Disclaimer: If I owned any of this "Lord of the Rings" stuff, I wouldn't be sitting here, writing fanfiction. I own Arwith. Steal her for your own use, and I'll send small, furry animals to eat your socks.
Thanks again to Gir the Insane Flamin Ninja. I'm trying to write more often! Really!
Most of following years and memories phased into one large, flowing timeline, and it was impossible to determine whether or not the events were in order.
She took up the occupation of a wanderer, drifting off to another town whenever she had a mind to. She rarely stayed anywhere for more than a day or so unless otherwise prompted. She spent most of her days meandering down the highway, though she occasionally fell in with a specific crowd or lived through a more notable experience.
She once became a member of a band of petty thieves, from whom she learned to pickpocket. When traveling with a medicine man, she learned remedies for nearly every wound. During a very brief spell when she worked a seamstress, she learned how to repair the clothes she had rarely, if ever, replaced.
More memorable events occurred during the years. She spent a great deal of time with traveling circus, mingling with others who, like herself, were thought to be strange and abnormal, called "freaks." There were tiny people who stood barely three feet tall, yet denied being dwarves; a set of twins who were, quite literally, joined at the hip; a woman who ate with her feet because she had no arms; and a man who crawled everywhere on his belly because he had neither arms nor legs.
In addition to these "freaks," there were also magicians and performers of every stunt. One man stunned audiences when he swallowed a live mouse, smoked a few puffs from his pipe, and brought the mouse back up, alive and unharmed. He would ask a viewer a question and produce the answer, written in fire on the skin of his bare arm. He would swallow a bundle of strings and a handful of needles, then carefully draw the string from his mouth, needles neatly strung on at regular intervals.
Another man had a special event, called The Challenge, during which he would challenge anyone to bind or confine him in such a way that he could not escape. He was repeatedly bound in ropes, chains, and locks of all kinds, in all circumstances. He could escape from them all. When she became his assistant, he revealed to her the many locking picks and methods he had used to free himself and taught her how to use them.
When hosting to more selective crowds, the performers would put on plays where everyone sung rather than spoke and music was played behind a screen. She eventually learned to play a flute and joined the musicians, where she was able to view the performance and the spectators' reaction. The audience gasped when foes crossed blades and cheered when lovers were reunited. During their most tragic performance, many people could actually be seen crying where they sat. One actor became so involved that his character broke down in tears on stage while still valiantly repeating his lines and singing his verses and the poor man didn't stop after he exited the stage.
She kept herself occupied for many years by working as a mercenary. She successfully slew generals, ambassadors, rebel leaders, and even a king and his heir, all before slipping off the wall of a fortress and nearly being discovered when she fell through the roof of the bird coop below.
There were many battles in which she participated, of course; for as long as anyone could remember, there had always been someone at war with someone else. She was only captured once; her captors threatened to cut off her ears to see if they were real, prompting her immediate escape.
She once witnessed a trial when one woman accused another woman of being a witch, a common new pastime in the area. The judge, who seemed to have more common sense than those in the surrounding towns, ordered that the defendant be released and that her accuser be whipped three times and fined eighteen gold shillings.
A more memorable event occurred when a gang of hoodlums tried to make trouble for her and she bartered her way out of town on the next available ship. She wound up on a trade ship, sailing towards the southern islands. After an exceptionally long journey, they came to an island with characteristics she probably wasn't expecting. The air was hot and humid. The people had dark, brown skin and black hair. There wasn't any soil on the shore, but there was a great deal of white sand. The trees were unusual, with gigantic green leaves at the top, but few below, and large, colorful flowers dotted the plants.
Since the crew wasn't in any kind of a hurry, they decided to stay on the island. Many of the men decided to, as the captain described, "shack up with the nearest woman," and she was left mostly to her own devices. The people thought she was fascinating; they felt her ears and marveled at her salt-white skin.
The "highlight" of that particular journey came after she discovered porpoises and took up the habit of watching them bump above the water at sunrise. She walked out to a lagoon and was swimming under the sea, studying the reef, when she noticed a few dark shadows near her. She surfaced and saw that the shadows were three or four corpulent porpoises. For a moment, she just treaded, watching them play in the water. But when they began to move away, she followed. She began mimicking their style of swimming under water, rather than trying to keep her head up. She and these fat water animals would occasionally swirl around one another in the water. She learned that, much like the natives, she could see under salt water.
It was only after the porpoises suddenly disappeared that she stopped and looked around. She was very far from the shore. She was swimming back and noticed that there was another animal following her. It soon drew nearer and began darting around her, like a vulture circling a dying creature. It was similar to the porpoises, but different somehow. When she got closer to the reef, it began bumping into her. It rubbed her hand, and she felt rough, scratchy skin. Its eyes were black and as empty as her own could be. She was almost to the reef when it grabbed her by the leg with its mouth and shook her vigorously. She surfaced, spat out water, and gasped for air, dazed and confused. She was shortly dragged back under the surface by her arm. This time, it didn't let her go and continued swimming towards the seabed. She brought out the one weapon she had, a dagger, and forced it into the now white eye. It probably wasn't the wisest decision, but given her situation, it was all she had.
Wise decision or not, it released her. She swam up thirty feet before she came to the air. Light-headed, frightened, and undoubtedly grateful that she had worn her mithril shirt, she swam back to the reef and didn't stop until she had reached the beach. She lay on her back on the sand and coughed until she was almost sick. When she described to the best of her ability what had happened, the locals all said she had been attacked by what was called a shark and was lucky to be alive. For the rest of the crew's stay, she avoided the water.
But possibly the most unique experience for the great many years she was alive came after an average night of traveling through the woods and falling asleep against a tree. She opened her eyes the following morning and discovered a small boy with tangled brown hair staring intently at her with wide eyes and an expression that said, "Should I be worried?" They stared at each other for a while. Then her eye twitched. The boy turned and ran screaming in the opposite direction, "MUMMY!"
She stood up and surveyed the area. She was on a small farm, with a barn and cottage and acres of field. A man chopping wood near the farm house and watched the boy run inside. He turned to see what had caused the squealing and saw her. He caught his breath and widened his eyes, but nevertheless remained calm. She stared back at him with her token expression; she was used to people looking at her strangely.
The boy ran back outside with his mother in tow, pointing and yelling, "Her, her, the scary woman, Momma, look!" His mother squeaked upon seeing her and pressed her son against her stomach, while the children that had followed her clung to her skirts. "Aart?" the woman said. The man said, "Take everyone back inside, Ygeme. Get them fed." After they had all scurried into the house, Aart strode over and looked her squarely in the eye. Neither blinked for minute, but after a while, he leaned forward and whispered dryly, "They're all watching at the window right now." He grinned wryly and leaned back. "Have you eaten anything this morning?" She shook her head and her stomach growled. Raising one eyebrow, he asked, "Did you eat anything last night?" She shook her head once more. Leaning in again, he asked in a low tone, "Can you talk?" She shook her head a third time. Nodding understandingly, Aart said, "I wouldn't normally invite someone with whom I'm not acquainted in to breakfast, but I hate to send someone off hungry. Would you like to come in?"
She followed him into the tiny cottage where the children sat at a table, wolfing down as much food as they were throwing. Ygeme and a female adolescent stood next to the fireplace, stirring a boiling pot of something that did not in any way resemble any kind of food she had ever eaten. They immediately fell silent when they saw her. "Ygeme, is there any more food left?" Aart asked. "Our guest is hungry." Ygeme mumbled some inaudible statement and searched for a spare bowl while the younger woman looked at "their guest" as though allowing her to eat there was an act of charity.
An elderly couple came down the stairs. "Father!" Aart hugged the man and woman. "Mum! How did you sleep?" "Terrible!" the old man announced. "Couldn't sleep at all! Oh!" he exclaimed upon seeing the newcomer. "Who's this then?" "Faran found her, if you can believe that. She was hungry, so I invited her in." Ygeme came over asking her, "How's this, enough?" She looked in the bowl and nodded. "Stayin' for breakfast, is she?" the old man turned and hollered at the children, "Make room for our guest, ya little beasts! Go on, then, shoo!" The children were practically falling over themselves to leave the table, but she took her bowl, shook her head again, and walked outside.
She ate the unusually-colored gruel outside on the grass and listened to the conversations that went on inside. "Aart, really," Ygeme was saying, "Have you no consideration for your family? Bringing that strange woman into the house with your wife and children." Aart replied, "Now calm yourself, Ygeme. I think we'll be alright." "I don't like her at all." The haughty voice of a young woman could be heard. "She looks mean and dirty like she's never had a bath and she probably smells and she dresses like a man." "Shut up, ya brat!" the old man yelled. "No one gives damn whether yah like her or not!" "Xiomar!" the older woman was saying. "Don't talk like that, it's unbecoming. And Ygeme's right, you don't know anything about that person. Drifters are strange people; she could be a danger to your children." "The only thing she seems a danger to is our food." It went back and forth this way for some time.
When she came back inside, the adults were all seated at the table. She returned the bowl and turned to leave when Xiomar called to her. "Wait, now, missy! Don't go without settin' with us a mite!
"Aart tells us ya can't speak, eh?" Everyone's reactions made it clear that this was not what they thought he should have said. "That's alright, I probably couldn't hear ya anyway!" The elder woman asked, "What's your name, dear? Where are you from, and what brings you to these parts?" She shrugged noncommittally. The younger woman contemptuously asked from where she stood in the corner, "You don't know your own name?" "Lina…" Aart growled. Lina rolled her eyes and walked out the door. Aart nodded in her direction. "Odelina's my eldest daughter. I love her, but there are times when her mother and I want to drown her."
Children suddenly came rolling out of closets and cabinets and out from under the table as Faran came running into the room screaming, "She's coming! She's coming!" The noise meant that Aart had to yell, "Who's coming?" Faran's answer couldn't be heard. His father hollered, "Everyone quiet! Now who's coming?" "Aunt Vivillia!" The other children chorused, "Oh, Aunt Vivillia."
Moments later, a tall, middle-aged woman pushed open the door. She had a thin face, a hooked nose, and narrow, yellow eyes; she looked like a hawk. Standing up very straight, with her graying hair pulled back in a bun, she had a commanding presence and looked quite formidable. "Ygeme!" she announced. "Come and give me a hug." Ygeme stood and waded through the sea of youngsters to embrace her. "It's good to see you, Viv. But I thought you were coming tomorrow. What happened?" Vivillia's thin mouth grew thinner. "Augusta tried to come calling on me again, so I decided to leave early." Ygeme barely held back a small smile. "You should really put that man out of his misery." "I hope you mean I should kill him, because matrimony is certainly out of the question.
"Speaking of which," Vivillia continued, "How is your's? Are treating my sister well, Aart?" she asked. Aart answered. "Hello, Vivvie. I'm fine, thank you. I hope the day finds you well also. As for Ygeme, if she has any reason for complaints, she's kept them to herself." They exchanged a formal handshake. "The day does find me well, and don't call me Vivvie- you know I hate it." "Aunt Vivillia!" someone below shouted. "Hug me, hug me!" There was soon a mob of children waving their little arms and yelling, "Hug me first!" "No, me first! Me first!"
After everyone had been hugged at least once and shooed away, Vivillia turned her narrow eyes on their previous guest. "And who is this?" "We were just asking her that when you arrived. She was sleeping in the forest when Faran found her, and she just finished breakfast." They stood before one another and fixed each other with a stern stare, trying to sum up the other. After a while, Vivillia asked in her no-nonsense fashion, "What is your name, young woman?" There was no response. "She can't speak, Viv," Aart explained. "We already asked." Vivillia grunted in acknowledgement. She suddenly reached up and tightly pinched the tips of either of the girl's ears between her thumb and forefinger. Her eyes widened and she clenched her teeth. "What are these?" Giving each ear an upward tug, Vivillia asked. "Are they real?" It was an obvious challenge for her to keep her fists at her side, so Aart said, "They haven't come off yet, Viv; I think they're real." Vivillia raised one eyebrow and let go. "Very well, then," she said, walking off. "Where are those children of your's? There's much to be done." Aart also walked out the door saying, "Alright, back to work." The old woman, who had been watching the entire scene, leaned forward and said softly, "Scary, isn't she?" The girl simply stood there with the same expression on her face, tendering rubbing her ears.
Outside, Aart had returned to chopping wood while Lina and several of the older children helped feed the flock of chickens behind the barn. She wandered in their direction and watched for a moment when Vivillia came around the side and said, "Good! You can help too." She was given a basket and steered towards a long row of elevated boxes filled with hay. Hens sat in a few of them. "Gather up the eggs and bring them inside. Don't bother hens, and don't forget to look through the hay piles."
She found herself alone on the other side of the barn, with no one besides a few chickens for company. Looking curiously at the chickens and the basket, she tentatively looked into one the boxes. She discovered six brown eggs lying in the middle. There were four in another. She finished the boxes and was working her way through the stacks of hay when something flew near her face and landed on the ground next to her. It was a chicken larger than the others- the rooster. It stared her a moment before it jumped at her again, trying to spur her with the extra claws on his feet. It would have been too much trouble to put the basket and try to kill him. But one aggravated kick sent him flying halfway across the yard. He staggered off and didn't bother her again.
She brought the eggs into the house and set them on the counter where Ygeme was already making lunch. She had a strange beige blob and was working it with her hands. "One of my children says you kicked our rooster," she said without turning around. The girl stared at her back, waiting for something more to be said. Ygeme turned and grinned. "He's bossy, old thing. He needs a good kick now and then, or he'll think he's in charge.
"Why don't you come help me with these vegetables?" Ygeme handed her a knife and told her to chop the vegetables into coin-sized pieces. "I suppose you heard our conversation about you earlier today?" She nodded. "I'm sorry about what I said. I don't normally think such things about someone I've only recently met, but I'm a bit moody about new situations when I'm with child." They both looked down at her stomach. Sure enough, Ygeme's belly had a maternal bulge. "Aart seems to trust you, so that's good enough for me. He's always been a magnificent judge of character; he can spot trouble on legs just by looking at a man. His father's the same way.
"Xiomar's a good man, but he's also a half-deaf, old codger and Wilda's a jittery little woman. He's not supposed to talk like that, but if he doesn't get bother her by being profane, and she doesn't get to scold him about it, they're not happy."
"And your children think it's hilarious!" A young man was leaning against the doorway, grinning. He was handsome lad, with ruffled hair, a lean, muscular body, and good teeth. "Zayne is Aart's apprentice, practically part of the family. This young woman is our guest for today." Zayne strode forward, bowed slightly, took her hand, and kissed it. She gave him a confused, nearly indignant look and rubbed the back of hand on her trousers. His grin widened. "Nice to meet you." He gave Ygeme a kiss on the cheek. "Hello, there, old mum. I would love to stay and eat your food; but if I don't get moving, Aart will string me up by my toes."
After he left, Ygeme whispered, "He's a terrible flirt. Lina thinks he hung the moon." One of the older children walked by, saying, "Every time he comes by, she gives him this stupid, starry-eyed look." "Baecere," his mother said, exasperated. "It's true!" the boy insisted, pointing through the window. "Look!" "Maybe, but it's none of your business." With that, she shooed him away. Leaning back, it could be seen that Lina, previously sporting a sour expression, had paused in what she was doing and was staring at Zayne with what could only be described as a "stupid, starry-eyed look."
When it came time for lunch, the adults all sat at the table while the children were sent outside to play, though there were frequently at least two underfoot. She tried to make her escape to the lawn, but Aart grabbed her by her hood and said, "Now, there! You're our guest, and you've been helping out all day; I insist that you lunch with us." She was reluctantly seated between Wilda and Zayne, much to the disgust of Lina, who sat opposite him. When Ygeme said that one of dishes had been prepared by her eldest daughter, however, she gave Zayne another look of pathetic adoration.
The meal went rather smoothly until said dish was served and everyone told to enjoy. The girl looked at the large, oddly-shaped objects sitting on her plate and murky broth marinating it as though the last she expected to do with it was "enjoy." Still, she kept the look to herself and took a bite. The fork remained in her mouth for about four seconds before she pulled it back out, food still attached.
Glancing around tentatively, she slowly pulled a knife out of her cloaks and kept it hidden in her lap. The blade's newly shined edge allowed her to see a reflection of what was under the table. She maneuvered it until it rested to where she could see the cat on the floor next to her. Taking careful aim, she raised her foot and brought down sharply on the animal's tail. It made a loud, angry meow and ran out from under the table. Everyone's momentary pause to see what the matter was allowed her to quickly shove the offensive food back onto its serving platter. She hurried through the remainder of her meal and soon vanished out the door.
Later in the evening, after everything had been finished, most of them sat in front of the fire place while half-asleep children were put to bed. Because there was so much to do tomorrow, Zayne opted to sleep in their barn for the night, and was thus present for the rest of the evening. Lina sat near his feet, staring dreamily at him. Vivillia and Ygeme had set themselves to the chore of stitching children's clothes. Aart sat in his chair, smoking his pipe, while Xiomar and Wilda told stories to the older children about life when they were young. He was currently describing the last battle during a long-past war. "I was too young to be in the actual fighting," he nearly shouted. "But I could stand on the battlements and help the men. The bodies would have piled up three times faster hadn't the lads like me been there to replace weapons, get supplies, give them water. You know, our town Asgard had more men and boys in there than any other city. We gave, oh… How many was it now?" She had been staring at the fire and unconsciously raised two fingers. "Ah, right! Two thousand young men! And do you want to know the truly remarkable thing?" He leaned forward and said dramatically, "Not one of them died. Exhausted, yes. Injured, yes. Damn near beaten to a bloody pulp, yes! ("Xiomar!") But not one of those two thousand young men died. The king himself said it was a miracle if there ever was one." He leaned back in his chair and nodded contently while the children "ooh-ed."
Wilda asked, "Why, miss, how did you know it was two thousand men? Not many young people today know that. Did you have a grandfather in the war?" Slightly surprised, she shook her head and tapped herself on the chest. Wilda said, "Oh, but you can't have been there yourself. That was ages ago, long before you were born." She shook her head once and tapped herself again while nodding.
Zayne grinned. "I feel a story coming on." Aart blew out a puff of smoke. "I agree. Why don't you tell about yourself?" He reached around, grabbed a book, and said, "There are scores of maps in this book. Why don't you tell us where you're from?" Everyone glanced at him, then looked at her expectantly.
She hesitated, but took the book and flipped through the pages. She pointed out a long map that spread out across two pages. There were mountains to the north, but beneath was portrayed as utterly desolate, with pictures of fanged monsters and vicious fiends decorating the landscape. The name "MORDOR" was spelled out in large letters across the page.
She showed the book to Aart, pointing to the area just above where the foothills would have been. He smoked his pipe contemplatively. "Mordor, eh? That's plenty far away. Awful place, I've heard, filled with nasty characters." She nodded. He waited, then said, "Go on, then." She spent the next half hour doing what she could to relay her tale to them. Most of the children fell asleep and everyone else eventually left the room, but Aart, Xiomar, and Vivillia stayed, watching her silently tell them of the things she had experienced. As if to prove that she wasn't lying, she showed them the thin, barely visible scars that lined her face and the sword she had with her at the time. When she finally finished, she didn't wait for them to react. She stood and walked outside, settling down behind her tree for the evening.
No one said anything to her about her past life; instead, they treated her like Zayne- as though she were one of them. She grew accustomed to eating Ygeme's food and stepping over children, to Zayne's flirtatious mannerisms, Xiomar's swearing, and Wilda's fussing. She even developed the habit of suddenly running to the other room as soon as some said, "Vivillia's coming!"
The only thing she couldn't get used to was Lina's incessantly obnoxious attitude. The young woman was constantly nagging her about something or other. More often than not, she accused her of trying to "steal" Zayne, though how she could she could steal from Lina what Lina so obviously did not have was open to debate. It was during one afternoon when they were alone at the house that something finally happened about it. "And all that nonsense about sharpening your sword when he's around, I know you do it on purpose! Now he wants you teach him how to fence! But if you dare try anything on him, I don't care what you can do with that stupid thing, I swear I'll take you out behind the house and make you wish you were numb from the brain down!" She was walking in the yard with Lina following her, screeching every step of the way. She wore an expression that said, "I am extremely irritated."
She continued on her way to the water trough and filled up her bucket, then set it down and peered curiously into the bottom. Lina stopped mid-insult and demanded to know what she was staring at. She pointed to the water. Lina rolled her eyes, disgusted, and looked into the trough. She was promptly hit in the back of her knees and forced to the ground while the other girl held her hands behind her back and forced her face in the water. Lina kicked and struggled for some time, but she was held fast. She was about to pass out when the girl lifted her back out of the water and dropped her on her back. Coughing up quarts of water, Lina shrank back when the girl placed her feet on either side of her head and crouched over her. She stared at her for two seconds with a looked that said, "I don't like to be aggravated" before Lina received a sharp tap on her cheek. She walked away and left Lina lying on the ground. Lina didn't bother her anymore.
The baby came soon enough and grew faster than anyone could have imagined. She had been around a handful of infants before, but this one taught her something that she couldn't forget. The child was about eight months old and had just said "Dada" for the first time. She sat and watched with interest as the youngster repeated this new word to itself. When it fell silent, she watched still. Then she opened her mouth and strained. Nothing happened. She closed her mouth and tried harder. A small sound like groaning could be heard, but nothing else. She took another deep breath and tried once more. After a moment, a growl emitted from her throat, not unlike those she had made before. She closed her mouth again and let shoulders sag, secure in the knowledge that everyone's statements had finally been proved true: she could not speak if she tried.
She learned other things as well, bits of information that, while not very useful, were slightly more cheery. She was astonished one day to come in and see Ygeme roasting a carcass over the fire- no one she had ever met before cooked their meat.
Another day, as they sat about watching the autumn leaves blow, Aart reached into the limbs of the tree under which they were sitting and pulled down a red object, giving one to everybody. She looked at her's with complete confusion and glanced back at him as though asking, "What on Middle Earth is this?" Baecere asked, "What's wrong? Don't like it?" When she shrugged, he asked, "Haven't you ever seen an apple before?" She shook her head. Upon the child's instructions, she took a bite and discovered an entirely new item of food.
There was one event from she didn't learn anything, but it made life easier on everyone. She was sitting upstairs, listening to Lina complain to her mother. "I just don't understand," she whined. "Zayne would spend all day with that woman, flirting and talking to her and trying to learn something about a silly piece of metal, but she doesn't even smile at him. But I pay attention to him all day and he never even looks twice at me!" "That's because he likes her, dear." At this, Lina wailed and flopped her head down in her hands. "I don't mean like that. Lina, he just thinks she's interesting. And she is. She can fight the way he wants to, and probably could if his first priorities weren't to your father and to helping this household flourish."
Lina sniffed and asked, "Do you think she likes him?" "No," Ygeme answered. "As a friend, maybe, but not the way you like him." "Why doesn't he like me? Why doesn't he look at me the way boys look at girls or even the way Father looks at you?" "Like what?" "Like you're something important." Ygeme cradled Lina's head next to her chest. "Oh, Odelina, you are something important. You're beautiful and intelligent. And you can be quite kind when you want to be, I know, I've seen it." Lina gulped and asked, "How do I get Zayne to see it? I'm doing everything I can to make him like me." "Maybe not everything." "What?"
Ygeme said it as clearly as she could. "Don't act like the world is such a bothersome place all the time. People can tell when you're in a bad mood, and they'll avoid you. So just try being a happier person- it will attract others, and make you seem more attractive." Ygeme smiled. "The way a girl is to a boy."
Lina had hardly every listened to a word any of her authority figures said, but something about this must have struck true. The next day, when Zayne and Aart arrived for lunch, she came over with a jug of cool wine. "I just pulled it out the stream," she said. "It cools best there, as long as it doesn't get dragged downstream." Aart said grinning, "You're in a good mood. Did we miss something wonderful?" "Oh, no," she said, serving her father first. "Just feeling happy today." She poured some into Zayne's goblet. He thanked her, took a sip, and grinned. "Delicious." She smiled at him and went back to what she was doing. She wasn't unattractive when she smiled. This continued for days, weeks, and months. The idea obviously worked, because they were all present several years later when Lina and Zayne were married. Vivillia said that even if she herself ever gained a husband, she still couldn't have been more pleased.
The place was a fine one to be. The people were friendly, the surroundings calm, and the pace slow. But once again, she would find herself sitting on the new fence, watching the sun go down and staring longingly into the distance. She had never stayed in one spot for very long, and it wasn't her nature to linger. So one day, she packed up what few things she owned and gathered a bundle of food. Aart saw her and asked quietly, "Are you leaving us then?" She nodded and went on with her activity. "At least wait until morning," he said. "Ygeme won't want you to leave without more to eat than that." Ygeme did demand that she at least take a leg of lamb and a loaf of bread. She accepted but didn't seem to understand the cause of all the fuss.
Early the next morning, when Aart was still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, she took up her bag and started walking in the direction she had originally been headed. She didn't stop to look back, but she did pause at the edge of the woods. She had crossed most of the flatland and the sun was almost up. Aart would soon begin his work for the day. Zayne might come and assist him. People who knew her and didn't hate her or want to hurt her would be wondering where she had gone. It had been a fine place to spend the last few years, maybe to spend a lifetime. But that just wasn't her. She walked through the trees and plunged herself back into a world of uncertainty.