So, I've been re-reading the series, and I find it hard to believe that Brydda and Elspeth wouldn't have met at least once, when they both lived in Rangorn. Um, I'm not all that great at geography in the best of situations, so when it comes to fictional geography, there's usually a catastrophic fail somewhere. Excuse anything that doesn't quite add up.
Oh, and I don't have any rights to anything, and all that. Everything belongs to IC, not me.
Shifting the straw basket in his hands, the boy quickened his pace, leaves crackling, and twigs snapping underfoot. The small noise they made was lost, however, to the symphony of the wind and trees; a cool spring breeze flowed through the forest, causing branches to shake, and leaves to tumble. The boy wanted to be fast. He was a fair way from home, and the thought of the freshly baked fruit pies that surely awaited him upon his return was enough to spur anyone to make haste.
Reaching a spot where a gap in the trees allowed him with a view of the sky, the boy squinted up at the sun, trying to judge the time. He had been walking long enough, he concluded, that if his course had stayed true, he'd soon reach the final marker of his journey.
Forcing his aching feet to resume their even pace, the boy stared ahead into the myriad of green and brown, foliage dappled with sunlight. Sure enough, after a short time, his searching eyes found something that did not belong in the soft colours of the forest. Taking a few last jogging steps, he reached his hand out to touch the vibrant red post his mother had set into the dirt floor. There were many markers like this, all placed with care by his parents, to ensure he would be able to find his way. The boy sighed with relief. With any luck, he'd be heading home just after midday.
Continuing on his way, confident and certain both of his direction and the nearness of his destination, the boy allowed his attention to drift, slipping into his thoughts. As he did so, a scowl appeared on his youthful features. This trip, this errand he was on was not one that he relished taking. It was strenuous not only for the body, but for the mind as well. One's concentration mustn't slip when travelling in the forest, for it is so very easy to get lost among the trees.
The boy had made the trip many times now, both with parental guidance and without, but he was still gripped with a fear of being lost and alone in the woods; a fear he did not allow to show as he kissed his mother goodbye, and cheerily promised to be back in time for supper.
Supper, the boy thought longingly. He glanced to the basket in his hand, knowing that he must wait until he reached his destination before eating the bread and cheese his mother had placed in there for him.
With a sudden jolt, the boy realised that he should have arrived in the glade by now. Even as his feet now slowed in dismay, he should be filling his straw basket with mushrooms and berries. As he came to a complete halt, desperately searching the trees surrounding him for something he recognised, he should have been soaking his weary feet in the small pool that lay in the shadows of the glade.
Taking deep calming breaths, the boy forced himself to relax. He would be fine. He wouldn't be wandering the woods until he died of starvation – no. He'd retrace his steps back to the final marker, and then set out from there for the second time.
A flicker of movement caught his eye. Head whipping around, the boy saw, to his surprise, a small girl crouched amongst the roots of one of the larger trees. Her dark hair framed a pale face, with large soulful dark eyes that gazed up at him, desolate and sad.
"Hello," ventured the boy, correctly interpreting the expression in her eyes. "Are you lost, too?"
The tiniest of nods was his only answer.
"I'm Brydda," said Brydda, offering the girl his hand politely, as his father had taught him. He waited, but the girl made no move to take it, so he allowed it to drop back to his side.
Feeling the weight of those mournful eyes pressing upon his mind, he asked: "Is there anything I can do to help? I'm lost, too, but I have food and water."
There was a small shake of the dark head.
Studying the girl thoughtfully, Brydda realised that for all the difference in their sizes – Brydda was big for his age, and the girl was tiny – she couldn't be all that much younger than he.
"Well, I can't just leave you here..." the boy mused uneasily, well aware of the ever passing time. "I'm trying to find a glade with a pool, to collect supplies for my mother," he told her, showing the girl the basket.
At the mention of the glade, the girl's eyes widened, and she rose from her crouch.
"You're going to the glade, too?" Brydda guessed, and received a livelier nod than before in return. "Well, let's find it together, then. Come on, little sad-eyes. Let's start walking."
He held out his free hand to her, unsurprised when she ignored it and instead opted to walk silently beside him. As he began retracing his steps, Brydda pulled out flask of water, offering it to the girl. She accepted it, gracing him with the barest trace of a smile. When she finished drinking, he also took a swig, and then replaced the flask in the basket.
Brydda kept his pace slow, allowing for the girl's shorter stride, and unsuccessfully tried to make conversation several times. He wanted the bleak look in her eyes to go away. Despite his occasional instances of speech, his attention no longer drifted. He did not think of the food awaiting him at home. He had a more important task and responsibility now – ensuring this small, lost girl returned to where she belonged.
A small pale hand tugged at his sleeve.
"Yes, I see it," Brydda said in reply, grinning down at the girl, who smiled back at him automatically. Her answering smile delighted Brydda, but it was gone almost as soon as it appeared. He knew it had been there all the same.
Upon reaching the red post they had both sighted, which marked the final stretch of his journey to the glade, Brydda itched to press on, but for the girl's sake, stopped. He opened his mouth to ask if she was tired, hungry or thirsty; if she needed to rest, even if she wanted him to carry her for the last leg of their walk. He almost dropped his basket when she pre-empted him.
"I'm fine," she said softly, motioning slightly for him to continue walking.
Grinning down at the lost, sad-eyed girl whose eyes weren't quite so lost and sad anymore, Brydda exclaimed happily: "And I was starting to think you couldn't talk at all!"
The girl blushed, but was silent once more.
Venturing out again from that last red post, Brydda kept his eyes straight ahead and focused, concentrating on the barely visible path through the trees, that was so easy to miss if one wasn't looking carefully enough. Once, the stumbled, and the girl caught his arm instantly, steadying him.
In a short time, they had reached the glade. Saying nothing, the girl helped him gather the mushrooms and berries he had come for. She shared his meal of bread and cheese, and when he removed his shoes and put his feet in the cool water of the pool, she did the same, seating herself beside him.
Brydda was filled with an urge to reach over and ruffle her hair. He'd never had a little sister.
After drying his feet, and pulling his shoes back on, Brydda rose, and picked up his basket. Turning to the girl, whose feet were clad again in her plain brown boots, he asked: "You know where to go from here?"
The girl nodded, and pointed to a path he hadn't noticed before, clearly marked with stones. Her eyes were sad as she gazed at him, reluctant to lose this friend she had gained.
Brydda chuckled. "Goodbye, little sad-eyes," he said, giving in to temptation and tweaking her nose. "Until next time,"
The girl scowled, her eyes lightening, and batted his hand away.
Brydda gave her one last smile, and then turned to go. He stopped at the sound of her voice.
"Thank you," she whispered, and was gone, darting along the stone-lined path and into the trees.
Brydda would not have recognised her if not for her eyes. In an unfortunate chance of circumstance, Brydda and his parents were in town as two people were burned. As the boy, a few years older now, gazed across the fire in horror, his eyes met another's. A small, dark haired girl, white skin dancing with the light of the flames, was standing with an older boy (her brother?), his arm clasped around her thin shoulder protectively.
She was different, yet her eyes remained unchanged. His chest tightened as the grief, anger and desolation in her gaze threatened to swamp him. A brief flash of recognition flew across her tightly controlled features, and she gave a tiny nod of acknowledgement, barely noticeable, in his direction.
Then his mother pulled him away. Their locked gazes broken, the girl returned her gaze to the fire, and watched her both her parents burn, their screams echoing in her ears.
Brydda was a man when he saw her next. 'Little Sad-Eyes', he called her, a tribute to that day they met in the forest, all those years ago. He knew she remembered. He also knew she remembered how they had met for a second time, eyes meeting over her parents' burning bodies. They did not speak of it, nor give any sign they had ever met before.
He saw her many times, more frequently through the years. She was a Misfit. This did not surprise him, or repulse him. He grew to admire the woman she had become, and he longed for the day when the sadness in her eyes would leave her.
That day came, and for a while, her sad eyes were not so sad anymore. And he was happy.