Sound and Fury (Danika)
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Character: Danika
Player login: its_a_fireWhen the wheel split with a crack like thunder, the wagon in front of Danika crashed in a shower of splinters, mud, and feathers. People and chickens scattered as if the injured cart was likely to thrash about in agony. The wagon train slowed to a halt. The only sound came from the confusion of chickens leaping out of the fallen wagon. Danika enjoyed the brief moment of respite from the steady rattle of the caravan. Before the canvas cover settled, the work began.
“Get something under that wagon to lift it,” one of the caravan's leaders barked. “And find my toolkit!”
“Make someone gather the chickens!” his wife said, tugging on his sleeve.
“Damn this road!” a voice cried, stirring echoes down the line.
“You there, butterface!” the leader shouted. “Stop lollygagging and fetch those chickens!”
When she realized the command was directed at her, Danika only sighed faintly. A voice inside her screamed, but no one heard a sound. At least she could find some purpose in the chore. Her teacher had told her to take this journey in order to find herself out in the world. So far she had spent her days walking beside merchants and oxen down the muddy Cold Road and her nights struggling to stay warm beside meager fires. She had already sold most of her possessions for food and blankets. Anything larger than a field mouse was scarce to come by in the noisy, smelly wake of the caravan, so even her bow had been traded for watery stew. That she might be a chicken-chaser besides could only add color to this life.
One by one the chickens were retrieved and corralled. The last was a cock, proud and slippery. It took all of Danika's stealth to even get close. When at last she made her move, she felt her fingers clasp only air. The cock strutted at a diagonal away from her and kept one eye locked on the mud splattered girl. Danika thought of how her teacher might have scolded her. She had more she could have shared, Danika thought. Only she didn't believe in me. There was no ignoring that Danika had been a slow student. Even as one of the oldest in the class, she had failed to grasp even the most basic druidic cantrips.
She crawled on her belly and made a wide circle behind the cock through the scant brush. All she needed was patience and silence. She had been shuffled off toward the rangers, if not because she showed promise with bow or sword then because she was perpetually quiet.
Distant lightning illuminated the gray scene. When the thunder shook the air, Danika saw her moment and snatched up the distracted cock. It didn't surrender without a fight, but she managed to avoid any scraps from the sharp talons. As she dropped the bird into its waiting pen, a burly man pushed past her.
“If you can't make yourself useful, get out of the way,” he growled.
When he had moved along, Danika gave the air a punch where his words still hung. Silence was a hard life, but when the anger subsided, she always recognized that words would only have made the trouble worse. These merchants, hired hands, and mercenaries didn't know her, and she would gain nothing by showing them more of her faults. They know her only as the girl from the edge of the glacier, the one with thick tangled hair, black as a raven, and cheeks like a chipmunk. The quiet girl. The mute.
She slipped off toward the smell of potatoes and onions and to barter for a meager bowlful. She ducked under a canopy just as the rains hit and settled at the edge of the gathered.
“I swear the storms have been getting worse, since the flooding,” a traveler said. “All that water, it just keeps coming back and back.”
“This is nothing,” another chimed in. “Have you heard what's fallen on Narfell?”
The small group muttered. “Poor Narfell.”
It had become the story told and retold every evening. Whatever troubles you were experiencing, someone in Narfell had faced them twice over and at the wrong end of an orc's spear. While the storm sent sheets of water crashing against the wagon train, the people around the fire spun the tale once again, but this time it sounded nothing like news of a far off place. It sounded like a much more personal tale.
Like the one of a merchant who'd had an opportunity to prosper only to be thrown out to the streets by the landlord before a single copper piece had been collected. Like a family who'd beaten a harsh winter only to find the crops rotting in the summer. Like a girl sent out on her own with no direction. It sounded like home.
That's a purpose, Danika thought. To find someone worse off than you and help them. Even I could do that.
When the caravan reached the Long Road and the edge of the Rawlinswood, Danika knew which direction she intended to go.
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lovely story locking.
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Can be locked too! Danika is level three as well.
