Vignette: A Glimpse of Livi
We skip right over June in the birth order (don't worry, she'll come later!) and get straight to Livi.
Stunned by another of those sudden, erratic Threadfalls, the people of the area clumped at the crossroads, made it their hub. A headquarters sprung up for the patrolling agenothree-tanked troops and an impromptu infirmary for the wounded. The dragon-couriers that so quickly ferried healers in took up the sloped hill behind the building there at the roadside, but the field across the way is the real center of the action.
There Livi sat, blankly scowling at the yelled directions and the rushed mending that swirled about her here on her rock-seat. In all of it, she could see nothing but his face. His name flashes through her head over and over again. Uncle Lieden. She couldn’t believe it could still carry those childish connotations of energetic shoulder rides and warm, bearded hugs. She could spit at the thought of his hearty laughing, knowing that he was the reason they were here in the first place, the reason that she was sitting here alone now, and her father was laid beneath that hateful white sheet.
His trader princess, he had called her that. It was a term of endearment, she had thought. He’d meant it as a curse on her head, though, building her up in the eyes of the rest of them to make her fall all the harder when he started whispering in certain ears about equal share for all. No room for leaders, and since her father was the leader, well, there was just no room for him. Or her.
She did spit now, all of her spite raining down to the ground to drop a whole plague of curses onto his head. He would regret it. Her father was gone and she was leaving. In a world of too much quiet, she glided through the field of shouts and moans, blind to blood and burn as she tripped down to the road. They hadn’t had a direction for a while, but now it was up to her to pick one. Any one.
Red hair was all she saw as an arm was thrown around her shoulders and she was escorted along with all the rest of the walking and able into a room with a fire and klah. Later, she’d cry over her father for the first time onto that very arm, but right now she was just grateful for the supportive guidance of it, the respectful sympathy. It was that sort of thing that grew addicting after a while, convinced her to abandon wandering for good.
Stunned by another of those sudden, erratic Threadfalls, the people of the area clumped at the crossroads, made it their hub. A headquarters sprung up for the patrolling agenothree-tanked troops and an impromptu infirmary for the wounded. The dragon-couriers that so quickly ferried healers in took up the sloped hill behind the building there at the roadside, but the field across the way is the real center of the action.
There Livi sat, blankly scowling at the yelled directions and the rushed mending that swirled about her here on her rock-seat. In all of it, she could see nothing but his face. His name flashes through her head over and over again. Uncle Lieden. She couldn’t believe it could still carry those childish connotations of energetic shoulder rides and warm, bearded hugs. She could spit at the thought of his hearty laughing, knowing that he was the reason they were here in the first place, the reason that she was sitting here alone now, and her father was laid beneath that hateful white sheet.
His trader princess, he had called her that. It was a term of endearment, she had thought. He’d meant it as a curse on her head, though, building her up in the eyes of the rest of them to make her fall all the harder when he started whispering in certain ears about equal share for all. No room for leaders, and since her father was the leader, well, there was just no room for him. Or her.
She did spit now, all of her spite raining down to the ground to drop a whole plague of curses onto his head. He would regret it. Her father was gone and she was leaving. In a world of too much quiet, she glided through the field of shouts and moans, blind to blood and burn as she tripped down to the road. They hadn’t had a direction for a while, but now it was up to her to pick one. Any one.
Red hair was all she saw as an arm was thrown around her shoulders and she was escorted along with all the rest of the walking and able into a room with a fire and klah. Later, she’d cry over her father for the first time onto that very arm, but right now she was just grateful for the supportive guidance of it, the respectful sympathy. It was that sort of thing that grew addicting after a while, convinced her to abandon wandering for good.