/=|= The Lost Raven =|=\
03
"Playing Possum Part I"
The night sky was clear, allowing the moon and stars to illuminate the forested landscape surprisingly well with their pale yet pretty light. A ways off in the village she could hear the sound of singing, laughter. A party or celebration in the local tavern or something. It sounded like fun. And music too! Oh, she could dance to this music too! But she knew better than to get carried away with her thoughts. She didn't mix well with parties. Not normal people parties, anyway. Where there was alcohol there were drunks and where there were drunks there were assholes looking to pick on her and where there's assholes looking to pick on her there's a crowd waiting to laugh at her.
Why weren't there any nice people in this world?
The raven on her head gently poked at her with its talons.
"I know," she said, reaching up and scratching under the fowl's beak, "what would I do without you guys?" After a long while Tira finally rolled over. The bird took off and joined his pals above the tree line. Tira scooped up a few handfuls of water to drink. No doubt she consumed some dirt with it too, but she didn't care. It was too dark to see, and she was too thirsty to taste it. She couldn't do anything about her hunger, but at least she could get some water. Then, with great effort, she pushed herself up enough to sit on her knees, and there she wavered, wobbled, and mentally prepared her body for the task of standing up.
I can't do it. I'm too weak. She thought, then shook the thoughts away (which made her dizzy). Nevertheless, she tried to dismiss it all with some optimism, Don't think like that, Tira! Be positive! Your friends are all cheering for you! Hear them chirping up there? I can do it! I can!
And she tried. She planted her feet on the ground, took a moment to regain her balance, then slowly straightened up halfway. Bent at the waist, her hands resting on her knees, she let the next dizzy spell pass.
See! Just gotta take it slow. We'll be okay.
Holding her breath, she slowly eased herself up the rest of the way … a third wave of dizziness hit. Oh no! She staggered, fought with everything she had to keep her balance and stay up, but she kept overcorrecting, staggering more, until finally she landed face first in the puddle again. "Yeah, that went well," she said on a defeated sigh. She pushed herself up to her hands and knees, and then looked over her shoulder back to the village. Back to the party that didn't invite her. Sounds of merriment, joy, and fun. She paused wondering what it would be like to be one of the crowd for a change, but then quickly sighed and shook the thought away.
No one wants to play with an ex-Goddess.
Why dwell on it? It wasn't ever going to happen. She was never going to be accepted, never going to fit in, so why not just go off and have her own fun without them? Besides, she had her own friends, and people always mistreated her feathered friends. Then she proceeded to crawl on all fours out of the puddle, down the forest road.
Crawling. It was sexy when she played slave and her masters wanted her to, when she was a Goddess playing possum, but now it sucked. Back then she'd exaggerate her motions, making the act more exotic, arousing, and alluring. Now that she had to crawl to get anywhere, she exercised an economy of movement. Now that she was too weak to walk.
Being mortal takes the fun out of everything.
She crawled throughout the night along this dark lonely road, flanked by trees and brush. Her eyes adjusted to the moonlight, so she could see fairly well. Occasionally her friends would swoop down for a friendly fly-by. A pleasant 'hi' and sometimes they'd perch on her back or on her head for awhile, giving her pecks of encouragement. They were good friends. Way way off she could see the light of a new town, but it never seemed to get any closer. It stayed at the end of the road, a couple specs of light, pointing at her, laughing at her, beckoning her to come, but never letting her arrive. But who cares? It's a town probably full of jerks just like the last … how many towns had she been to? Screw it. '. . . just like all the towns.'
But there's probably food. Maybe I could find something to eat before they drive me away. Maybe if I sneak in . . .
That's about when her friends chirped loudly, announcing she wasn't alone. Sure enough, she looked ahead and spotted two figures hiding behind the brush on either side of the road. Bandits, no doubt. Who else would hide behind trees at this hour of the night? Kids, maybe, but she's not that lucky. Unless they were mean kids who would kick her and sit on her back and try to ride her like a pony. Rotten little brats. Actually, wouldn't that be her luck? Harassed by snotty little brats with sticks. Despite the warning (which she appreciated), Tira pressed on without so much as a hesitation. It'd take forever to go around, or turn around, and they'd probably spot her anyway. She couldn't stand up much less run, so she might as well keep going. Maybe they'll let her pass. Maybe they'll take pity on her.
Yeah, right. Who am I kidding? Then she whispered sarcastically, "and maybe they'll bake me a cake while I'm dreaming." As she approached, the two figures emerged from their hiding place and converged on her.
"'ello, 'ello, 'ello. What do we 'ave 'ere, son?" Two grown men.
Yep, I'm screwed.
"Looks like a damsel in distress, pops!"
Her path blocked by the father and son, Tira stopped and looked up at the bandits with the most pitiful puppy dog eyes she could muster. "Please, si-sirs, I don't wa-want any trouble." Maybe if she could just paint the most pathetic picture she could … just maybe …
"Trouble? Wouldn't dream of it love!" Said the elder.
"Now tell us, why're you out 'ere all by your lonesome crawlin' like an animal? Somethin' wrong with your legs?"
Tira answered in a feeble voice, "wh-when I stand up, I-I get dizzy, and I fa-fall down." She even trembled.
"That so?" The son said, taking out an apple from one of his pockets. He polished the fruit on his shirt and took a hardy bite. "Poor thing. Must've been on the road a long while, huh?"
But Tira didn't hear a word. The moment she saw the apple, she couldn't pull her attention away. She stared at the fruit, mouth agape.
"Think she wants your apple, son. Look at 'er! Begging like a dog."
"That so? She looks 'ungry. You 'ungry?"
Tira nodded. "I haven't eaten in days." With food in sight, she even forgot to stutter.
"Tell you what." The father spoke up, "You can 'ave the rest of me son's apple, but it's going to cost you . . . say . . . three silver. That sound fair, son?"
"Very fair, pops!"
"Bu-but I don't have any money."
"Hmm. That could be a problem."
"Nonsense, son! Nonsense! Think outside the box!"
"Right as always, father! I forgot we also barter!"
"Indeed! Now, what do you have to trade?"
Tira bowed her head, "I don't have anything."
"Don't lie now. That's not true."
"But—"
"Ah, ah, ah. My dear." The father said, kneeling down in front of her, "You do indeed 'ave somethin'."
"These," said the son, kneeling beside her and tapping her armbands and tugging on her top, "the clothes on your back, missy."
"But—"
The father touched her chin and forced Tira to look up at him, "if you want us to give you something—"
And son continued, running his hand up her back and through her hair, "—it's only fair you give us something."
Then together, the father scratching her chin and the son stroking her hair, they finished in unison, "fair is fair."
Of course.
Tira sighed, looking at empty space while contemplating the deal.
"Do you want to eat or not, love?" the father asked, taking his son's apple and waving it in front of Tira's face. Close enough that she could smell its sweet aroma. She opened her mouth and leaned forward hoping to get a taste, but he pulled the fruit away.
Reluctantly, Tira agreed. Pulling her arm and wristbands free, she sat back on her legs and stripped out of her top, holding one arm across her chest to cover her now bare breasts. With her free hand she held up the items for them to collect (which the son promptly did.) But as she reached for the apple, it was pulled away yet again.
"Oh no, no, no. No! That wouldn't be a fair trade, now would it?"
"Bu-but—"
"No, it wouldn't." The son agreed. "You wouldn't want to rip us off, would you darling? You 'ave a use for the apple, but what are we going to do with these rags and this junk?"
"No offense, but they're not exactly fancy threads. Are they?"
"I mean, this 'ere 'ardly qualifies as a shirt."
"If you want the apple, you're gonna 'afta keep going, love. The boots and the breaches."
Tira looked back and forth between them, pleading quietly with her eyes. But they only stared back at her with anxious grins. The father took a bite out of the apple, and slowly chewed, savoring the taste. At their mercy and having no choice, Tira bowed her head and reluctantly, with much effort, peeled off her boots and trousers, surrendering them as well. Now left only in an undergarment, she begged, "now…?"
The two men looked at one another with a long dramatic pause. Blank expressions on their faces. Then they looked back to Tira gravely and, in unison, shook their heads, judging her offering unworthy.
"Please…"
The father took another bite out of the apple. Tira's heart sank. She wasn't surprised, but it crushed her nonetheless. She would have to surrender all of her dignity. Yet another aspect of life that was fun back when she was a Goddess now completely ruined by being a mortal. Once upon a time she had a choice of stripping. She would obey because at any moment she could kill her master, but she choose to take off her clothes. Why not? The Goddess could kill just as effectively naked as she could clothed. Her master couldn't touch her. But not anymore. Now if she disobeyed, they'd hold her down and rip her clothes off and then probably do worse things to her and there was nothing she could do about it. Now, she had no choice. Now she had to strip.
Not that it's going to matter.
And so for the first time in her life, she felt self conscious as she slid the last article of clothing down her slender legs and off her body leaving her completely naked. She did her best to keep herself covered, crossing her arms over her chest and curling up into a ball. The two men, her judges … her Gods … towered over her. She felt pathetic. Stripped of everything, humiliated, she sat in their shadows awaiting judgment. From a Goddess giving judgment to a mortal being judged.
No, worse. A beggar begging for scraps.
She didn't dare speak. They had taken her clothes and with them her pride. She had nothing left to give. Surely it was enough to get the apple.
The father bit into the fruit. The son chuckled menacingly. And both men smiled.
Writer's Note:
For this story, I imagine Tira looking like my version of her from SCIV's editor. Link to My Tira pictures located in my profile. (I would link here, but won't let me for some reason.)