Chapter Text
It is dark.
It is a time of night when people are normally tucked in their beds, but it seems the sounding of the horn summons the entire town to the center square. Men and women, many sleep-mussed and draped in nightclothes, wander out from the houses and gather in small groups around them. Although by some silent agreement they do not approach, he can feel the weight of their eyes on his arm, on the sling; hear the whispers in his father’s tongue about the bruises on his mother’s face, and how their shoes are now more patches than cloth. He is not sure how to feel in this place – somehow neither welcoming or threatening – so he hides within the dusty silk of his mother’s robes.
Soon enough the crowd parts, and a small woman dressed in a dirt-spattered dress comes forth. Despite her humble attire, she brings to mind the Mystic of the oasis – aware of her authority, but gentle in its application. She speaks to his mother, asking where they had come from, and how they had found this isolated village. He can hear his mother answer, can feel her hand pressing him from his silken shelter into the torchlight. He sees the Mystic’s eyes narrow as they fall on his sling, on their bruises; sees her frown at the story of the man that chased them in the city.
“Please,” his mother pleads, her hand tightening in his hair as she bows, “We just want to get away.”
It is dark, but for the first time in weeks, that night he sleeps in a bed.