I waddled as fast and quietly as my legs would take me. Through my mental fortitude, I’d managed to hold off the feelings of fatigue that racked my body but now stepping into somewhere mildly warm my muscles began to throb and ache. The tent was dark and had a putrid, pungent smell to it. Half-eaten plates of food, a small pile of unwashed clothes, a larger pile of unwashed underwear, this place were more of a sty than a home. Despite being just a tent there were a few small chests and even a camping table with a large map strewn over it. I gripped the edge of the table and stretched to try and see what it was of. There were various markings and symbols written throughout what seemed to be a map of a snow woodland county, presumably the one we were in, with indicators of ambush points, hunting spots and a few townships. As I thought, these thugs were just that. Opportunists who probably travel around small villages causing terror, knowing full well there won’t be any real law or opposition while raiding and stealing from whoever may come their way on the road. In the back third of the tent was a large curtain separating the main room from what must be the leader’s bedroom. I walked over and braced myself, unsure of what might await me on the other side. I peeled back the curtain and stood shocked unable to process what was in front of me. 

A naked body had been chained up by their wrists to a wooden pole and left to hang. Across their skin were lesions, cuts and bruises but their long blonde hair covered their face. Their faint, laboured breathing could be heard as a barely audible wheeze. Looking over them for any other signs of torture made me realise what must have happened in the inn. My mother was a trans woman and whether it be a personal choice, budget, societal barriers or other limitations of this world it must have been her lower half that the thug noticed when groping and harassing her that led to all of this. It also made the reactions of the other denizens of the inn make sense. Despite the thugs starting it all and being in the wrong there was no accounting for the prejudice of regular folk who will turn on anyone that they deem different. The hatred and rage bubbled within me and I could feel my stomach twisting into knots. This was a despicable act but the emotion inside was far too much, just where was this coming from? 

A soft voice spoke out in confusion, breaking me out of my spiral. I looked up and met the crying eyes of my mother. The two of us welling up and the sight of the other. I walked closer despite my mother’s shaking head and opposition and tried looking around the room once more this time trying to block out my emotions and think clearly. On the side of a large animal skin covered straw bed was a side table adorned with a knife, wax candles, a riding cane and… a key! 

I frantically grabbed the key and despite the lack of dexterity in my hands managed to unlock the cuffs, causing my mother to fall to her knees. I slid my tiny cloak off and gave it to her before realising one of the blankets on the bed would probably fair better. She hugged me tightly and somewhere deep inside me I could feel a whimper. The moment couldn’t last, out of the edge of my hearing I noticed the tent door flap open.