Chapter 4 Never Again

The only time I can remember wishing ill on anyone was when I was five years old. The two boys were seven at the time and obsessed with small animals and insects of every kind. Tiny fish and wart ridden toads, soil drenched worms and wide winged butterflies, rough skinned lizards and all manner of fanged spiders and putrid smelling beetles.

They were never cruel in their catching and releasing of them, and the entire time they had a critter in captivity they always made sure it was well fed and cared for. I think the latter part had more to do with Raff's dedication to catching fly's and other such bugs, then Fynn's pious beliefs against the ill treatment of animals.

Most days my brothers would leave me behind when setting out on their hunting adventures, depositing me in the care of one serving woman or another, telling them I would only slow them down or get myself into trouble. True, they had a point about me getting them into to trouble, but all three of us knew I never once slowed them down. I could run and climb with the best of them, much to the horror of the servants.

It was a lazy afternoon, mid summer and oh so hot. This day in particular, Raff had taken pity on me and convinced Fynn to let me tag along, since their only plans involved a cooling swim down at what our mother had affectionately named lake Du'ath, though really it was nothing more than a small waterhole.

We'd been halfway there, following the dirt track through brittle, overgrown brush when I'd heard it. It was small and low, somewhere between a growl and a whimper. The boys said I was imagining things but I knew what I'd heard, and as soon as their backs were turned I'd made a run for it, dashing towards the small cries of the creature.

"Catty! Get back here! Now!" Fynn's voice was loud, angry. "This is your fault Raff! I told you it was a stupid idea to bring her!"

"Then I'll get her," he said, his voice more exasperated than angry over being blamed for my actions.

I heard him jump over the low wall of brush behind me, and I ran faster. I only paused long enough here and there to listen, and even with those short times of stopping I managed to keep ahead of him. When I think back now, I can't help but wonder if he let me stay ahead of him on purpose.

As I drew closer, towards a hollowed trunk that lay decaying on its side, the fearful whine turned into a growl and a half starved mutt ran out at me, guarding its pathetic little hovel as if its life depended on it.

It was tiny for a dog. Its thick head reached no higher than my dirty knees, it's stout body barley longer than my arm. If it had once been loved, or an animal of some sort of domestication, there was no sign of it now. The wild eyed creature took a tiny step towards me, baring its sharp little teeth, warning me to stay away.

Raff put a hand on my shoulder, not the least bit out of breath. "He's gone rabid Catty. Come on, leave him be."

I shrugged him off, my eyes refusing to look away.

"He's half starved. We can take him home and feed him, he'll be well again in no time."

"It won't do any good, he's past saving," he said quietly.

I felt my blood boil. "What would you know? You're just a stupid boy who doesn't care about anything but gross little bugs and horrid little spiders!"

The dog growled louder, as if agreeing with me. Raff looked back at it and took my arm, his touch gentle but firm.

"What I know is that I need to get you out of here. Come on," he said, trying to drag me away.

"No!" I yelled, reefing free of him.

Fynn must have heard the commotion, because a moment later he was there, a frown creasing his glistening brow. "What's... Caitlyn, move away from it. Slowly."

I gaped at him. "It's just a dog. Half starved and scared to death. He won't harm us, look!"

I turned back to the growling animal, its ears laid low. I fell into a squat and reached out my hand. Quicker than I could blink, it ran at me, its jaws snapping. Raff grabbed hold of me and yanked backwards, saving my hand from a mutilating bite as Fynn leapt forward, landing on top of the dog, his small blade piercing its knotted fur.

"No!" It was a half scream, half cry as hot tears rolled down my cheeks. Raff bent down behind me, locking his arms around me as I made a lunge for my brother. "How could you! We could have saved him! I know it! I hate you Fynn! I hate you!"

"Get her out of here," he said, not looking at me.

Raff gave a quick nod and started back, practically carrying me as I continued to sob and scream at Fynn. The murderer stayed in view just long enough for me to watch him stand up and slide his tiny weapon across the dog's throat, stilling its twitches a moment before the brush closed over them.

The whole way back I cursed him, and it took three days before I'd look at him again, let alone speak to him.

I sighed to myself and looked out the window, down to the training yard below. My two brothers were down there, turning their horses with barely a pause before driving them towards each other. Fynn swung his sword and Raff ducked, easily missing the blunted blade.

I'd forgiven Fynn a long time ago for that day, and even now I felt bad for what I must have put him through. When I'd finally realised that the little dog's death had indeed been my fault, all for the sake of not listening, I'd sworn I'd never wish ill or curse another person in my life.

But I hadn't counted on my horrid Aunt and her constant demands on me, what felt like every second of every day. If it were indeed possible for me to truly hate someone, I'd be sorely tempted to feel that way inclined.

Even this, indulging in a moments respite whilst she'd gone to relieve herself was a rare treat. As rare as this precious glimpse of Raff, moving with such fluid grace in the fading light below. At least it would soon be over. Another two turnings of the moon and I would have my days to myself again and be free of her horrid nitpicking.

"I'm gone barely five minutes and this is how I find you? Mooning over boys in the training yard? Back to your work!"

"Yes Aunty," I said, turning from the window to resume my place beside her, every inch of my self restraint focused on keeping my thoughts from my face.

She had me stitching my family crest onto the tiniest garment you'd ever seen, a shirt that looked too small for even a newborn babe. For my future son, she'd said. I thought the exercise rather pointless myself, since any son I had would surely be seen in nothing but his father's crest and not the Raven's silhouette of his mother's line. Not unless...

"What is that ridiculous smile for?"