Header image: https://i.imgur.com/LcCEZoQ.jpg

I had to jog to catch up to Lia. The wheels on the cart squeaked as she pushed it down the cobbled street, her steps wobbling it slightly to the right every so often.

"Wait up!" I said, handing her the cane. Lia pushed it away.

"I'm fine without it," she grumbled.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"Absolutely," she said, pushing the cart faster. I skipped to catch up. My legs were longer than Lia's, but she was determined to get to town as quickly as possible.

I glanced at her right knee. Even though her steps were still leaning to the right, her old injury didn't seem to be slowing her down.

"If you say so, Gallia the Gallant," I said, puffing out my chest and placing my hands on my waist.

Lia shot me a dirty look, and punched me on the arm.

"Zounds!" I said, pretending to look scandalized. "A warrior of such strength and honor, stooping to vulgar tactics? What would the Order think?"

"We made all that stuff up when we were kids, Lang," she scowled, but her eyes twinkled with amusement.

"That's Sir Langolier to you," I corrected her, smiling. "Bravest of his clan, and-"

"Purest of heart, I know," Lia finished. She'd slowed down the pace. The cart rolled along the road to town square, bouncing the various items inside it

"Knew you'd remember," I said. "Hey, Lia..."

"Yeah?" she replied.

"Should we really have bought all that hero's stuff?"

Lia frowned, and wiped a hand across her forehead. It came away glistening with sweat. "Of course. Why do you ask?"

"Even if we sold all of this," I said, pointing at the cart, "Most of that gold's still going back to him, right? That leaves us with a lot of inventory for the store, but not a lot of actual money."

"Don't worry about it," she said easily. "I'll head into the city tomorrow, and sell it off to a specialist. Stuff sells for way more gold there."

"I wonder why he didn't just go there himself," I said.

"He's probably out on a quest or something," Lia said. The cart was steadily slowing down, I noticed.

"In Sweetroot?" I said skeptically. "Nothing big ever happens here." We were entering the proper area of the city, where most of the buildings were clusted around.

Lia shrugged.

"Does it matter?" she huffed. Her right leg was dragging slightly along the ground.

"I guess not," I said. "Hey, do you want any help with the cart?"

"I'm fine," Lia said, suddenly irritated. There it was again, that dark look that appeared every time I offered to help. Not quite angry, not quite sad, her eyes set on a point somewhere far away.

"It's just that the healer said you shouldn't--"

"Don't patronize me," Lia interrupted. "I know what the healer said." She shoved the cart forward, pushing it to move faster, but a stray stone caught on the wheels, suddenly jerking it to the side. It stayed upright, but unprepared for the impact, Lia's right knee folded, and she crashed onto the ground.

"Whoa!" I said, reaching out a hand. "Are you okay?"

Lia glared up at me from where she lay on the road, blood welling up from a cut on her lip. Around us, people went quiet. I could feel them staring.

Lia slapped my hand aside, and took the cane from my hand. Wordlessly, she used to it to stand up, and walked ahead, leaving me alone with the cart.

She wielded the cane less as a tool, and more as a weapon against the ground, stabbing at it every time she took a step forward, as if every motion was a statement, and every jab a punctuation. Walk, stab. Walk, stab.

I hurriedly picked up the cart and followed after her, ignoring how everyone was whispering.

The one thing that never changed about my sister was how...forceful she was with everything she did. Once, she'd decided she was going to be the best archer in the world. Mom wouldn't buy her a bow, so she'd made one out of a branch and a piece of string. I helped with the arrows.

That summer, you could always find us in the forest behind our house, after the chores were done and we were done with our games. Lia practiced her archery on an old oak tree while I sat and watched.

She would raise the bow up to eye level, pull back until the string was touching her cheek, and release, just like our books had said. If the arrow managed to leave the bow, it only traveled a foot or so before it fell to the ground.

Pull and release, pull and release, over and over until her cheek was red and irritated, and her fingers started to bleed.

"This is nothing," Lia assured me whenever she took a break, I'd rinse her hands in cool water and wrap cloth around the raw flesh. "All the greats had to train too, you know?"

"But you're hurt!" I would insist.

"It's okay! Suf'ring builds...cha-rac-ter," Lia would say, face scrunched up like she was struggling to remember the words, instead of trying not to cry. "You'll see."

But she wasn't any good, and she never got better.

It worked well enough as a prop for whenever we played Rangers and Bandits, but her arrows could only go so far with the toy bow. You can't miss what you can't even reach.

She kept trying, until one day, the strained little bow finally broke while she held it up to her face.

The string lashed across her cheek, right underneath her eye, cutting a fine, straight wound that was already beginning to weep beads of red. More than a few splinters had lodged in her face and hands.

Lia howled and clutched at her face, the sound like a wounded animal's, blood and angry tears streaming from between her fingers. Her left eye was closed, and was already beginning to swell, but the right one was wide open, and filled with a murderous rage I'd never seen before.

She spat and threw what was left of the bow into the bushes, viciously kicking at the tree she'd failed to hit for six weeks, screaming bloody murder.

I'd never been so scared in my life. As soon as she'd turned away from me, I ran straight home, crying for my parents the entire way.

Late that night, as we lay in our beds--me, hiding under the covers-- her, covered by a thick layer of salves and bandages Mom had applied in a healing rage--I heard her get quietly get out of her bed, and walk towards mine.

She placed her hand on the shoulder. Even between my sheets and her gauze, I could still feel her grip.

"I'm sorry I scared you," she whispered.

I pretended I was sleeping.

"It was very irresponsible of me, an' I could have hurt you," she continued, her tone now even and rehearsed. "An' I don't want to en-dan-ger your, uh..." She paused as she tried to remember the words Mom had used.

"Potential," I mouthed, still hiding under the covers.

"Po-ten-shul," she said, eventually. It was quiet for a while longer.

"So, from now on," she said, the words catching in her throat, "I won't bring you with me anymore."

Later, I would peek out the window, and see her walk back to the oak tree, slowly dragging our father's axe behind her. The sound of her chopping at the old oak tree echoed in the forest until the sun rose.

The sun was already beginning to set when we made it to the smithy. Hovel, the burly old dwarf who ran the business, was outside hammering away at a sword, his bushy black beard tied in a knot, and his brass goggles shining with every spark the impact drew from the glowing metal.

He looked put his hammer down to wave at Lia. "Gallia, my dear! Come on in." The soot smeared across his lined face cracked as he smiled. It quickly faded when he saw me standing behind her. "Lang," he said, nodding coldly. He walked into the cabin. Lia frowned, and looked at me.

"It's fine," I said

She shrugged, and helped me carry the cart inside.