Author's Ramblings: After this chapter, the real story starts. Hopefully.
A message of thanks to my readers and reviewers. You keep me going when there's nothing else left.

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The other children feared her; not because of what she was, but because of what she had done. Even days after the incident that still left Webb shaken, they would stare at her with wide eyes and keep their beloved pets out of sight. Even Bevil and Amie, her two best friends, sometimes were put on edge whenever Kinthea was around, trying to hedge around certain subjects. The animosity between the Mossfeld brothers and Kinthea had only increased, and Wyl's tricks and traps grew more malicious day by day.

No one had any reason to be so afraid, however. Ever since she'd killed Tansy on that winter night, Kinthea had been docile as a lamb. There wasn't a flicker of emotion to be seen in her eyes; if anything, she constantly appeared bored. The crude knives she'd once held hadn't been touched for years. She didn't even try to fight back against Wyl and his brothers. Preferring her solitude to her friends, she would sleep for most of the days and adamantly refuse to come out of her bedroom. Kinthea slowly deprived herself of both food and sunlight, growing unresponsive and distant. Eventually, she would only answer to the friend she cared for the most.

Bevil Starling.

At first, all he could do for her was sit outside her room and try and get her to come out. He brought food for her when he learned she wouldn't eat anymore, and left it in front of her door. She came out and ate it when he left.

At one point, she let him in, but when he told her to go out, she shook her head and turned away.

The point at which the tide turned was the moment when he got her to talk.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked gently, laying a hand upon her shoulder. "Amie's worried about you, people are asking questions, and even Daeghun seems concerned. Why?"

The air seemed to stiffen with the uncomfortable silence. She swallowed hard, not turning to look at him. At last, she hesitantly replied in a cracked whisper, "...because... if someone hurts me... I will hurt them. And I don't want... don't want to do something like that again. I don't want to kill again, Bevil."

"Kinthea, it was just a cat," he said, trying to reassure her. "It's been a few weeks, too - no one remembers you did it, no one except Webb, and I bet he's forgiven you."

"I don't want to see their faces any more," she protested. "The others looked at me like I was some kind of monster, and Merring... Merring looked so disappointed when he gave me that lecture..."

Bevil sighed. Brother Merring, priest of Lathander, had always been Kinthea's idol. He could remember her, about a year ago, going off on some tangent about his deeds.

"And Wyl and Ward actually listen to him, Bevil, and he can heal everybody so quickly, even without magic... he even saved you and me and Amie from those swamp beetles, didn't he?"

To have him disappointed in her must have broken her to some degree.

"You can't hide in here forever," Bevil said. A sudden idea came into his head, and he smiled. "Look, do you want to do something good for the village?"

She shrugged. "If I could."

"You could join the militia and help protect West Harbor. That's what I'm going to do."

She straightened immediately, turning to face him. "You really think so? You think I could be a good part of the defense?"

Bevil grinned at how quickly she'd brightened. "Of course!" He picked up one of her arms, traced a vein. "We just have to put some meat on your bones, and maybe someday you'll be as strong as me."

A hint of a smile crossed her face as she pulled her arm back. "So... I guess I'll come out, then. For the good of the village."

-x-

-several years later-

At first, they were appalled at the thought of willingly putting a weapon in her hands. Aside from the reputation she hadn't managed to shake, she hardly looked capable. Kinthea looked so small and feeble next to Bevil, though perhaps it was only the elven blood. But she looked so eager, and they needed all the help with the militia they could get.

Unfortunately for her, Wyl, Ward, and Webb had also joined the West Harbor militia. At the very least, it was suspicious glances and glares.

But what Wyl just loved to do, both on the practice field and off, was taunt her relentlessly. He'd insult just about every aspect of her being, from her size to her friends to her family to her race. And he never used the same line twice. The angrier she got, the less competent she became, and at one point she shattered a practice sword trying to throw it at him. No matter what she did, the Mossfeld brothers always came out on top in every match.

In desperation, she would spar with Bevil before and after militia training, trying new tactics, trying to find something that suited her. But this only served to tire her and fuel her frustration, and she was growing absolutely sick of hearing the disapproval in Georg's voice.

But one day, she saw Wyl running up the road in the distance - he was far enough away that he couldn't possibly see her, but she knew it was him. Kinthea waited silently, watching his approach with unblinking eyes. This is it. I'll do something once he gets close enough.

When he was only inches away, she leapt out of her hiding spot and threw an arm around his neck, holding him fast. Alarmed, Wyl attempted to call for help - or at least demand to know what was going on - and she clapped her hand over his mouth, drawing her practice sword with one fluid movement.

"I suggest you don't move," she murmured coolly. "These swords may not be real, but I can still hurt you."

Bevil may have called it fighting dirty. Georg may have told her it was dishonorable. Wyl may have cursed her name a thousand times. But Kinthea had found a way to fight that put her at an advantage for once - and she wasn't about to let it go.