white and black, and that meant she was stigmatized, and yet preferred. If she had sight she would be working in a southern mansion. 

But she didn't. 

He found her half-dead two miles out from Richmond. She had asked for a new name. He was pretty sure her old one was Mary. She was only ten, having lived here for a year. 

Being without sight, he'd never known what he could do with her, until he discovered she had a voice on her. She was good at keeping order, and the dog was good at warning for disorder.

The three boys walked in, Abia a little tossed up.

Marco was a thief, at heart. A villain. It was set deep down, and Alfred could see it as he watched him with power in his eyes, like a wolf eyeing a bear. Respect, but wariness. He had watched how fast the bear could become the rabbit under that gaze. He was a good hunter.

He had dark-brown hair, with tan skin. Italian. He was taller than the other two, an more muscular. A little older, too.

Julius was long and lanky, with dark eyes and long, dark-grey hair. His cream colored skin made him look like a ghost, and he was soft-spoken. He had no strength behind him, and was docile. Alfred discovered he was good at sewing and embroidery and such, even though they were 'women's tasks'. Women's tasks his ass, a man could do them just as good- or bad, of course.

If he had never been taken from the streets, he probably would have been killed. He had nothing to offer in a male-dominant society, when he was not dominant.

Abia was small and muscular and... brutish, he supposed would be a good word. He was constantly bleeding from somewhere, unable to stop injuring himself. He cut his entire hand open on a sheet of paper once. And yet he was strong, and was incredibly pain-resistant. He was a farmers child, brown hair and brown eyes. He was missing a few teeth, but they would grow back in. He worked in the fields mostly- he had an incredible green thumb.

"We are preparing for guests. One of incredibly high stature," he said, the words echoing across the room. The boys were confused as to why they were being told, Samuel was sitting at a desk beside Alfred's, couldn't he do it better, "tell everyone to prepare. Julius, finish the stitching I had given you. Zorion can help you, she should be in the forest now, picking fruit."

The children nodded, before walking out of the room. 

Alfred looked down, feeling a child pull his pant leg. 

"Hello, little Missouri," he said, petting the boys hair.

"Who?" he said softly, sounding more like an owl than a human.