Chapter 2— Once a Kokiri

Savannah rubbed her head in a desprate attempt to eliminate the headache. The bright sunlight of Gerudo Valley did not help any. The humid air she breathed only served to help coat her lungs in dust, making it harder to breathe and this add to the headache as well.

"Aim again, Savannah." Yetta said. Her voice held a strange mix of authority and gentleness, though the two should have canceled each other out and made her sound uninterested.

Obediently, Savannah pulled back her large fairy bow, fitting in an arrow. She took aim at the target with care and speed. The arrow, once notched, didn't stay in the bow for more then three seconds before it sliced through the air to pierce the target in the middle of the red center.

Hardly noticing the bull's eye, Savannah turned to face Yetta. "Enough for today, Mother. Please."

Yetta was a pretty Gerudo for her age—even though no one was quite sure what that was. She wore her people's style of white pants and a small matching top. Her hair, though, was long and loose where the other Gerudos wore theirs cropped short. Her bright hazel eyes never failed to take in every detail. Her build was strong and her calloused hands were a testimony to her work.

Yetta shielded her eyes with a hand and looked over at Savannah. The child was almost taller then she was, but not quite. She was a beautiful young woman with tanned skin and an appealing body. Her eyes were gold, almost the equivalent to the Gerudo hazel, and she wore the white garments her people favored. But the more noticeable thing about Savannah was her hair. It had been a bright brown not a year ago. When they'd brought her here, though, it had started to grow black. It wasn't a rotten, decaying black, but a silky and clean texture. Then the Gerudos had died her hair red. All three colors mixed through the chopped off mass.

"Yes, you're right. Enough for today."

Yetta turned to lead the way back into the Fortress with a brusque stride. Savannah followed much more slowly, un-strapping the quiver from her back and letting it dangle with the bow from her fingers. The shadow of the huge Fortress crept up on her and when she stepped into its full protection, she paused with momentary blindness.

The smells of food cooking wavered through the air to her nose. Her mouth watered; she was so hungry. It smelled like chicken, and some sort of pasta. Walking on before her eyes were adjusted, she ran her hand along the wall, twisting around the corners without giving a thought to it. Within a moment, she was at her chamber.

Her room was a moderately sized one as far as the rooms in the Fortress went. It had no door, but in her spare time over the past two months, she'd woven a large cloth to hang over the open doorway for privacy and tacked it up from the inside. She gently moved the bright purple fabric away and went into the room.

It was bare, but it was hers. The walls, floor and ceiling were mud, like the rest of the Fortress. Her pallet—straw with a down blanket over it—was in the far left corner, directly in front of her. Beside that on the far wall was the uncovered window. In the corner to her right was her weaving loom, where another rag rug was in progress. Against the wall that met the windowed one and the one with the door was a large chest. In that chest was all she owned, which wasn't much at that point.

With a sigh, she set the bow and quiver against the wall beneath the window, next to her long sword, metal shield, and various other weapons she used for training. She stood back up to stare blankly out the window for a moment. Gerudo Valley was a waste-land-desert. Sand was king and queen here, creating dunes and drifts. Sandstorms were vicious and frequent. Water was scarce. Food was hard to come by as well, but the more hunting-oriented of the Gerudo went outside of the Valley for game.

Speaking of game, her stomach growled. Her hunger suddenly dominate in her mind again, she went back through the halls, her eyes better, until she came to the kitchen. The noise of most of the Gerudos gathered there welcomed her as she stepped into the dim, windowless room in the belly of Gerudo Fortress. Smoke rose from the huge pot over the fire. Some were setting out plates and utensils, while others stirred the pot and tended the food on the grate and near the coals, while others still milled around socializing. Yetta stood back in the darker shadows in the far corner, whispering with Abinan, Queen Gerudo. They had their heads together, their hands halfway covering their mouths and faces and their eyes shifted about the room, looking for any who would dare listen in.

Savannah managed a spot near the beginning of the line and dipped up a delicious-looking chicken leg and several spoonfuls of the stringy pasta. She then retreated through the people, who mostly ignored her, to the stairs that led in and out of the kitchen. She sat down about halfway up, high enough that she wouldn't be noticed but low enough to hear what was said and watch everyone in the room.

She ate quickly, yet slowly to savor the tastes. Eating could be a rare thing for her, when one considered all the training and studying they put her through. It wasn't uncommon for her to go all day without food, but, hey, at least they didn't starve her. She had meat on her bones…but not very much at all. She'd noticed how much her ribs were visible that morning when she'd dressed.

Her thoughts brought her already-low spirits down further. She wallowed in her depression, eating as quickly as she was able, anticipating when she could be alone. Suddenly everything irked her; being here, wearing Gerudo clothing, watching them chat and laugh and tease together and knowing that they ignored her unless they wanted her to kill. Yes, Queen Abinan valued her undefeatable skills in battle. Yes, Yetta loved her (at least, most of the time) but she was still rather alone.

"Why do you always look so miserable?" Vivi asked. At sixteen, Vivi was one of the youngest members of the tribe, but also one of the most loved. She showed potential with a weapon in hand, wore her Gerudo clothing proudly, bore the tattoos and piercing of a Gerudo, but most of all, she had their darkly tanned skin and bright, gleaming red hair. She was the most beautiful, and most rebellious, of them all.

"Do I have any reason not to be miserable?" Savannah asked softly as Vivi came to sit next to her.

"You do the exile thing to yourself. If you'd go down there instead of up here, you wouldn't feel so alone." Vivi said, taking a large bite of chicken. "It's as simple as that."

"No, Vivi, it's not."

"You're making life a lot harder then it has to be."

"You weren't once Kokiri. You were never of a race that the Gerudos have come to despise. Do not speak to me of how hard my life is."

Vivi sighed, polishing off her pasta, and standing with her eye on the half-full serving bowl.

"We don't hate you, Anna. We want you to be our sister. The fact that you're not a true Gerudo isn't the problem; it's your self-isolation that is." With that, Vivi went away to get more food. Since she didn't get to eat much, Savannah thought about getting more, too, but despite what Vivi said, she wasn't the problem. Even if she went down there, they would still ignore her. She was Kokiri, no matter what they did to her, forever lost between two warring worlds.

Sighing, she left her bowl on the stairs. One of the others would get it. Turning, she headed silently up the stairs and headed for the Fortress stables.

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Paris shoved aside the tent's flap door with an irritated breath. He walked heavily, his irritation visible in every movement he made, as he walked toward the make-shaft stables where his horse, Heath, was kept with the war party's other animals.

Paris was dressed in plate armor from head to toe, a broad sword around his waist, a helmet under his arm. His long black hair hung loose to his shoulders with war braids pleated around his head every few inches. The black-jeweled earring he wore in his right ear swung around and hit him in the face when he jerked at a man's disturbed cry at the other end of the camp. Irritated further, his eyes darkened to black in the waning dusk and he stomped on.

One of the grooms came out and started to ask if there was something his lordship needed, but Paris waved him away before the man could say a word. He went to the middle corral where the horses were roaming and whistled. Out of the almost-darkness a chestnut stallion came trotting forward, his head held high and his long black mane flopping around about him. Paris stood on the lowest rung of the three-post fence and reached out to his animal friend, whispering to him.

"Do you want to run free tonight, Heath? Away from this camp…the war…this…stupidity?" The horse neighed in response. Paris climbed down and stripped off his armor, leaving it there next to the fence, to reveal rather plain clothing underneath: a pair of tightly-fit cloth pants and a sleeveless tunic. He then climbed over the fence with one swift motion and mounted his stallion bare-back and turned the horse around to gain some distance. Then they charged, head-long, toward the fence, gaining speed and momentum, the chilly night air blowing their hair back so that it whipped around in their faces. They dashed onward until the fence was right there, right in front of them. Then, in a show of pure strength and understanding skill, Heath and Paris jumped the fence with room to spare. They landed hard but steadily on the other side without breaking stride and galloped on, into the waiting night.

The fields they traveled through were open, allowing in the star and moonlight. The stars shone brightly in the otherwise dark countryside, and the moon was a strange shade of pale gold, so bright that he and Heath had shadows behind them.

Once they were away from the camp, and into mostly uncharted territory, Paris slowed down for the horse's sake. It wouldn't do to break his friend's leg miles from camp in the middle of a strange part of the land after dusk. He ambled along, his angry energy somewhat spent on the mad run out of the camp. Heath seemed much more content as well, so Paris calmed his nerves and began a half-meditation to relieve the bone-weary ache he felt.

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Zequistis Free Spirit, OrcishHorde and Spiritual Stone, thank you each for your reviews; they are very encouraging.