Thornwyn Mossbrook's Arc

Chapter 3 of 38

Thornwyn walked the girl out into the lane. The crow lifted from the eave and settled on her staff. The piebald deer waited by the step, patchwork brown and white, its long tail flicking at flies. The girl stopped short and stared. She reached one hand toward the deer's nose. The deer bent its head and let her touch it. Thornwyn started for the edge of town. The field lay past the last house. The forest lay past the field. She kept her pace slow so the girl could match it. A man came down the lane behind them. Broad shoulders, a butcher's apron still tied at his waist. He walked fast. "Hold on," he called. Thornwyn stopped. The girl pressed against her leg. The man caught up at the last fence post. He looked at the deer, then the crow, then the child. He did not look at Thornwyn's face. "That girl's been in there a year," he said. "My wife brings them bread on feast days. I know her." "She's coming with me," Thornwyn said. "To where. The trees." He jerked his chin at the forest. "Alone. No neighbors. No one to hear her if she calls." "She doesn't call," Thornwyn said. "You know that." His jaw worked. "The matron signed it?" "Tomorrow. Papers tomorrow." "Then she stays till tomorrow." He reached for the girl's shoulder. The deer stepped between them. Not fast. It set one hoof forward and stood square across his arm. The crow opened its wings on Thornwyn's staff and did not close them. The man pulled his hand back. Thornwyn kept her voice low. "I lived alone thirty years because people like you counted me a stranger from a distance. She's been counted the same. I'm not leaving her in that room another night to please you." He looked at the deer's coat, the odd long tail, the crow's flat black eye. His shoulders dropped a finger's width. "You bring her to the market next week," he said. "Where my wife can see her fed. Where people can see her walking." "I'll bring her." "Every week." "Every week." He wiped his hands on his apron out of habit. He looked at the girl. "You want to go with her?" The girl did not speak. She took Thornwyn's free hand and held it. The man nodded once and stepped back. "Market. Don't forget." Thornwyn crossed the fence line. The field opened ahead, tall grass bent by wind. The deer walked at the girl's shoulder. The crow rode the staff. Halfway across, Thornwyn felt the promise settle in her chest like a stone in a pocket. She had a child now. She also had a village that would watch her every seven days, and a girl who had held her hand but had not yet said a word.