"Brother, what are you doing with that? You'll scare the sheep!" shouted the girl, running heavily through the muddy field until she reached the fence where the horse was tied.
She was young, with a face sprinkled with freckles and short brown hair forming a messy fringe. Her shepherdess clothes were dirty with mud and dust, and her boots had lost any trace of their original color.
The older boy was dressed like a woodcutter. He had broad shoulders, calloused hands, and a hard expression, like someone who had long ago learned to survive on little. He stroked the animal's dark mane, seemingly unaware of the gravity of what he had done.
"He was loose near our trail. So I decided to bring him here," he said simply.
"Are you crazy? Look at that horse! That's not something a peasant would have... That animal is worth more than our entire house!" The girl came closer, her eyes wide. Her tone was one of astonishment, but also fear.
"Maybe if we sell it, we can live better," replied her brother, in a low, resolute voice.
She was silent for a few seconds, observing the animal. It was a sturdy horse, with well-defined muscles, lively eyes, and a mane as shiny as black silk. Nothing about that animal was ordinary. Even its stillness seemed strange, as if it were fully aware of where it was and with whom.
The girl approached slowly, ignoring the mud that stuck to her skirt. She ran her hand over the animal's flanks and continued on to the cell. When her eyes found the symbol engraved on the leather—a sword over a circle, marked with precision and authority—she paled.
"Brother..." she murmured, taking a step back. "That belongs to the lord... It belongs to the one from the Forest Lands. You... you shouldn't have touched it! Much less brought it here!"
Before he could answer, a third voice echoed from the door of the wooden house.
"You two... what are you doing there?"
Their mother, a strong woman with a tired face and flour-covered hands, appeared holding a damp cloth. Her gaze did not linger on the horse.
It lingered on me.
She saw the bow first. Then the eyes. And finally, my armor: black steel and dark red leather, stained with mud and soot. The late afternoon light reflected off the creases in my helmet, and the wind blew my black ponytail to the side.
She knew.
"Landlord... please forgive my boy. He's just a simple fool..." Her voice trembled. She fell to her knees in the mud, her hands raised as if begging an ancient god.
The woodcutter saw me. Fear swallowed his audacity in seconds.
"I... I apologize! I beg your pardon! Please, master!" He bowed, trembling, the words stumbling out of his mouth. Sweat ran down his face.
I watched. I felt the anger burning under my skin. I spent two days following my horse's tracks. I had to sleep in trees, hide from the rain, and hunt with my bow in hand like an animal. And now... now he was there. Being treated like a bargaining chip.
My hands closed around the bow. For a moment, I considered it. One arrow. One shot. Quick.
But I hesitated.
The woman ran, threw herself in front of her son. Tears streamed down her face before she even said anything.
"Please, please don't hurt my son... he didn't know... he just... he just thought he was abandoned..."
And then, the girl. The little shepherdess.
She took a step forward. Trembling, yes. But she didn't run away. She opened her arms, placing herself between me and them. Her face was dirty, her eyes shining with fear and determination.
Her position was pathetic. Almost comical, if I had been in a good mood. Kneeling, arms open, trembling... and yet defiant, as if she thought her fragile body could stop an arrow to the chest.
"Sir, if you are going to punish someone... please do it to me. My brother is foolish, but... he needs to bring food home." Her voice was firm, but there was a hint of fear behind her words. Something buried, almost hidden.
I turned my face slowly, looking at that girl covered in dirt. Her brown overalls were stained, the wooden buttons hanging loose. Her shoes... made of hemp. Improvised. Rustic. With a little bath and new clothes, she would be beautiful — but now there was only dirt on her face, and her big eyes trying to be brave.
"Why?" I asked, irritated, dryly. I went thirsty and cold to find that damn horse. I slept on the ground, hid from nocturnal beasts. And she wanted to play the martyr?
She hesitated for a second before answering:
"My father died a few years ago... my mother takes care of us alone. I... I'm useless. I can't do what he does. My brother is strong, you know? He's tall, he can carry things, work in the fields. He can help at home. I..." her voice faltered for the first time "I accept any punishment in his place."
She took a deep breath, clenching her hands on her arms as if trying to hold herself together.
"I'm disabled. I can't keep up with others. I'll never get married. I'll never leave here. But at least I can do this for him. For them. After everything my family has done for me... it's the least I can do."
She stared at me. Those eyes... brown, but intense. They didn't waver. They didn't tremble. Not even my guards looked at me like that — always afraid, always averting their gaze. But her? Fragile, dirty, lame... she looked at me as if I were her equal.
I stood there, staring back.
Something inside me — deep down — stirred. It wasn't pity. It was recognition. Maybe a little respect.
I looked down and noticed. Her leg... the light of life there was weak. Very weak. As if the light had given up circulating.
"Hurt?" I asked.
"Huh?" She arched her eyebrows, confused, as if she were expecting something else. Maybe a cut, an order. The blade at her neck.
She was ready to die.
"Your leg. Did you fall?"
The girl took a while to answer. I saw her thin shoulders shake slightly. She took a deep breath, her chin firm, but her eyes... her eyes wavered for a moment.
"I was bitten by a fire centipede when I was little. Since then... I can't move properly."
I stood still.
Centipede.
Again.
Her words cut through my fatigue like a knife. The fire centipede... why did that damn creature always come back?
(Centipedes this, centipedes that... Centipedes everywhere. Is this fate, by any chance?) I thought, swallowing the discomfort that piled up inside my stomach like stones. I locked my jaw and tucked the dagger into my waistband. There was nothing more to say. I turned my back and walked toward the horse.