In a Farmhouse in Southern Ryn

Penny rested her head on a small rough pillow and listened to the adults speaking in hushed tones in the room below her. She didn’t know exactly where she was. The last several days had been, at best, a blur. All she knew was that the pillow and bed, while rough and worn, were more than welcome after several days of non-stop travel by horse, carriage, and foot. She reached up and smoothed her short-cropped hair stained dark with a foul smelling dye that she longed to wash away. None of this was as it should be. Everything was wrong. She desperately wanted to cry. In less than a fortnight, her world had imploded, and try though she might, she could still not make heads nor tails of it.

Something bad had happened. Penny knew that much. Something bad enough for Etta to take her and run. She knew that Etta was following a direct order from her mother, and that Etta was very sad and very angry. For the first few days, Etta seemed almost sick with worry, sorrow, and rage. She had taken Penny through a series of hidden channels and exits that Penny had heard rumors of but had never seen before. When Penny asked to rest, Etta almost shouted at her to move. Penny had never heard Etta shout before, and this difference from the one person she could trust frightened the girl more than anything else. Etta caught herself almost immediately and kneeled to speak with the stricken girl explaining that rest was not possible until they were far from the city. Etta had hugged her then. Penny could still feel the hard armor against her cheek and the drops of dark red blood, still fresh, that clung to it.

“Adam! We have young ones. We can’t take her,” the woman didn’t want her here. She was afraid.

“And what do you suggest?” the man was calm. Penny decided that she liked his voice. She had smiled shyly when Etta presented her, and he had shaken her hand with a strong and calloused hand that felt, in the midst of everything, reassuring.

“Please, keep her safe. They know me. It is only a matter of time before they find me. She cannot be with me when that happens,” Etta was trying to keep her voice low, but the house was small. There was a finality to her statements that Penny refused to consider.

“Aye,” the man said. “We’ll keep her here as long as we can. I’ll send Ben to House Laurent to see if they can take her in.”

“No!” Etta’s voice was harsh, angry. “We still don’t know who to trust. I will not risk her with any of the houses. I just need to get them off my trail. I will come back for her.”

“Okay, ma’am,” the man spoke like the soldiers did when they addressed Etta.

Etta stepped away from the people and Penny heard boot steps on the stairs that led to the loft where she was listening and supposedly sleeping. In an attempt to maintain the ruse, Penny quickly pretended to be asleep only feigning to wake when she felt Etta’s hand on her shoulder.

“You’re a poor liar, girl,” Etta smiled softly. “That will not suit you well in this time.”

“You’re leaving.” For Penny this was not an accusation or question. She merely acknowledged what was happening.

“I am,” Etta nodded. “It’s not safe for you to travel with me. There are people who want to hurt you and your family. These people,” she motioned to the family below. “I trust them. They will keep you safe.” She knelt down and looked into Penny’s eyes and smiled, “I am coming back, though. You hear me?”

Penny nodded and blinked back tears. She was her mother’s daughter, barely 12 years into her life, but she would not let them see her cry.