Rifiuto: Non Miriena

A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.

She was shoved roughly into the tent; she stumbled, falling against a blonde who had also been taken. "Elia!" A moment passed, before she threw her arms around the blonde.

"Oh, Glinda! They took you also?" The blonde nodded.

A moment passed, before she really looked around, realizing that they were not the only ones taken in the raid; several other children and young women were stolen away, some she recognized, some she didn't. At least Mama, Shell and Nessa are not among us. She swallowed, turning back to Glinda.

"What do you think they're going to do to us?"

She shook her head. "I don't know."

The tent flap lifted and the man who had ripped her away from Papa entered; his eyes moved from white face to white face, studying them, before finally settling on her. With a grunt, he moved towards her, grabbing her arm and yanking her from Glinda.

"No! Let her go! Leave her alone!"

She resisted, but it was no use. He wrapped his arms around her waist and carried her out of the tent, setting her back on her feet and shoving her towards a fire. Her skin paled and she stopped, eyes locked on the fire. Her dark eyes moved to drink everything in; the encampment, the tents, men, women and children who stopped to stare at this strange girl in her strange clothes with her strange skin tone.

A voice in a strange language reached her ears, and she looked up, to find a man standing before her; not the one who had grabbed her, but a different one. One who was clearly of a higher rank, if his clothing and tattoos were any indication. And not far from him, stood another man dressed differently to this one, but of clearly similar status.

She was shoved onto her knees, and her braids tugged, yanking her head back, forcing her to strain to look up at the man. She whimpered, feeling something smooth and yet jagged at the same time against her throat. She knew enough to know not to resist. A conversation reached her ears as the men of the same rank talked in rapid tones, in a conversation that seemed to last hours, when in reality it was only a few minutes.

Suddenly, the knife was removed from its resting place against her throat, and she was thrown forward; her hands brushed against the hard earth as she rushed to soften her fall. A moment passed, before she slowly lifted her head, to find herself facing the other man, who reached down to help her up. He grasped her upper arm, and without a word, walked her towards a pair of waiting horses and men, dressed similarly to him. She turned back, studying the encampment, knowing that Glinda and the others were waiting in that tent; waiting for death or life or something in between. She was then lifted onto a waiting horse, finding herself sitting before a warrior dressed similar to the man. A moment passed, before she finally realized what had happened.

She'd been bought. Or traded. Or both.

But either way, she was no longer staying with the people who had captured her; she was now a prisoner of a different tribe, until her family could come to her rescue. If they were even still alive.

She didn't ask where they were going; she didn't say a word, though she did glance behind her, dark eyes going to the warrior she sat before. For a moment, he didn't look at her, and then, his eyes moved to meet hers. They were blue, as blue as the sky, and his skin was a deep ruddy brown, such a contrast to her white porcelain. His hair reminded her of fresh baked bread; golden brown and chopped short, ending at his jaw bone. She sucked in a breath, before turning back to face front, though his eyes remained in her mind.

After what seemed like hours or days of riding, eventually, they returned to what she could only assume was their encampment. Other men, women and several children came out from their tents or stopped what they were doing to greet the men returning. Instantly, stares and whispers of the strange, new arrival began. Many pointed to her skin and hair and dress and spoke to each other in hushed tones.

Once back, her companion got off the horse and helped her down, his hands lingering lightly on her waist once she was back on the ground. He then pulled away, and she forced herself to drink in the encampment they were at. It was similar to the one they had just left, yet there were subtle differences, none of which she could spot now.

Her attention was drawn back when the older man spoke. He turned, making his way to her and taking her forearm; she thought briefly to resist, but he was gentle, unlike the warrior who had stolen her away this morning. She glanced at his face, and he nodded to her, before gesturing to the man she'd been riding in front of to join them. He did, and once close enough, the older man took his hand, wrapping his around hers. He said something, and chatter soon started, excited chatter, surprised chatter, confused chatter.

She furrowed a brow, as unable to understand as the others. And then the older man gently pushed her towards the other one, the one who was clearly his son. She turned back to the older man, opening her mouth in a silent question before,

"I don't understand. Why-"

"Matrimonio. Principe."

She struggled to understand before her whirling mind latched onto the only word that sounded even remotely close to the first word he'd uttered. "Marriage?" The man nodded, realizing she understood. "But... I'm thirteen. I can't get married... I need to go back to my family... You can't keep me here. You can't make me marry ... marry..."

"Principe."

She turned to the younger man, pulling her hand away and stepping back. "P... princ... prince? You... want me to... to marry a... a prince?" The older man nodded; the younger man, his son, now that she glanced between them, stepped back, tucking his arms behind his back. "You're... your son?" She turned back to the younger man, who briefly met her gaze. As everything settled in her head, she wheeled on the older man, her anger beginning to grow. "You... you bought me. Like a slab of meat! You... you savages stole me from my family... and bought me and... and now you expect me to marry your... your son... your... prince? No! I want to go back to my family! Please!"

But the older man, the chief, she now understood, shook his head.