But it lingered with the smell of her.
Four
Elowen woke to shouting.
It pierced through the morning fog, rough and furious, bouncing off the stone walls outside her window. She sat up quickly, brushing her loose hair from her face, and peered out the narrow slit of glass.
Half the village had gathered near the center square. Both Elowen and her father quickly stepped outside to witness the scene.
At the center stood the owner of the goat she had found in the woods. He was red-faced with anger, pointing a crooked finger at a cluster of the poor gathered in an alley between two houses. His coat hung loose on his thin, hunched frame, and his accusatory voice cracked like a whip through the silence of the crowd.
“Thieves!” he roared. “Dirty, useless thieves! You think you can take from me without consequence?”
The group of the poor did not answer him. They never did. They looked like old leaves waiting to be crushed by aboot; their eyes stayed low and their shoulders were hunched inward. Boney hands of mothers clutched their children with malnourished, extended bellies, trying their best to shield them from the man’s cruelty.
Elowen’s chest ached for them. She knew it wasn’t them that stole the goat. She had seen it with her own eyes, felt the farmer’s brand under her own fingertips.
But the poor—who were always cold, hungry, and sick—were convenient scapegoats for any misfortune that befell the people.
It hurt Elowen’s heart in silent ways. She could have spoken up in defense of the poor, but then the Council would demand proof, or worse, they’d punish her for not telling them about the injured goat sooner.
So she said nothing.
The goat farmer raged for several minutes more. Spit flew. Fists clenched in accusatory ways. He called them thieves and expletives. He demanded justice.
The three members of the Council arrived in dark, thick, wool coats, with faces hidden by masks of ancient bone. Their voices were quiet and clipped, and their judgement was swift.
“There is no evidence of theft,” they determined. “Dismissed.”
The goat farmer sputtered with disbelief, but he did not argue. The Council’s word was law.
Elowen let out an exhale of relief. No punishment today, and for that, she was thankful. A rare occasion where blood did not spill after their judgement.
The Council believed in correction only through suffering. Only the most heinous crimes were punishable bydeath. Otherwise, they believed in retribution and justice through spilled blood and lifelong scars.
Elowen though, she believed in prevention. And that’s what made her different. But charity was considered a sin. Food, shelter, and health was something her people had to earn.
Elowen never believed in those things, and ached for a world where her compassion was cherished, not punished.
Later that day, she left her father’s cottage with her satchel slung across her shoulder, and no one questioned it. She was the healer’s daughter who braved the forest. The strange one that wandered, but they tolerated nonetheless, because she brought them valuable ingredients that benefited the town.
Elowen noticed immediately that the forest felt more tense than usual. Not necessarily unsafe, but different. The light filtered through the trees the same way that it always did, but the branches lacked birdsong.
She gathered what she needed, listening to the forest around her a bit closer. She foraged until her satchel was heavier than normal, making up for returning empty-handed the night before.
When she approached the lake, it was as quiet as ever. Reeds and wildflowers ringed the edges, billowing softly in the wind. Elowen crouched and uncorked her water skin, dipping it into the shallows to gather some freshwater.
She wiped her brow with the back of her sleeve, and the smell of her dirty garment filled her nostrils. She turned up her nose. She was alone, and in no danger of anyone seeing her immodesty, so she stood and pulled off her dirty dress. She stepped into the lake and used a rough stone to rub thedirt out of the fabric. The water around her turned a muddy brown from the filth, but her garment emerged clean. She set it on a rock to dry, and dipped her head under the water to clean her own skin and hair.
Water was carefully monitored in her village, so bathing was few and far between, alternating her water rations with her father so he could bathe as well. It was normal for her people, the dirt and the grime, but she loved the feeling of clean skin.
Once Elowen was satisfied with her bath, she emerged from the water and laid on the edge of the lake, fully naked, exposing herself to the sun as it dried her skin. It was a moment of peace.
When she was dry, she redressed and sat on a large rock. She found a long, thin stick in the dirt and stirred the algae absently, watching dragonflies skim across the surface of the water.
One landed, and a quick, silver-scaled fish darted upward and snapped it from the air.
Elowen laughed quietly at the splash, and watched the fish chase the insects as she hummed to herself. No song in particular, and no notes that made sense, but she allowed the sound to flow from her throat freely.
