Snippet #2428566

Her hair was gone.

The golden locks had once cascaded down to her lower back and were the envy of all of the older women in her village, but the strands were now cut short just above her shoulders. The feeling was odd; her head was lighter, and her posture now lacked the child-like innocence that she had been accustomed to through-out the years. She would continually reach her hand up to her shoulders, expecting to run her hands through the soft hair there, but her fingers only found the rough texture of her boyish tunic that prickled at her skin. She couldn't complain, though; she had cut the golden curls herself.

With her now-shortened hair and her constricted chest, (as she didn't want her breasts to be visible to give away her actual gender identity) along with the pauper clothing that once belonged to her older brother, she looked like a regular peasant boy. Which was exactly what she wanted. She found herself, currently, in a small mountain town not too terribly far from Castle Red; rumor had it that the Prince was coming through on this day to look for new recruits for his army, and she had every intention of joining him. But she would not join as Saydra, the peasant girl from the small farming village that had only faced one enemy; she would instead take the name of Sayd, the brave pauper boy who would become one of the Prince's knights. But it was time for her to get to the street where the Prince would come through to examine the troops, so she quickly tied what little hair was left on her head into a messy knot on the back of her head. She picked up the only belonging that she had to her name, a splintered, wooden, makeshift sword, and raced out the door of the shabby tavern that she had spent the night in.

The small mountain town was bustling with life, though it looked that this wasn't normal. Poorly constructed houses with faded signs and caving-in roofs had been quickly refurbished to make an impression on the Prince. Front doors had been cleaned, windows washed, and colorful displays of small artistry such as sculptures and fabrics were left outside all around. The atmosphere, however, seemed more rushed and nervous then anything; young men were scattered about the place, finishing their last-minute preparations. Boys were in their nicest attire (which wasn't saying too terribly much for the merchant town) and had washed up for the occasion. Saydra hoped that the Prince would accept someone that looked as rough-and-tumble as she did at the moment. Her face, though she had washed it in the morning, was still partially covered in dirt from her long journey to the village. Her clothes were not much better; the dusty tunic had tears in the fabric and the edges were frayed with age. The pants were, like her face, caked in the elements. Her feet were bare and tough, the skin there sorely lacking proper moisture and care. But in her eyes, the spirit of a vengeful warrior burned, and she hoped that her passion alone would be enough to show the Prince that she was, in fact, ready to join his army. A boy ran past her screaming "He's coming! He's coming!" And suddenly all of the men began to rush toward the main street of the town, as did she.

Bodies squirmed their ways through the byways and alleys of the town, and Saydra found herself being pushed around as if she were simply a speck of sand in the ocean; the waves of people that were much taller and larger than her pushed forward, tossing and turning her like the tide. Her lack of height was sorely aware to her in this moment. Eventually, though, the tide brought her to the main street where the two sides were lined with bodies, but she found that she could not see anything except for the towering figures in front of her. She squeezed her slight frame between men, trying to get closer to the front so she could see when the Prince came. However, one of the men in the crowd noticed her pushing past and became enraged that someone would dare to try and get a better view than him. "Think you can just get in front of us, runt? Fine!" Before she even had time to turn around and confront her accuser, he had shoved her forward and pushed her on the ground in front of the line of people. Those in front suppressed their snickers, as they were amused by this runt's embarrassment. The still-young face flushed red as she glared at her accuser, though she didn't attack back. She sat on the ground there as others chuckled at her misfortune; she wanted nothing more than to let her hair down and hide behind the curtain of gold like she had often done as a child, but

Her hair was gone.