“You aren’t a bad healer.” The comment was sudden, her master speaking almost an hour after they had returned to the road. “It is a weak magic for everyone, but you aren’t bad.”

“Thank you.” She couldn’t help smiling wide at the compliment. With his demeanor, she imagined this was high praise.

“Does this always happen when you heal?” Not turning or stopping, he pointed to his head.

“Oh, you mean the streak of white in my hair? Yes, every time.”

“Do you know why it happens?”

“No. My teachers at the Tower said it was because my magic was weak. That even the smallest use of power causes stress. But I don’t feel weak or stressed at all after healing so...” She let the words trail off, realizing she was talking too much. “So, I don’t know.”

“Mm.”

The silence returned for a few minutes.

“The bear was right. You are quite beautiful.”

“Thank you.” This was less of a compliment to her, since it had been her only selling point at the auction, and for most of her young life. There were only so many uses for beautiful girls. “I’ve been told that often. Unfortunately, beauty isn’t particularly useful.”

“No? You don’t think beauty was what saved you today?”

“Does that mean you only bought me because I was beautiful?” Her tone was surprisingly comfortable and teasing and she startled, pulling back and mumbling, “I rather think being a witch with no magic is what saved me...”

She slapped a hand over her mouth, immediately regretting her candid comment. Unexpectedly, her master let out a low snort, his shoulders rising slightly, and he just clasped his hands behind his back and kept walking.

Was that a laugh? Does this demon have a sense of humor?

“There is a small village just on the other side of this ridge,” he continued after a moment, the indifference returned to his voice. “We will stop to get you some shoes.”

She simply nodded, even though her master couldn’t see it, and scurried along with quick steps to match his pace.

At the entrance to the village, A’nallia immediately felt all eyes on her - dirty bare feet, muddy white hem, windswept hair, and branding clearly exposed for the world to see. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole somewhere. Instead, she stood motionless at the edge of the road, head down and her stomach twisting into knots, unable to force herself through the gate.

“Do you think they’ve never seen a witch before?”

Her master’s voice was close, and she saw his dusty boots step into her line of sight. Raising her head, they were face to face, much closer than she was comfortable with, with his same detached expression staring back. Eyes wide and cheeks flushed, she simply shook her head, and he turned toward the gate. This time, he waited for her to stand beside him before moving.

Together, they walked down the main street, and though people glanced as they passed, their presence did not interrupt the daily bustle. Merchants with stalls or blankets spread along the ground peddled their wares, calling out to anyone near to come take a look. There was a small tavern with outdoor tables, a single waitress rushing to take and serve orders, while patrons ate and drank and chatted loudly. Women hung laundry out second story windows and young children played games in the street. A’nallia smiled to herself, an involuntary response to the lively atmosphere. She had spent so many years closed off, she'd forgotten what common life was like.

“Beautiful.” It was a quiet comment, said under her breath, but her master heard it and turned slightly. “The villagers. This life. I just thought it was... kind of beautiful.”

“Mm.”

He led her to a table outside the tavern and directed her to sit, waving the waitress over. Ordering himself an ale and her a cup of water, he pointed inside, indicating he was going in and she was to wait there for him. She nodded her understanding and after he had walked away, she quickly reached for the basket of peanuts at the middle of the table. It hadn’t crossed her mind until now, but they had been walking for half a day. She was tired, thirsty, and hungry, and the sitting made her realize how sore her body was.

Feet dangling from her chair, her legs too short to reach the ground, she absentmindedly threw a piece of peanut shell below the table. Left alone, she had so many thoughts swirling around, but none she actually wanted to think, so she did her best to push them away. Instead, she focused on random tavern conversations. The man and his failing marriage. The woman, unexpectedly pregnant with her fourth child. The group of laborers, worried about losing their jobs at the mill. Problems that were big to them, but a welcome distraction to her.

A sharp cry pulled her from her trance, and her gaze followed the sound of loud sobs to a small child. He was seated in the street, legs splayed, with his hands around his knee. Without thinking, A’nallia jumped from her chair and rushed over. The poor boy’s knee was twisted, and the fear and pain on his face pierced her heart, but before she could reach out to heal him, a giant hand grabbed her shoulder and threw her back.

She hit the rocky street with a hard thud, scrapping both palms in her attempt to protect herself. In shock, any lingering thoughts from earlier disappeared, leaving her empty. She stared blankly as two burly men approached where she had landed, where she still sat in a confused daze, and their massive size shadowed her completely. Instinct told her to run away, but her body wouldn’t respond, frozen in place.

“What do you think you’re doing, witch?” One of the hulking men reached out with rough, callused fingers to stroke her branding, getting closer to her face. “The law allows your kind to trade and work in this village, but that doesn’t mean we have to let you touch our children.”

His companion crossed his arms and grumbled something unintelligible under his breath.

“Where’s your master?” asked the first man, breath hot on her skin. His voice was low, gravelly, and just the sound made her wince. “Or maybe I should call those Imperium soldiers over for you?” He didn’t move, still leaning in close, now with a menacing smirk on his face. She began to tremble at the mention of the Imperium.

“Hagen! What is going on here?”

The woman’s voice saved A’nallia. Hagen and his inarticulate friend backed away immediately and a middle-aged woman, wearing a simple peasant dress and dirty apron, pushed through them. She had leathery skin and her hair was starting to grey, but she commanded the men with confidence.

“Get away from that poor girl. Look at her. You could have broken her with your strength.”

A hand reached out to help A’nallia up and she hesitantly took it, still unsure of the situation. Despite her appearance, the woman was strong, hoisting her easily off the ground, and she helped brush off the white dress. Then those strong hands forcefully grabbed A'nallia's wrists, twisting her palms upward.

“Look at those scrapes! Those will need to be washed out. First though, you must have a master. Where is he, dear?”