Willow

So with a shrug she reached over and ripped off his other arm and turned to offer it to the creature.

She was on her back, and the ground was wet. She could feel her garments pressing against her, clinging, and they weren't doing much good as the heat in her body leeched away into the dirt.  The sky above her was a pearl grey, rather pretty, with the clouds scudding across like a troop of geese. She blinked, and droplets of moisture rolled down her face. She wasn't quite sure she was alive, she hurt so much, but.. her thoughts paused, and she went blank for a moment, arms flailing.  Then more of the cool, cucumber-melon taste came back, and it rolled sweetly down her throat. Mmm..  tasted like summer drinks on Aunt Helle's back porch. And now things didn't hurt quite so much, and memories, like the geese and the clouds, began to come together in her mind.

It was supposed to have been just a way for her to see if you really could pick a lock with a bit of wire and a knife, like Skelly kept boasting he could do. Willow bit at her lower lip as she concentrated, trying to jigger the lock on the back door of the bakery. The smells from the place were driving her mad, and it didn't help that she could hear the others in the group, murmuring and hushing each other, watching her from through knotholes in the alley fence. If she was able to get in.. just a little more.. and then she heard the snick as the tumblers fell into place and she held her breath. Did it really work?  She tugged gently at the door.. and it opened. She flashed a triumphant grin at the fence, pushing snarled, curly dark hair out of her blue eyes and sneaked inside. She was in luck. Despite the gloom, she spotted the bin where the baked goods that were too "old" to be sold were put, and she darted to it, and started stuffing day-old sweet rolls down her threadbare tunic. She was getting nervous, and her fingers were getting sticky from the icing.  She wiped them off on her bare legs and decided she better scatter, and darted back out the door.  She could hear the others, and she started toward them, and remembered the door. She darted back and eased it shut and then ran, slipping through a gap in the fence boards, flushed with glee and success.  Swarmed by the other kids, basking in their respect, she handing out her swag, and knew her life would never be the same.

"Willow, you're not concentrating." Aunt Helle huffed at her. "If you want to learn how to light a candle, or a torch, and be able put the flames out again, you have to concentrate." A ruler thwacked down suddenly on the table, out of the dimness and Willow cursed and jumped.  "And none of that language, either! Just because my sister let you run around like some guttersnipe doesn't mean I'm going to allow you to use that sort of language in my house!" Aunt Helle's robes whispered behind Willow's chair as she glided off to one side. Willow sighed, tugged her own scratchy, hot robes away from her barely adequate chest and bent her head down so her nose was almost touching the small candle. The sweet scent of the beeswax made her think longingly of the meadows out the back door of Aunt Helle's cottage, the bright flowers under the sun, and the hum of the bees. Her mind drifted, thinking of the warm feeling of the sun beating on the ground and she murmured her trigger word, and jerked back as the flame leaped up from the candle, almost toppling her chair backwards in surprise. "It's about time! I was beginning to despair, child..." her aunt, elegant in her green mage robes, slid back into view and smiled, her perfectly smooth blond hair framing a thin, intelligent face.  "I knew you had our heritage in you, not just that ne'er-do-well of a father." Willow opened her mouth to protest, but at a sharp look from her aunt she subsided, and looked at her own  now manicured fingers, smoothed back hair that wasn't tangled anymore but cut in a sleek, dark bob, and admitted in a small part of her mind that this new life wasn't so bad. She had new clothes, there was plenty to eat, and maybe, now, she'd get to learn some interesting spells.

Her feet hurt. The soles of her boots had worn out in places, and the leather had rubbed her raw along her ankles.  The dead man she'd stolen the boots from certainly hadn't needed them anymore, but they fit poorly at best. At least the dark vest was long, warm wool, and layered over the many pockets of her tunic and pants, concealed her and let her move quickly and quietly in the dark.  Ever since the huge explosion to the south and east, and the raid on her Aunt's farm, she'd been walking steadily northward, toward the mountains. The river was too dangerous, the main roads were too dangerous, and even with her skills, finding things to eat and staying out of the way of the invaders' patrols had become harder the more tired she got. Sleeping under whatever cover she could find, she tossed and turned, hearing the war cries of orcs, the screams of her aunt's servants, and the blasts of her aunt's spells over and over again in her dreams.  She trudged on, head down and weary.  It had begun to rain, and her hair dripped from under the old cap, and she stuck her hands under the vest to keep them warm. Not able to see far in the increasing murk, she wandered onto a path, rather than staying to the woods, and ran into a large, smelly  obstacle that reached out to grab her, and she screamed. Startled, the hairy hands dropped away and she dodged back, quick as a cat, and cast.  Arrows of green acid sprung from her fingers and darted toward the thing, and in the light of magic, she saw a tall, rather brawny orc, snarling and trying to grab at some weapon he wore at his side. She saw the acid bite into him, and drip down and the orc yelped in pain. She cast again, and blue-green sparks spiraled out and grew into balls of magic and slammed into the orc, staggering him backwards and throwing him off balance.  Panicked, Willow whispered the words of an invisibility spell and disappeared, and as the orc spun around, looking for her, she slinked off toward the trees beyond him.  But then she realized, wide-eyed, that she'd never seen an orc by himself.  He was probably a scout, and if she let him get away, he'd bring the rest of his patrol back to look for her.  The only way she'd survive is if she killed him. Whimpering in fear under her breath, she crept back, drawing her dagger, using all the stealth she learned in the back alleys of Gilden.  Closer and closer she got, while the orc cast around where she last was, until she was right behind him, and spotting a rent in his rusted, mismatched armor, she drove the dagger home with all her strength, up and under the arm and into the lung. She felt him stagger, and then he spun, faster than she though he could and grabbed her, blood surging from under his arm, black from his mouth, but he was still strong. Gods!  Snarling, he yanked her forward and tried to bite her face off, but she ducked, and he bit down on her shoulder instead. Now it was her turn to scream, and she stuck her fingers into his eyes and let off that first spell she learned long ago, and flames surged into his eyesockets, even as the orc in turn hit her with a wildly flung club along her head, and she fell, the world turning black with edges of red, as the orc's cries faded.

Willow heard something moving around, now. Shuffling and tearing sounds, and something that sounded like the word 'fire'-- if it was spoken by a dwarf around a mouthful of rocks. Slowly, she turned her head-- it seemed like that it was all she could move at first. There was a large, hairy, shapeless creature bent over the body of the orc.  She'd killed it? And lived? What in the hells was crouched over it? It wasn't an animal.. there was a backpack near it, and it was wearing... something. It was too dirty to tell what it was, or even what gender.. but it was doing something to the orc.  And then it turned around and it had an arm, dripping and showing the white of bone at one end, gnawing at it.. and held out another one toward her. Too shocked to scream, still too hurt to move, Willow shook her head violently and then gulped as pain and nausea rocked through her. She closed her eyes for a moment, not sure what she was going to do, and hoping that she hadn't woken up in a worse situation.  Opening her eyes again, she stared at the thing, and tried to hitch herself back a bit, and turn to her side.  It shook the arm at her again, and gobbets of flesh fell to the ground. Guttural words came from huge jaws-- it sounded like the orcish words for 'eat' and 'fire.'  Keeping her eyes carefully on it, Willow scraped together some twigs and debris, and pointed a trembling finger at it.  She was so tired...biting her lip, Willow concentrated, and sparks dribbled from her fingertips onto the tinder, and with a small whoosh! it lit, and she fell back into a faint.

(AR)