I own none of these characters-- Livetta belongs to a friend, used with her permission, and written as a gift. All the other characters are Obsidian's. I wanted to imagine what the Knight Captain's childhood would have been like in West Harbor, if she were anything like the green-haired bard my friend played in our old D&D games.

--

"No, they can't, Webb. It's a historical tragedy, and they're traitors," Livetta shook her head decisively.

Webb pouted, but seemed to accept this.

"So, do you remember what we practiced last time?"

"Yup. I get hanged!"

"No, not yet! Well, almost. Do you remember your lines?"

"Ummm... I remember I die. Like this!" Webb demonstrated eagerly.

Livetta sighed, and tucked a loose strand of her green hair behind her ear. At least he was better than Bevil. Unless there was a fight scene. Then Bevil was better by far. Bevil could remember his blocking, at least. Webb on the other hand... but at least Webb wasn't wooden on stage. He got the idea that he was supposed to act. He'd have to do for the role of Fenthick. Honestly, Livetta would rather have played Fenthick over Aribeth, but cross-casting Webb simply wasn't an option. Not if she didn't want to be responsible for his brothers beating him up.

"Well, well, what have we got here?" Livetta and Webb both froze at the sound of the eldest Mossfeld's voice.

"Ummm..." Webb started.

"Shut up, traitor!" barked Wyl. Ward just grinned.

"What do you want Wyl?" Livetta snapped.

"We want to know what you're doing with our brother, spinach head."

Livetta blinked at the insult. "Spinach head?"

"Shut up, dryad turd!" and suddenly it was Wyl on the defensive.

"Seriously, is 'spinach head' the best insult you can come up with?"

"I don't need some swamp-haired rat to tell me what a good insult is!"

"Is my hair the only thing you can think of to insult?"

"No! I can think of plenty of other things!"

"Really? Because I'd like to hear... that is, if you haven't lost them all in that cavernous emptiness they call your head."

Ward chuckled.

"Shut up!" Ward went quiet. "I'm not gonna listen to your little girly rot, little girl!" Wyl continued.

"Hey, I'm not a little girl!"

"Good," said Wyl, nodding, and Ward's fist slammed into her stomach. "Then we're allowed to hit you."

"Ward, stop! Wyl, please don't!" Webb piped up.

"You, shut up. I don't ever want to see you playing with spinach head again. You stay with us, got it?"

"Yes, Wyl," Webb looked down, as Ward took another shot at Livetta's midsection. She crumpled to the ground, unable to breathe.

"Don't ever talk to my brother again, leaf brain. And just so you remember..." Wyl leaned over and took an awkward swing at her face. He connected, but the angle was off, and he yelped in pain, quickly clutching his hand to his chest. "I hope... I hope you learned your lesson snot-top!" He practically fled, still cradling his knuckles, his brothers in tow.

Livetta managed to get some air at last, and nearly choked. There was a metallic taste in her mouth. After the lights behind her eyes disappeared and a few shallow breaths had gotten into her, she raised the fingers of one hand to her face. That was a lot of blood. And her nose... she gently probed it and winced. Broken. But her teeth were all there.

Well, there went the play she'd been planning for the Harvest Fair. Bevil certainly wouldn't fit the part. One thing was certain though... when she was old enough to stand a chance at winning the Harvest Brawl, she was going relish the opportunity to publicly break Wyl's nose herself. In the meantime, she had to find a way to get her nose to stop bleeding before Bevil or Amie saw and made a fuss.