Chapter 2 #2
The walk into town aggravates my leg, even though it has been two days since the shadow bear attack. The healing paste has helped, but I’m still favoring my left side. I didn’t want Andrew to know about the injury, so I had to be careful how I moved around him.
As soon as I enter the main settlement area, the familiar weight of hostile stares lands on my back.
A group of women chatting near the fountain fall silent as I pass, their eyes tracking my movements with undisguised disgust. One of them whispers something to her companion, and they both laugh—the kind of cruel laughter that makes my skin crawl.
“Mama, why is Astra walking funny?” a young voice pipes up.
I glance over to see a little boy pointing at me, his innocent eyes curious rather than malicious. His name is Ethan. His mother Diedre’s face flushes red as she grabs his hand.
“Don’t point,” she hisses. Then louder, clearly meant for me to hear: “Some people just aren’t made right.”
She hurries her son away, shooting me a look over her shoulder like I might contaminate them just by existing in the same space.
I keep walking, my jaw clenched. A few steps later, another mother spots me approaching and quickly scoops up her toddler, crossing to the other side of the street. The child protests, reaching back toward me with chubby fingers, but his mother’s grip is firm.
“No, darling. We don’t go near...people like that.”
The words hurt more than I expect. People like that. As if I’m some kind of diseased animal instead of someone who risks her life every week for their treasured healing herbs.
I’m almost to the bakery when I hear soft sniffling. A little girl, maybe six years old, sits on the ground beside the post office, tears streaming down her dirt-streaked face. Her knee is scraped and bleeding, and she clutches a torn doll to her chest.
I recognize her as Mary, one of the warrior’s daughters. She is no more than six years old. I look around, wondering why she’s alone.
Common sense tells me to stay away from her, but she’s crying, and nobody else seems to care. Reluctantly, I approach her. “Mary, is everything okay? Where’s your mother?”
She looks up at me with wide, watery eyes. “Astra! I fell, and I can’t find Mommy! My dolly’s broken, too.”
“Let me see.” I kneel beside her, ignoring the protest from my own injured leg. “Oh, that’s not too bad. Just a little scrape.”
From my pocket, I pull a clean handkerchief—one of the few nice things I own—and gently dab at the blood on her knee. “There. All clean. It’ll stop hurting soon, I promise.”
The little girl sniffles, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “What about Rosie?” She holds up the doll, whose arm has come loose from its body.
“Well,” I say, examining the toy carefully, “it looks like Rosie just needs her arm put back in place. See this little loop here? It goes right back on this button.” I carefully reattach the doll’s arm and test its movement. “Good as new.”
The girl’s face lights up like sunshine breaking through clouds. “You fixed her!”
“Yep. Now, come on. Get up,” I tell her, helping her to her feet.
She bounces on her toes, trying out her scraped knee, then plucks a small wildflower from a crack in the stone path. “This is for you,” she says, pressing the purple bloom into my palm. “For helping Rosie.”
Warmth spreads through my chest at the first genuine kindness I’ve experienced from a pack member in weeks. “Thank you.”
“Mary!”
The sharp voice stops our moment short. Mary’s mother, Helen, storms toward us, her face twisted with rage and disgust.
I sigh, mentally preparing myself for the tongue-lashing I’m about to receive.
“Get your filthy hands off my daughter!” Helen snarls, grabbing the little girl’s arm so roughly that Mary whimpers.
“I was just fixing—” I start to explain, pointing at the doll.
“I don’t care what you think you were doing.” The woman’s eyes blaze with fury as she pulls Mary behind her. “Don’t you ever touch her again, you hear me? Don’t even look at her.”
“Mama, she helped me—” Mary tries to protest, but her mother cuts her off.
“Shut up, Mary! I’ve told you not to go near her!” The woman’s voice drops to a venomous whisper. “If I see you near my daughter again, I’ll report you to Alpha Gareth.”
They hurry away, Mary casting confused glances back at me over her shoulder. I stand there holding the small flower, my hands trembling with a mixture of humiliation and rage.
Report me? For what? For cleaning a scraped knee and fixing a doll?
I tuck the flower carefully into my shirt pocket and continue toward the bakery, my earlier warmth replaced by familiar numbness.
The bakery windows display an abundance of fresh goods—golden loaves of bread still steaming from the ovens, delicate pastries dusted with sugar, and a beautiful chocolate cake with intricate icing flowers. My mouth waters at the sight, reminding me that I haven’t eaten much today.
I reach for the door handle, but it doesn’t budge. Looking up, I see the pack baker, Holden, through the window. His arms are crossed as he shakes his head at me.
“We’re closed,” he calls through the glass, despite the obvious lie. Three other customers browse inside, and the “Open” sign hangs clearly in the window.
“Holden,” I sigh, “I just need some flour and a couple other things.”
He makes an exaggerated show of checking his pocket watch, then opens the door just enough to stick his head out. “What do you want?”
I gesture toward the display. “Could I get a slice of that chocolate cake? It looks—”
“Absolutely not.” His face twists with revulsion. “I’m not selling my fine baked goods to a filthy creature like you. Do you think decent people want to eat something you’ve touched?”
Heat flashes through me. “I have money. I can pay.”
He laughs, but there’s no humor in the sound. “Oh, you want cake? That’ll be twenty silver pieces.”
My mouth falls open. “Twenty? The sign right there says two silver per slice.”
“I can change my prices whenever I want,” he sneers. “Especially for customers I don’t want in my shop. Take it or leave it.”
Twenty silver pieces. That’s more than I make in two weeks of risking my life in the Wyvern Woods. I clench my fists, fighting the urge to say something that will only make things worse.
“Fine,” I manage through gritted teeth. “Just the flour then. Regular flour.”
He looks disappointed that I didn’t take the bait and cause a scene. “Wait here. Don’t even think about coming inside.”
The door slams shut, leaving me standing on the street like a beggar.
Through the window, I watch him serve the other customers with a warm smile and pleasant conversation.
When a well-dressed woman points to the same chocolate cake I asked for, he cuts her a generous slice and charges her the posted price.
After what feels like an eternity, Holden emerges with a burlap sack. “Five silver,” he says, not meeting my eyes.
I know that’s double the usual price, and this time I can’t let it slide. “Five silver? That’s twice what flour normally costs.”
Holden shrugs, his expression bored. “Prices have gone up. Supply issues.”
“Supply issues?” I gesture toward his shop window, where several fresh loaves are displayed. “You clearly have plenty of flour to make all that bread.”
“That’s different flour,” he says smoothly. “Premium quality. This is what I have available for...customers like you.”
The way he says “customers like you” really irks me, but I force myself to stay calm. “The market price for standard flour is two and a half silver. I’ve bought it from you dozens of times.”
His smile turns cruel. “If you don’t like my prices, you’re welcome to shop elsewhere.”
We both know there is nowhere else. His is the only bakery in the settlement, and the next closest one is a day’s travel away.
“This is ridiculous,” I say, my voice rising despite my efforts to stay composed. “You can’t just arbitrarily charge more because you don’t like someone.”
“Watch me.” He leans against the doorframe, clearly enjoying my frustration. “Five silver, or leave empty-handed. Your choice.”
I stand there for a moment, weighing my options. I could walk away on principle, but then I’d have no flour at all. I could report him to Alpha Gareth, but we both know the pack leader wouldn’t care. Or I could pay his inflated price and accept the loss.
My stomach growls. I remember that I really need this flour—and that it was supposed to last me a week.
“Fine,” I decide, counting out the coins. “But this is theft, and we both know it.”
“Theft?” Holden laughs as he snatches the coins. “This is business. Supply and demand, like I said.” He hands over the sack and says mockingly, “Pleasure doing business with you.”
The sack feels heavier than it should as I carry it home. It’s weighted with more than just flour: with humiliation and the knowledge that I’ve just been robbed in broad daylight. Luna greets me at the door with a concerned meow, as if she can sense my frustration.
“Let’s see what we got for our fortune,” I say tightly, setting the sack on the kitchen counter.
When I open it, my heart sinks. The flour is not only stale but also riddled with weevils. Tiny black insects crawl through the grayish powder, their movement making my stomach turn. Dark specks that definitely aren’t supposed to be there dot the entire contents.
“No, no, no,” I whisper, my hands shaking as I examine the ruined flour. This isn’t simply poor quality; it’s completely unusable. Holden must have gone to the very back of his storage room to find flour this old and infested.
I sink into a kitchen chair, staring at the worthless sack. Five silver pieces. Nearly all my food money for the week. Gone. I was deliberately sabotaged.
The tears come before I can stop them. Hot and frustrated and tired, I bury my face in my hands, my shoulders shaking with the effort of keeping quiet. Even here, in my own home, I’m afraid to sob too loudly.
Why? Why does the mere idea of me existing bother them so much?
It has always been this way. Just when I think it can’t get any worse, something else happens.
Even as a child, I remember being forced to venture into the forest to find food.
There were some who took pity on me and gave me scraps, but nobody dared to show me kindness openly.
I was a stain on their pack’s honor, the hideous creature that shouldn’t have survived.
Is that it? Do they want me to die of starvation or be killed out there in the woods? Who is going to do all their dirty work then, the small, filthy tasks that are always assigned to me?
Luna jumps into my lap, purring softly, and I stroke her fur with trembling fingers.
The little flower Mary gave me falls from my shirt pocket, its purple petals already beginning to wilt.
I pick it up and stare at it, my voice hollow. “At least there is some innocence in this place.”
Sighing, I push the flour aside. It’s not like this is the first time something like this has happened.
I’ll find a way to use it. Right now, I have to focus on my injury instead.
After rolling up my pant leg, I carefully peel away the bandages.
The wound looks better; the edges are closing, and the angry redness has faded to a dull pink.
But it’s healing slowly—too slowly for someone who needs to be back in those dangerous woods soon.
The healing paste I made is sitting in a small, ceramic jar on the counter.
I apply another layer, wincing as the herbs sting the still-tender flesh.
As I rewrap the wound, I try to push away thoughts of what will happen if it doesn’t heal properly.
If I can’t gather herbs next week, I won’t have any income at all.
The cottage feels too quiet, too empty. I lean back in my chair, Luna curled in my lap, and let my mind wander to my mother. Her face is fuzzy in my memory now, more a feeling than an image, but I can still hear her voice sometimes.
“Look for the light in people, little star,” she used to say, her hands warm as she brushed my hair. “There is always light, even when it’s hard to see. Be positive, always positive. The world has enough darkness.”
“There is always light,” I repeat to the empty room, my voice numb. “Be positive.”
But where was the light in that mother’s fury when I helped her injured child? Where was the light in Holden’s deliberate cruelty?
“I try, Mama,” I whisper tiredly. “I try so hard to see the good in people, to stay positive like you said. But it’s getting so hard when all I see are the monsters behind everybody’s faces.”
The silence that follows feels heavy, weighed down with all the years of small cruelties and large indifferences. I’ve spent so long trying to be what my mother wanted—positive, hopeful, kind—but I’m drowning in other people’s malice.
“I can’t do this anymore,” I say aloud, the words shocking me with their finality. “I can’t keep pretending everything is fine when it’s not. I can’t keep letting them tear off pieces of me until there’s nothing left.”
Luna’s amber eyes seem to understand, and I rub her ear.
“Andrew asked me to marry him,” I tell her, my voice steadier now. “He wants me to leave all this behind. Maybe…Maybe it’s time I stop waiting for things to get better here and make them better somewhere else.”
The thought terrifies and exhilarates me in equal measures. Leaving the pack means leaving the only life I’ve ever known, even if that life has been mostly pain. But staying means more years of this—more shadow bears and infested flour and people who would rather I didn’t exist.
I stand up, surprising Luna, who jumps down with an indignant meow. My leg protests the sudden movement, but I ignore it.
“I need to talk to Gareth,” I say, the decision crystallizing as I speak. “It’s not like he wants me here anyway. None of them do.”
The thought of facing Alpha Gareth makes my stomach churn, but I push the fear aside. He may be the pack leader, but this is within my rights. Even outcasts like me have the right to request formal separation from the pack.
I go over to my small closet and pull out my one decent dress—a simple, green thing that my mother made for herself years ago. If I’m going to ask the Alpha for my freedom, I should at least look presentable doing it.
“This is it, Luna,” I say, setting Mary’s wilted flower carefully on the windowsill. “I’m going to get us out of here.”
For the first time in days, maybe weeks, I feel something other than resigned acceptance.
I feel hope.