I could smell dinnertime long before it was actually ready. The aroma of roasting meat wafted about the compound soon after the hunters returned. Aberrations and those taken from other tribes were always the last in line for food, so we were lucky to get any scraps. They liked to keep us underfed so we remained weak, pliable, and grateful for what we got.

As I awaited my turn, Nily approached me. She was one of three Aberrations living with this tribe. The third was Stobon, a tribe-born marksman who began shooting bullseyes as soon he could lift a bow and arrow. Nily was his mother.

She peered at me with keen eyes as gray as her long tresses. She was brought here the same way my mother was, forcefully. She tilted her head and examined my face, flicking her eyes over my nose, my ears, my hair. Nily's unnatural skill was reading into one's very soul. It scared a lot of people.

She peered into my eyes. "You are not like the others."

And sometimes she just stated the obvious.

"Your deeds will be remembered," she continued.

Other times she made broad, cryptic statements that made people think she was crazy. I didn't think she was crazy, but sometimes I wondered if she might occasionally be wrong. The people around here didn't seem to remember that I helped them, too blinded by their own prejudice.

She finished by stroking my hair once and saying, "You are a fountain of good. Your footprint will be significant."

I blinked as she wandered away, wondering at the meaning of her words. There was a rumor around the compound, as there often was, that Nily once whispered something into Chief Magar's ear, and that when she left, his eyes were shiny with unshed tears. Magar did his best to quash this rumor, of course, but some things just can't be killed.

I took my scraps back to my hut and found Grash there. His large, muscular body lounged lazily in the chair. One of tribe Zurbo's finest warriors. A lot of girls swooned over him and his bushy beard, but he made my skin crawl.

He sat up straighter when I entered, and his eyes raked over my body from head to toe, lingering on my budding breasts. A tiny shard of fear pricked my stomach as my heart began hammering.

I set my food down as calmly as I could. "Are you injured, sir?"

He smiled at my dutifulness. "As a matter of fact, I am," he said with a leer. Then he pulled out a knife, which startled me, and proceeded to carve a line high on his thigh. Blood trickled down the side of his leg as he looked at me and said, "Well? You are obligated to lay hands on me, are you not?"

My hands clenched into fists, but I avoided eye contact. "Yes, sir."

Dread was an ugly flower blooming in my stomach as I approached Grash, who spread his legs and leaned back again. Only my fingertips touched the wound, but he grabbed my hand and yanked it closer. "Do it right, girl."

I ignored the growing stiffness against the side of my hand and concentrated on healing the wound as quickly as possible. When I finished, I reclaimed my hands and stood up, but not before he swung an arm around my waist to pull me against him. I went rigid and looked frantically at the doorway, hoping maybe the guard would stop him, but that wasn't likely to happen. It was more likely the guard would join Grash in assaulting me.

As the upper echelon, warriors took whatever they wanted, insulted whomever they pleased. If my mother had not been pregnant when she was taken, I might have been sired by a Plainsman.

My heart pounded now, as I began to struggle. That's when Shandy came stumbling into the hut for the second time that day. "I think it might be my other foot this time," he said, his speech slightly slurred. He stopped when he saw Grash, his eyes darting from me to him, and then back to my pale, frightened face. Understanding subtly registered in his eyes, and he said, "D'ya mind, Grash? I don't want my toe falling off."

Grash grudgingly let go of me and stalked out of the room, rudely bumping Shandy's shoulder as he went. My body slumped into the chair with relief, and I turned my grateful eyes to Shandy, who still stood wavering near the doorway. He waved me out of the chair and dropped into it himself, saying nothing. After I fixed his toe, he ruffled my hair, more gently this time, and said, "You're a good kid." And then he left.

* * *

In the morning, I resolved to fashion myself a weapon of some kind. I wasn't allowed weapons, of course, but I wanted to at least be able to defend myself. In all honesty, though, I was deluding myself. Even if I had a razor-sharp knife in my hands, what good would that do against seasoned warriors three times my size? Still, I wanted to have something, if only to ease my sense of helplessness.

I entered the firewood tent, collected various plant materials, and found myself a sturdy little branch about twice the thickness of an arrow. Back in my hut I scraped the bark off the sides and smoothed the grip. Then I took the sharp rock I used for cutting plants and cord and started hacking at one end, angling it so that a point began to form.

It was about mid-afternoon by the time I sat back to look over my work. It was no masterpiece, but it would pierce someone without giving me splinters. I slashed the air with my stick, liking the feel of it in my hands. It was about as long as my forearm. I felt the tip with my finger, sharpened it a little more, than slashed the air again. I would likely be put to death for stabbing anyone, but it didn't take me long to realize that there are some things worse than death.

Just then Shandy lumbered in through the doorway. I quickly hid the stick behind my back, but it was too late. His eyes looked sharp today, free of their usual semi-stupor. He approached me, and I kept my eyes fixed on the ground, my insides quaking in fear. He would most likely report me, and then I would be punished. Maybe even executed.

"Do you have an injury, sir?" I mumbled.

"Let me see that." His tone was even, almost soft.

I looked up at him.

He towered over me. He towered over everyone he was so big. I was frozen in place, hands clenching the stick behind my back. He held out his large hand, and I stared at it. With a large gulp and trembling hands, I slowly brought my stick around and placed it gingerly into his palm, then awaited the worst.

I braced for a strike that was sure to come.

Instead, he examined the stick with a curious "hmm." Then he looked back at me, at my guilty face, and said, "With something like this, you need to stab, not slash. Like this." He demonstrated a few times, then offered it back to me.

I stared at it, then at him, wondering if this was some kind of trick.

"Go on, now you try it."

I took the stick and stabbed the air a few times, then he grasped my hand, startling me.

"Easy now," he said, loosening my fingers. "Ease up on your grip a little. If your knuckles are white, it's too tight. Remember that. You should wrap the handle in some leather for a better grip."

My mouth opened, closed, eyes narrowed at him. "Why are you doing this?"

Shandy simply said, "Everyone should know how to protect themselves." Then he turned around to leave.

"Wait!" I called, surprising myself. "Why did you come in here if you weren't injured?"

He shrugged and replied, "Just wanted to see how you were."

* * *

Having wrapped the handle in a leather strip as Shandy suggested and hidden it in the hides of my bed, I went about the business of cleaning. I used handfuls of reeds to brush the cobwebs away from the thatched roof and mud walls of the hut. The woven floor mats were taken outside and shaken out. Then I headed down to the river to wash myself.

I was walking back, wringing water from my hair, when Meresh found me.

"My father has declared a raid, and that I am to fight by his side," he announced, watching my face for a reaction.

"Oh?" I kept my face expressionless. "And how do you feel about that?"

"Excited, of course! I am a man now, and men defend their territory."

"Raiding another tribe isn't exactly defending," I said, shaking my head.

"Semantics," he said. "Aren't you excited for me? I finally get to prove myself on the battlefield!"

I smiled cheerlessly. "I'm happy you're excited, but I'm not excited about you being in danger."

"So you do care!" He grinned, an almost smug expression on his face.

"Of course. You're my only friend."

"Maybe we can be more than friends, when I return."

"Maybe," I answered, unsure what to think about that. "Which tribe are you raiding?"

"The Krat. Father says it's retribution."

It was an excuse and we both knew it. The likely reason was they had stockpiles of something that Magar wanted. "But didn't the Zurbo raid them first? And what was the reason then? When does it end?"

He pressed his lips together. "You don't understand, it's tribe honor."

He was right. I didn't understand. So instead I asked, "When do you go?"

"In two days."

I nodded and we walked in silence. Then he said, "Your birthday is in two days, isn't it?"

I nodded again, touched that he actually knew when it was.

"We'll do something special when we get back. We can celebrate our victory and the start of your fifteenth year all at once."

"That'll be nice," I replied, though a knot of worry tightened within me. Meresh was my only friend. Although it might be nice to explore my feelings for him beyond friendship, what would his tribesmen think? What would his father think? Surely he would not be allowed a relationship with me. They barely seemed to tolerate that he spoke to me on a daily basis. Meresh was charming, but how could he convince an entire tribe not to hate me? Who besides him would want to celebrate my birthday?

These questions weighed on my mind as he walked away. Questions I would never find answers to.

Because that celebration never came.

Oh no, what happens?? I wonder if they lost the ability to vote...

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