Snippet #2775493

Mara felt sick. Everything about today... everything since yesterday... made her feel sick. Shakily, she dug into her sachel, having dragged it with her during her speedy retreat. Her fingers found the various herbs wrapped in paper that she had been collecting. Finding the one she wanted, she popped it into her mouth and chewed. The cold, freshness of the spearmint enveloped her mouth and lips. It soothed her roiling stomach. The scent helped ease her racing mind, but only some. 

Mara felt the cool softness of the dirt under her feet before she realized she had walked all the way out of the tavern and into the street. She hadn't grabbed her boots... they were probably still caked in death anyway. The thought made her mouth go dry. Mara wasn't very sure where she intended to go anyway. She didn't know this place. She couldn't abandon the king's request or this newfound duty anyway. 

Mara paused in the alley between the stable and the tavern, staring at her bare feet in the dirt. Why? Why was she marked? The others were strong, skilled fighters, magic-users, soldiers, or warriors of some type. She was weak. She couldn't fight... yet somehow she managed to survive the village while Ragnar and Thomas...

Mara felt water hit her bare feet and saw the droplet. She raised her face skyward, thinking it was raining, but the sky was unabashedly clear. Mara realized numbly that she was crying. She grit her teeth, frustrated by her own weakness, slightly mashing the wrapped plants that were still in her hands. 

Ashamed of herself, she furiously rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. Crying wouldn't bring them back. It wouldn't make them anything other than bits of meat, flesh smeared under rubble and dust. Like pigs hanging, gutted, in the smokehouse behind the barn on her father's farm. The image flashed brightly in her mind's eye. Startlingly so. 

Mara lurched toward the side of the building, dropping the herbs onto the ground, and just managed to catch herself with both hands to the wall as she was quietly sick. There wasn't much in her stomach to even bring up, but her stomach sure did try. She was glad she had managed to make it out of the main walkway.

Gasping softly, she tried to even her ragged breathing, but it sounded more like sobbing. Mara slowly crouched. It hurt to breathe. Her body ached, her lungs were on fire and her ears began to ring terribly. Weak... I'm uselessly weak... Mara thought wretchedly. Father was right after all... she was a burden. She wished she could dissapear.

 “Mara?”

It’d come from behind her. A familiar voice, deep, but soft as a whisper. Spoken in the same kind of tone she often used with their horses; especially the skittish ones that were afraid ofsomething.  Her whole body tensed. When Mara raised her gaze, it was Garos who stood there, hand held aloft as if he’d intended to place it on her back, but thought better of it. He let it drop back down to his side, and straightened up. The knit to his brows was telling. Ochre eyes reflected her face, like two mirrors. The girl she saw reflected there looked feral and unfamiliar. She looked like a stray cat. 

“I...” he started weakly before scratching at the back of his neck, “We were worried, y’know. Figured I’d come check in on you.”"Sorry..." she rasped, but the sound was hollow. Habit to apologize for existence. A pause, as he kicked a pebble with the toe of his dirty boots. Seemed as if he was uncomfortable, for once. As if he wasn’t quite sure what to say in a situation like this. He inhaled sharply and took a step off to the side, creating a little distance. He, at least, understood well enough that she might not want to be touched, as affectionate as he always seemed to be. Mara watched him warily. 

He leaned against the side of the building and exhaled through his nose.

“Was that…?” His question trailed off, his gaze slipping from her crouched form. Mara was not sure if she could look any more ashamed. She stared at the wall pointedly. He cleared his throat and tried once more. “When I was a wee lad...” he gestured a hand up to his waist, “I saw what was left of a scouting group trying to cross into Orc lands with my ma’. Ha, I never cried so hard before.” His laugh was made of softer things, short and sweet; a far cry from the chest-heaving laugh they’d heard so far. “She slapped me on the back that day. Said I’d be seeing a lot of that in my life.”

Garos scrubbed a hand over his face and shook his head. Embarrassment tinged the tips of his ears a mottled purple-red.She had not known he could be embarrassed. He pushed away from the wall and dropped his hand, holding it out for her to take, if she so chose. “I’m saying it’s OK. What you feel. Weak. Strong. Makes no difference.” Mara locked eyes with him then. It were as if he could read her like a book. Her green eyes were the eyes of an injured animal, wounded, frightened, but also unusually fierce. 

He flexed his fingers, let them lie outstretched and inclined his head towards the barn. “Wanna change of scenery? Always smelt familiar there to me.” A weak grin pulled at the corner’s of his lips. “Besides, horses are good listeners.”

Mara stared at his offered hand, as if confused by the gesture.  Slowly, small fingers slightly trembling, she gripped part of his hand. His hand dwarfed hers, making her feel even more like a child than she already did. She reached the other hand out, retrievIng the dropped herbs, and returned them to her sachel before using Garos's hand to help her stand.

Mara nodded numbly at his suggestion. She squeezed one of his fingers, as if confirming to herself that he was still there. Not just meat. Still whole. He enclosed her hand in hers in response, and gave it a small squeeze. There was a sense that he would not let go, if she needed him there. It wasn't a hug, but he was there, for her. As long as she could remember, she had always had to handle things alone. This was new..but not unwelcome.

"Thank you...Garos..." Mara mumbled awkwardly. She wanted to say more, but at that moment, Callion wandered by, giving instructions. Mara hastily used her free hand to wipe her eyes. She looked up at Garos, managing a small, watery, smile. Reluctantly, she released his hand and headed to gather her things and to the stable. 

When Mara released his hand, she could hear soft steps following at her heels, until he appeared at her side, thumbs hooked into his belt. Maybe, he, too, wanted the quiet the stable could provide. The familiarity they both shared.

She was determined now. She would not let the others become meat. Stuffing her shoes into her pack, she headed to meet Callion.