The short walk back to the tents was as straining to her nerves as the calming breeze of the wind was soothing to her face.
The scent of earth and pines, also, along with that of the western spices the men were so fond of, gently intermingled with the night air in a not at all around unpleasant manner.
Perhaps some other night, she may have hated the taste of soot in her tongue as she opened her mouth to breath it all in.
This evening however, while expelling it back out her nose, she rather found herself nostalgic for what small familiarity these little constants provided.
In her childhood, this comfort slave had known very little past ice and snow.
The foods she ate, the clothes she wore, the faces she saw…
Well, no one could have told her then that there was anything different in all the world.
That people could walk barefoot through fields of green—that flowers bloomed in every color.
—That mountains towered—that volcanoes cried.
She had known nothing of it.
Yet still, she realized, if only she could trade all this knowledge and all these sights to have just one, last, single taste of home.
One last touch of ice.
As she walked, however, the thick, heavy bangle of gold strangling her wrist bit at her skin as if to mock her—as if to remind her—that she surely never will.
And as the tallest of trees swayed, and the owl-frogs hooted, she has just as soon made up her mind that there is indeed very little to live for otherwise.
In this way, even with so many regrets, she is, nonetheless, ready to die.
The thought itself is a consolation, and a prize.
To rest eternally—to suffer no more goodbyes.
And as the wind picked up, so did her feet, until she ran and ran, laughing jubilantly despite the burn in her lungs, with all the bliss of one who truly had nothing left to lose.
But then a hand shot out from within the trees—thin, cold, fingers grabbing hold of her roughly until what was left of her laughter died in her throat.
"What are you doing?"
Heart pounding, the comfort slave almost fell to her knees, when in facing her wary captor, she is met with the one person who would never want to frighten her.
"—Shu?", she's breathless despite the relief.
The older girl frowns, bending down to help her up, though her once naturally soft and gentle voice sounds ragged and worn as she speaks.
"I asked you a question."
Worry marred her brow and her beautiful face grew pale as she soothed the angry strands of brown hair that had escaped the confines of the half top knot above the head of her friend's crown.
"What has happened?", she urged, when the other had yet to reply, "why are you running?"
"I've just returned from a walk", the younger muttered, gently pulling those hands away from her hair only to squeeze at them reassuringly, "and then, suddenly I thought a run would calm my nerves."
Shu's concerned frown deepened in response, the bottomless blue of her eyes slowly tracing the contours of her friend's person as if to make sure it really was her.
Then, as if convinced no one had stolen her face after all, she dropped her hands with a soft, pointed snort.
"What nerves?", she asked.
"I-I—Well—
"I saw you, you know", she admitted, lifting a dark brow when that friend could do nothing else but stutter, "whispering to that cook."
The little comfort slave chuckled—a pitiful attempt at making light of what they both knew was nothing less than an accusation.
Visually, however, tension seeped up her spine, rendering her almost immobile in the presence of the older woman's careful consideration.
Nonetheless, the younger of the two willed herself to ignore the alarm bells ringing in her head in favor of attempting a nonchalant shrug.
"Just a lonely, old crone", she replied, waving away any further insinuation with a casual flick of her wrist, "she was starved for conversation. You would have done the same."
The hand that had grabbed her before, once again latched above her elbow in warning.
"You know well enough that I would not", Shu hissed, unamused, "don't—
At the sudden sound of a nearby rustling, however, the older woman hesitated and her lecture halted.
She curse under her breath at their rotten luck, cautiously pressing one of her digits to her lips, before exulting what little strength she could in dragging her willing companion deeper into the dark pocket of trees that had cloaked her only moments ago.
The little comfort slave too bit her tongue so that she herself wouldn't make a sound, even as her back hit the bark of a particular scratchy trunk.
Together, as if one, the two held their breaths and waited motionlessly until what sounded like a gaggle of half drunken soldiers—bantering noisily amongst themselves—strolled past.
"—I'm telling you!", one of the men cackled boorishly while being supported by another, "I was right there by Major Wei, when Ming spoke up against the colonel!"
"What a tool…", a third snorted, not far behind, "one, small, promotion and it's already gone all the way up to his head!"
"—Suppose he's right, though", what seemed like the youngest of the group wondered, trailing after, "are we really expected to just stay put on our own here and fight those savages?"
"Don't be stupid, newbie!", the first solider scoffed, looking back at him as he nearly stumbled into a bush, it's leaves rattling loudly.
"Look around you", he said, gesturing with his fist and palm to the high heavens, "aren't we all the fire lord's loyal servants—why would he let the general forsake us for no better than a pack of starved animals?"
"But…", the newbie muttered, stopping to look about him anxiously, the heavy heel of his boot snapping a twig three feet away from the women they had yet to discover, "aren't we supposed to be the general's reinforcements…"
"You're psyching yourself out for nothing, kid— just like that idiot, Ming", the last and final man, who marched besides the one supporting the most inebriated of them, sneered as he spoke.
"General Feng, himself—", he said, "assigned his own flesh and blood to our battalion—just who do you think the general is, exactly—is he just anybody? He wouldn't dare take such a large risk even if he has to crawl his way down here on his own hands and knees."
"Out of all the units out there", the crutch cackled as he added, while still struggling to pull his aggravated friend away from the bush, "—there isn't a single one I'd rather be stuck with right now, than this one."
The youngest man, for his part, attempted to laugh it off in response—his slow, heavy footed steps once again carrying him forward.
"…yeah…yeah, I guess you're right…"
Though even the two anxious women crouching even lower against their tree, could still hear the apprehension in his voice.
The little comfort slave, in particular, tensed at the implication.
Just as the last of their boisterous voices faded into the dark, however, Shu—much relieved— drooped against her friend with a tension filled sigh of her own.
Although she soon observed, with a probing frown, at how the younger head yet to relax.
"Don't lie to me", she bit out, once they were both sure the coast was clear at last, and though her grip on the other comfort woman's arms loosened, she still refused to relent her hold.
"You're planning something. I can tell."
Still avoiding her gaze, the other girl grimaced in response.
"Don't be ridiculous", she huffed, attempting to pull away.
Shu's hold on her tightened once more.
"Whatever it is you are planning", she warned, while forcing her companion to meet her eyes at last, "you should do well in forgetting it, and at once, before you get us all killed."
"—Let go of me, Shu.", the little comfort slave snapped.
"To do what exactly?", the older woman demanded, the tips of her bony fingers digging deeper into the skin of her arm, "hm? Escape—start a revolt—martyr yourself? Which one is it now?"
Dulled blue eyes rolled up to the heavens as if annoyed, though in truth their owner only feared the older girl might somehow hear the loud pounding in her heart if she got any closer.
Ripping her arm away, she attempted to place what little space she could between them, to no avail.
"Shu…", the young woman asked instead, guilt biting at her insides even as she amped herself up to accuse her, "are—are you in the clouds?"
As expected, her friend pulled away indignantly, completely taken aback.
Insult bubbled in her voice as she took yet another step away from the little comfort slave, only to grace her with an imperious scowl.
"I haven't touched a pipe in days—have you?"
"Yes", shame colored the younger girl's cheeks, "every night, at least."
Huffing in annoyance, Shu leaned forward again, only this time her other hand quickly reached up to hold the other woman's face still so she could scan her eyes in better detail.
Finding them as clear as ever—for once—however, she released her with a small, curious hum.
"Yet your pipe must be cold too…", she observed.
Then she snorted.
"Well", her voice dipped in amusement, despite herself, "it is certainly assuring enough to see that you're at least willing to march to your death and mine all sobered up."
"I really don't know what older sister is talking about."
Shu laughed, but it was dry.
"This little sister…", she tutted, as if her three more years really eclipsed the other girl's age by a mountain, "have you forgotten? There's nothing you can hide from me."
"I'm not hiding anything!"
Another hum.
"Alright", after a pointed pause, the older of the two eventually acquiesced with a sarcastic and knowing smile, "then come and join me at my tent for the night."
Ah—
In an effort to keep herself from wincing, the little comfort slave chewed on the inside of her lip while mulling over a cacophony of excuses in her head—none of them particularly solid.
…Shu certainly had her there.
It couldn't be helped, however.
Fēifēi had stressed more than once, after all, the outmost importance of timing in regards to the outcome of success.
And if not tonight, then who was to say that another such opportunity would ever arise again?
More pressing still—who would dare squander it?
No, the younger decided then and there, she at least, would not let herself be stalled.
Failure wasn't an option.
And already, she feared, she may be late in meeting the old crone's contact, as it was.
Much as she cared for Shu—and indeed because of it—the little comfort slave could not allow even her dearest friend to impede her any further.
"You know that I can't join you", she replied at last, with a sigh.
And after careful consideration, she settled for the mildest semblance of the truth, "you know the captain is expecting me."
At the mere mention of him, however, Shu's cocky, all-knowing grin immediately melted into a tight grimace.
Tearing her eyes away, she then glared pointedly at a nearby stump.
Her left hand trembled as well, when she reached up to fix her collar, and in doing so, the little comfort slave realized with a poignant dread in her stomach, that it had been torn.
"That captain of yours is in a foul mood this evening", Shu muttered, whatever burst of energy that had overtaken her earlier, seeping away, "…why else do you think I came looking for you?"
Shaking her head, blood pounded in the younger girl's ears as she observed her—and for only just a few seconds—it felt as if everything in the world had faded.
As if—as if their surroundings had been submerged under the waves of an ocean.
All the air left her lungs as well, to the point where she thought it might choke her—as if she cared to breath at all—and as she took a step towards Shu, and then another, her own hand quivered when she reached up to pull back the ripped collar.
Seeing for herself the severe scattering of bruises that lined the span of her dear friend's sallow skin, she blanched.
Even in the darkness, the pitiful sight of those ugly blotches of bright purples and reds—so angry and so swollen—stood out starkly against the column of her neck and the span of her collarbone.
And already, the little comfort slave noticed with a grimace, they intermingled and clashed with the harsh traces of blue in the shape of a large, pale, hand she herself knew well enough.
The sight of which made her sick to her stomach.
And as it did, the sudden, biting feeling of cold ice burned into her veins something terrible.
She attempted to breath evenly through a flared nose, but only the tattered fabric slipped from her grip.
If guilt had eaten at her heart before, pure ire consumed it now.
"…I'm sorry…", she gritted, just as angry at herself—just as disgusted—when she should have known better than to leave others behind to suffer her master's bad humor for her sake.
Shu merely shook her head in response, and as she did so, her companion was devastated to find that the thin, dim rays of moonlight streaming through the trees—softly dusting against the sharpness of her cheeks—also unveiled yet another bruise under her right eye.
"—Shu…"
Pulling the little comfort slave's hand away from her injured cheekbone before she could touch it, the older woman pressed on her fingers instead with an astringent yet watery smile.
Her slight, deprecating laugh, however, was as chilled and as pointed as an icicle.
"I'm alright", she assured, and though her eyes wavered, her voice didn't, "I got off lightly."
And just like that—almost instantly—something inside her friend seemed to snap.
The little comfort slave scoffed disbelievingly.
Her ire and a barrel of regret were just as soon eclipsed—from the looks of her—by the sudden and violent surge of pure, raw, outrage.
—Of self disgust—of desperation—of contempt for such helplessness and conformity.
All that has made them both nothing more than helpless victims.
"If he had broken you into twenty pieces", she spat, "you would still say the same!"
Unable, the young woman was, to merely pinpoint at that very second, who out of three upset her more.
The undeniable and immediate swell of hurt flashing darkly in Shu's large but hardening eyes in response, however, seemed to settle that score rather quickly.
And effectively.
"…Shu I—
But the older woman shook her head, cutting away at her apology with a single, harsh swing of her long, tattered sleeve.
A fitting response, the younger acknowledged—feeling adequately chastised, just as her friend turned away from her.
For who better than she, herself, knew of the inability to retrieve words already spoken?
And even if by some miracle, somehow, the little comfort slave could hone the power to take back what she said—she still knew well enough, at least—it would do little to hide the truth in which she had mean it.
Shu too, who in their predicament knew her the longest, abided by the same code of conduct.
She who has been that little comfort slave's nearest and dearest companion for almost ten long years—and the only person to turn to when no one else cared if she lived or died.
Though rather ironic now—one would think—in how in this exact tense moment, if a look alone could kill, the anger in the older woman's glare would surely slay her friend where she stood.
Shame, and lots of it, returned to the younger—in tenfolds, at least.
Was this—she berated herself—how she repaid kindness?
Had she, within her deprived captivity, truly lost so much of what had once made her human?
Not so long ago, weren't they just two little girls—all alone and frightened—and abandoned by the fates who deemed them unworthy of a better path?
Two, small, rabid and miserably starved strangers who knew nothing better than to compete against one another for the last hot brick in winter or the first bowl of cooled broth in summer.
If it had not been for sister Shu in the first place, who with all of her maturity and good grace found the determination in refusing to see any of her comfort sisters as enemies—where then would any of them be now?
It was those three years of seniority, after all, that had inspired such protection and willingness to keep them all alive and under her wing.
And at great pains to the older girl's self detriment, no less.
The little comfort slave heaved a guilt ridden sigh at her own behavior, her defeated pools of dulled blue meeting Shu once more, beseeching, as she opened her mouth to express some semblance of that regret.
The older woman, however, just as quickly lifted her trembling hand to keep her from speaking again, before using that same arm to wipe away what traces of rage swelled in her eyes.
"At least I", she grit out through the emotion in her throat, "have pieces of myself left to break."
—Ouch.
The stab of her words, though merited, nonetheless aimed true and pierced much deeper than any sharpened blade of a knife ever could.
And the owner of the dulled blue eyes who's injury it was directed at, despite all her guilt, found herself stumbling back as if she'd been stricken.
If that sting was meant to scar, it had indeed fulfilled its purpose.
And yet, deserving of the blow or not…
The little comfort slave could not help but find it aggravating, nonetheless.
Who in their shoes had ever been spared?—Which of them hadn't been broken?
"—and I don't?", she demanded.
Though, she realizes, it is indeed the very first time she admits it out loud.
Admits it to herself, even—that she does not want to keep breaking anymore than she already has.
That she refuses to.
And just that feeling alone is almost liberating.
She couldn't possibly be the only one out of the two who ached and craved the taste of it.
Shu, however, does not at all seem half as convinced—even more so now that the tears she had so adamantly kept at bay, were staining her marred cheek.
"At least I let myself have Kasai", she countered, and perhaps she cannot hear the bitterness in her own voice, "he cares for me—he looks after me!"
The desperation in which she said it though, the need in which she forces herself to believe it at any cost, still manages to break whatever is left of her friend's rotted heart.
"—You", she sobbed, on the other hand, "would never let yourself have even less than a half of that!"
If the depth of their wounds to one another had been purely physical, surely by now, one of them would have bled out.
"Shu…", the little comfort slave muttered softly in response, suddenly feeling exhausted and depleted past her capacity—though not enough to keep herself from reaching out to her, "he rapes you."
The older girl laughed again, just as harsh and as jaded as before.
"They all rape us", she sneered in return, the ache in her words still quivering and raw even as she pushed away her touch, "some of us just choose to get something out of it."
The younger scoffed at that, dropping her hand.
"Major Rè is an officer in the Fire Nation army!", she countered, anger once more seeping into her tone.
"—He is already married to a woman who has bore him four little, fire spouting children—and when—if ever—this war is over", she added, reminding her friend, "you know, just as well as I do, that they will sell off whatever little pieces remains of you to the highest bidder!"
"He has vowed to buy my freedom!", Shu hissed, adamant, despite pulling on her own hair in frustration, "which is infinitely more than the captain—nor his father—will ever do for you!"
Another slap to the face, perhaps, though the little comfort slave wondered if her friend would ever realize that this one, in particular, would never hurt.
"Good", she replied, the animosity in her once again dwindling, "I would rather die, otherwise."
"And you certainly will—carrying on like this!", Shu wailed.
Her own anger, however, was never out of animosity, nor hatred, or even spite—hers stemmed only from anguish and unease.
"Has your hatred blinded you to everything else?", she asked, adding as a warning, "so easily letting yourself be guided by that—that witch!"
The younger of the two frowned in response, more than taken aback.
"…witch?", she questioned.
With a loud, pitiful sniff, Shu nodded.
"I have heard nothing but concerning things about that woman", she informed, now lowering her voice to a disturbed whisper, "it makes my skin crawl."
"Like what?"
More than annoyed by the dismissive and doubtful expression on her friend's face, the older woman sighed as she gathered her wits.
"Only that she is unsettling", she answered pointedly, before listing the rest with a glare, "she is older than sin one second and spritely the next. They say she is a cook, but who is her master? No one here dares eat the slop she prepares—there is something off about her I can't explain, you have to admit—something unnatural—a-and surely—surely—you've noticed that even our kind stays far away from her!"
A skeptical brow met her in turn, "you've seen of her all but for a day…"
Shu scoffed loudly at that.
"That crone claims she's from the north, same as us", she then added,"—but you tell me, then, where in our tribe have you ever seen such eyes like hers?"
"Her eye color is hardly an argument!", the little comfort slave huffed in response, now quite certainly feeling wholly unconvinced.
She then lifted her wrist to display the matching gold bangle that they were all forced to wear.
"She is a slave. Same as us."
Her friend groaned in response.
"Little sister", she beseeched, grabbing the little comfort slave by the shoulders to give her a desperate shake, "see how she has already rallied you to her cause?"
"Older sister—", the younger reasoned, brining her own hands up to gently pull away from her grip once and for all, "all I can see, is that she has done nothing other than cause you to wear yourself thin jumping to such strange assumptions—what other cause could there be?"
Observing for herself the certainty in the little comfort slaves eyes—the will and determination to see her assured that everything was all in her mind, once more made the other woman cry.
"I…I don't know…", after a moment of poignant self doubt, Shu relented at last, shaking her head and squeezing her eyelids shut as if the thought alone hurt her brain, "…but this look in your eyes…"
"I am only wary of what tomorrow holds", her friend replied, pleased to find that the other did not push her away again when she held her hand in two of hers.
Squeezing her soft fingertips in assurance, the little comfort slave gently added, "I am scared, but that is all."
"Then promise me", Shu begged, squeezing back, "—promise me, right here and now, that you won't do anything rash!"
Once more caught off her guard, the little comfort slave bit back a heavy sigh.
Shu must have known it was the last request her companion would want to hear.
Yet, there was such a frantic look in the deep blue of her eyes—and so much desperation—that, despite her better judgement, it did gave the younger woman pause.
There was little to no point, she told herself, in making promises fated to be broken.
After all, wherever it was that dead people went—as far as any of the living were concerned—their mortal obligations surely could not follow.
—But.
How was it that there was still so much faith glistening in Shu's imploring and wistful pools of blue?
So much fondness—and perhaps, even love—if only the little comfort slave knew enough of it still, to be certain.
And it truly did hurt the younger of the two to face their owner, knowing that in just a few hours, she would break her trust indefinitely.
Because for all their years of arguing and fighting—of every difference in opinions when it came to survival—Shu had, nonetheless, been nothing short of a bosom friend.
A true sister.
And she deserved nothing short of honesty, at the very least.
—Still.
The little comfort slave could not justify to herself—even more so—leaving her only companion to rot away with the likes of Kasai Rè, his oily half promises, and his honeyed lies.
In fact, it only further justified her sacrifice all the more.
—Cemented her will to at least try.
The dead cannot keep a promise, it was true— but they can chose who or what to die for.
"…Okay…", she agreed, nonetheless, very much hoping that it would help ease the older girl's nerves to some extent.
"I promise."
"…Do you really mean it?"
Taking a moment to scan the little comfort slave's face for any hint of lies, Shu's melancholic blues almost succeeded in drowning what little resolve the younger managed to maintain.
Her simple, firm nod in response, however, was just as solid as her reassuring smile.
Seemingly satisfied at last, Shu pulled her into a tight hug.
"I know how you feel and I know it's difficult but if you could just trust me and give me a little more time…", she urged, confidence once more returning to her voice, "soon enough, I'll get Kasai to promise me your freedom as well. You'll see."
To speak of it with so much conviction, was all the more devastating.
"We will both leave all of this behind, I'll make sure of it", Shu assured, "w-we'll go far away—to the ends of the world, if we have to—wherever the air hasn't been poisoned. We can start fresh. Just us two."
Closing her eyes, as if to better picture that very fantasy, the young woman simply let herself melt into the warmth of her dear sister's embrace one last time.
She did not posses the heart or the spirit to reason with her friend further and so only smiled in assent instead.
Though she believed this, in itself, was the trouble with something as fickle as hope.
This was it's allure, after all.
For it feeds into those who hunger for it, an insatiable sense of false security; and in doing so, she has long learned, it only ever served to prolong the torment of man.
Even this poor woman in her arms—who so desperately relied on the word of someone who justified hurting her for the sake of his own pleasure—could not see for herself that if he truly cared for her half as much as she claimed, he would at least behoove himself to protect her from the violence and contempt of a single boy of only seventeen.
Telling her so, however, would only serve to pain her further.
"I have to go", the little comfort slave muttered instead, slowly pulling away.
"No—no—come and stay with me in Kasai's tent tonight", Shu, unrelenting, proposed with a compelling pout, "he'll be too busy drawing up strategies with the colonel to bother us. Isn't that a treat?"
Only of the rarest and most coveted kind.
Even this most determined young woman, decided as she was, felt deeply the reluctance to squander such an offer.
"I can't."
"Oh come—", her friend's heavy coaxing was just as determined, "that little captain of yours will be drunk before the night is over, if he isn't already. By morning he may have forgotten all about tonight, much less that he never saw you."
Though immensely touched that Shu would insist on hiding her away, the younger of the two snorted in response at such logic.
"Drunk or not, when has ever forgotten?"
That, at least, succeeded in morphing Shu's pouting into a deflating scowl.
"…Well", she pondered aloud, "perhaps he might tonight, what with the news of the water—", but her words caught in her throat before she could finish her thought, her eyes widening.
Shu then smiled, strained, "anyway", she waved the whole matter away, "I doubt he will come looking for you."
"So you've heard of it too?", the little comfort slave prompted, nonetheless, despite her friend's audible sigh, her own dulled eyes tracing the older girl's face intently.
Unable, it seemed, to help herself, "—about the water tribe?"
If Major Rè had disclosed any insight—any at all—she contemplated—no matter how trivial, it might just be helpful enough—
The sudden look of panic on Shu's demeanor, however, was little to no help, "little sister—
A weak, short huff broke off the nagging that was sure to come.
"I was present when the colonel spoke of it, is all", her friend assured.
Though she assuaged the older woman's fears to the detriment of her own.
"—The captain was indeed furious."
Appeased once again, Shu eventually nodded in response.
"Which is exactly why I sought to warn you and have served him in your stead", she said.
Whatever smile had remained, was quickly withering despite the little comfort slave's attempt to meet the anxiousness of her bosom sister's gaze with what warmth she could muster.
The melancholy in her voice, however—much to her chagrin—stained the praise in her words.
"Shu, you have always been so good to me", she admitted anyway, forcefully pushing past the heavy knot in her throat, "even when I have done nothing to deserve it."
She hated how feeble it sounded.
Her friend's own smile was tender in response, despite her obvious pain.
Shu's dry lips trembled slightly as she clicked her tongue.
"You", she replied, deep blue eyes imploring, "have always been deserving."
The little comfort slave, taken aback by such an unabashed display of sincerity and love, and left speechless, bit her lip as she averted her gaze.
Shu, she feared, may never even know how these few, simple words of hers, were nothing less than a soothing and calming balm to the tatters and cracks of her stained soul.
What a most beautiful yet heartbreaking sentiment it was, the little comfort slave thought—to have lived such a short and useless, wasted life, only to be told you are still deserving.
It was enough, even, to pay her fare to the afterlife.
Time, however, cruel as ever, was steadily trickling.
The little comfort slave wished she could stay with her just a little longer, if only to make Shu understand.
But she couldn't.
She certainly shouldn't.
"I have to go now."
Unable to place why her heart felt as if it were shattering, Shu, for her part, extended her open palm out to her friend one, final time.
"You really won't come with me?"
The little comfort slave slowly shook her head.
"I can't", she admitted, then grimaced.
"You know him as well as I do. Even if he doesn't come looking for me, I must still go to him."
Defeated at last, Shu had no choice but to concede with one, final nod.
"I don't want you to leave me."
The declaration, itself, soft spoken as it was, was nonetheless just as poignant and uncertain as any other farewell.
Though both women knew it wouldn't change a thing.
"I know."
Shu attempted to deepen her smile, but the corners of her mouth just wouldn't budge.
"Then…" she muttered, anyway, "I suppose I have no other choice, do I? I can only hope that you'll still look out of yourself…and that you'll be careful…"
She made the most beautiful picture, the little comfort slave thought, to be remembered by.
"I will."
. . . .
Her own words haunt her, even now.
The weight of a promise, fated to be broken, also makes it all the more daunting to walk.
Betrayal was a difficult enough pill to swallow, on its own—but tonight, out of her own lips, it tastes of pure venom.
And the Little comfort slave thinks of little else but the image of her friend so alone—so sullen, even as she trudges away slowly and makes the journey back to her master's tent at last.
How bittersweet it all was, she realizes, to find reason enough to live, but only when faced with the prospect of death.
'Funny'—she titters to herself wordlessly—'yesterday, it would have been a salvation.'
Her thoughts consumed her almost blindly, in fact, that she must have had little recollection as to her arrival other than when her foot stepped on a parcel sitting at the mouth of the tent.
Looking down at it, her brows creased, as if suddenly remembering herself.
"Fēifēi said to leave it there for you, if you weren't back by the time I arrived", a small and timid, high pitched voice informed from the nearby bushes, when she lowered herself to pick it up.
The comfort slave looked up with a frown and found two large orbs of clear, bright blue peering down at her from the side of the tent.
A little girl of no more than eight, by the looks of her stature and the state of her pigtails, gave her a toothless grin.
"The captain is not here yet", she added, by way of greeting.
Immediately checking to make sure the content of the parcel had remained intact, the young woman hummed in response.
She then nodded once at the contact—unlikely as she was—and was already reaching for the door flaps when she felt a tiny hand pull on the sleeve of her robe.
Looking back behind her with a raise brow, she finds that the child had not only stepped closer to the glow of the torchlight, but had yet to let her go.
"I am Najak", she said, then grinned again, "what are you called?"
Repressing an unamused sigh, the comfort woman turned and nonetheless lowered herself to meet, face to face, her inquisitive eyes.
They were so alive and bright, that for a moment, they actually took her breath away.
So innocent—still untainted.
"I don't like to be called at all, if I can help it."
The little girl scrunched up her nose at her reply, very unconvinced, it seemed.
"Even so, everyone has a name", she informed, rather primly.
Despite her somber and dark mood, the comfort slave couldn't help but chuckle at her spunk.
"Yes", she replied with a nod, then made to stand, "I suppose you are right about that."
But pudgy fingers gripped at her sleeve again.
This time, she did sigh.
What was it with everyone in the world choosing today, of all days, to keep her?
Big, blue eyes, however, merely kept blinking up at her owlishly, still much unsatisfied.
"So then…", the child prompted, "why don't you like to be called?"
'Because it's none of your business!', the older girl almost spat out, though she forced herself to bite back her frustration before it got the better of her.
'Deep breaths'—she schooled herself instead, as she always did, self mockingly—'in and out.'
Then, placing the small parcel deep into one of her sleeves, she pulled the child closer to her—sending her a slight withering look as she did so—before checking their surroundings.
Well, no harm for now, she decided—the captain was nowhere near in sight as of yet.
Which did make the young woman wonder—briefly, at least—if she'd indeed have to go out of her way to hunt him herself, before the blasted night ended.
Turning back to the child, she then gave the little thing a brief once over, just to get a good look at her.
So seldom did one see children out and about, after all, and in the midst of a war campaign, of all things.
In fact—even in the North Pole, at least in the outskirts where her village sat, due to such harsh and frigid weather—very young and healthy children like her were seen as a great blessing and highly beloved by everyone.
The comfort woman tutted at that as she once again took in what meagerness this spunky little girl had to offer.
—Old habits die hard, she supposed.
Nonetheless, here the child was: small—underfed—and sporting a big, wide, smile that took up the whole span of her little face.
Still, very cute.
Though in that same vein, the older girl suddenly scowled.
This was Fēifēi"s contact—really?
Maybe the old crone was a witch.
—Or positively mental.
Quickly recovering from the scowl, the comfort slave then attempted to smile back at the child, hoping to put her at ease.
Though hers must have looked pitiful by contrast.
And yet, once, in another life, hadn't she too been this young?
—Had she ever smiled this pretty?
Najak—the child said she was called—simply kept looking up at her expectantly, as if nothing else in the world could intrigue her more than learning a new name.
Where was her mother? The comfort slave wondered. Had they been separated?
A small, dismissive scoff burst out of her.
What a stupid thought—she berated herself for having wondered at all—of course they had.
Bile almost rose up her throat at the thought of what will become of her; Ire followed soon after.
This little girl—she should be back home and in her hut sleeping and cuddling for warmth with a loved one's arms wrapped around her.
Not here, lost in the middle planes of Earth Kingdom nowhere.
How did she even maintain the will to smile at all?
"My parents gave me a name a long time ago", the young woman spoke, conceding to her at last, "but I refuse to let it be tainted here or to answer by any other."
As if the words had been nothing short of a hex, the little girl's grin slowly faded and her eyes grew solemn.
She nodded in understanding.
"My mama and papa gave me mine too", Najak countered, but then she smiled again even brighter still, as if recalling a secret, "its the last thing I have left of theirs that isn't me."
Now, leaning forward, she lowered her voice to whisper in the older girl's ear, "—and—because it's not only mine, Fēifēi said that If I never forget it, my family may still be able to find me again someday."
Her heart lurching in response, the comfort slave's smile faltered and her stomach tightened.
This little Najak, she was only just a baby.
Patting her head, she then nodded, "I think so too."
Now if only luck was on her side, she may just make it a possibility.
The child, seemingly satisfied with her answer, giggled in response.
Then perhaps motivated by the older girl's touch, she pulled down the hand caressing the top of her head just so she could press her warm cheek against the cool skin of her palm.
The unexpected forwardness of such an action, made the little comfort slave flinch.
That little bit of warmth, however—that small, simple and casual expression of affection—it soaked deep into her chest and flooded her insides.
Ah, yes—definitely untainted.
"I hope one day you can find your parents too", Najak muttered softly against the feel of her touch, "will you tell me your name then?"
Chuckling, the comfort woman brought up her other hand and placed it on the other side of the girl's cheek to smoosh what little plumpness she could.
"Sure, kid", she granted.
They shared a small grin at that.
The haunting outcry of yet another pack of wolf hounds, however, broke the spell, making them both recoil just a few seconds later.
Najak's large, wide eyes gave way to a shiver, but the older girl fluttered with anticipation.
Could it be the same pack as before, she wondered—celebrating the success of their hunt?
She surely hoped so.
It would bode a good omen.
Their animalistic howls, however, seemed to carry from even farther away.
Up by somewhere on a very tall ledge, perhaps, where the winds sang alongside them—and the clouds, pregnant and heavy with rain sure to come, were not so far up enough to obscure the round and full moon.
And they too, she recognized, echoed the likes of any other norther night.
"Najak…", the little comfort slave muttered, now turning back to face her new, unlikely, friend, "for now, why don't you head on to bed?"
Taken aback, the child pouted, "already?"
"Yes, it's getting late and creatures are on the prowl", the older girl reasoned, reaching down to pat her little head once more, "besides, I can't play with you tonight. There's something I have to do."
Big grin faltering, Najak visibly wilted, though she took a step back, nonetheless.
"Okay…", she muttered.
Her impossibly large eyes, however, warily traced up the comfort woman's sleeve as she did so—her tense, little hands rubbing against one another self soothingly.
The older of the two's brows creased at the gesture, noticing for once, the small, gold bangles around her tiny, dark, wrists.
Her own lackluster eyes widened.
A water bender.
The blood running through her own veins boiled more violently yet, just to see Najak so small and already shackled.
So little and so defenseless.
Why was she here?
Out of all the slaves in this camp—she sneered to herself—young and old alike, why out of all people, was a child involved?
Something did not bode well at all.
Had the old crone actually seen fit to disclose any part of their so-called plan to this little girl?
Surely—surely the old woman wouldn't dare put such a sweet, innocent life at risk for the sake of her own freedom.
Would she?
The little comfort slave found, to her chagrin, that she had no sure way to know.
She hardly knew Fēifēi as it was.
After tonight, she might never know her at all.
"Will this little sister do me a favor and hold on to something for me while I'm away?"
Before the older girl knew it, the request had sprouted from her lips without so much as half a thought.
At this point, however, she felt she couldn't, in good conscience, send any child blindly on their way.
The small girl, for her part, perked up a soon as she heard it.
"Me?", Najak gasped, nodding eagerly, "of course!"
Heartened by such enthusiasm, the young woman, in response, lifted the corners of her lips as far as they could go.
Sitting back, she slowly reached up at her hair to swiftly tug out the pin holding her topknot in place, and as the long strands of brown fell and fanned against the sides of her face, she then held it out for the child to take.
The hairpin itself was not much to look at—it was ordinary enough and the design simple: long, with just a lone, small, transparent jewel encrusted on a crude copper setting.
Yet the little girl hesitated before touching it, nonetheless, her eyes mesmerized at how such a jewel glittered so brightly despite its demure size.
"This is an ice crystal", the comfort slave informed her as she placed the pin on Najak's much smaller hand, ignoring how the other flinched at the weight of it, "it is the most beautiful stone in all of the poles—see how it glistens?"
Suddenly shy for words, the child could only nod in awe while ever so gently rolling the pin in between her fingers, as if to make the moonlight reflecting off the stone dance and flicker.
The older girl couldn't help but hide her amusement as she observed her.
Though she admits glisten was a rather poor descriptor, for any genuine ice crystal like this one—in fact, some poet or other had once written of how such luster and sparkle rivaled the gleam in all the starts in any sky.
And seeing it for the last time, though she was never one for such flowery sentiment, the little comfort slave found herself, for once, reluctant to disagree.
Her rare, fond smile fading as she thought through her next words carefully, she then reached out, to brush with her fingers, Najak's unruly bangs away from her blue eyes and urged her to pay her mind
"Long ago, before either of us were born", she said, "a very determined but awfully greedy man wanted to rule the north, even though there had already been a very good and fair king in place—though our people call them chieftains, do you know that?"
The little girl frowned in thought, her eyes still glued to the hairpin in her hand, though she did eventually nod in assent.
"Well…", the comfort woman told her, "this old chief that man had challenged was very mighty and too proud. He was also as loved as he was strong—and", she added, "he was determined, of course, to keep his throne."
"Mama said my papa and big brother went away to fight for the chief", little Najak, now looking up to meet her gaze, interjected with a whisper.
And within that so very bright blue of her large eyes, the older woman could still recognize the same harsh and profound wounds—now two generations deep—that were branded into every child who has had to watch their loved ones march away to a war none of them started.
"Yes", she replied, lowering her own eyes, "your brother and your papa, and mine."
Everyone's father.
—And before them, their fathers too.
"Are they fighting for the chief in your story?", the child asked, after seeming to ponder for a moment.
The little comfort slave considered her response, then nodded, "in a way."
"What happened with him and the greedy man?"
"A conflict", the older girl sighed as she said it, breaking from her reverie, "to put it lightly."
Najak's frown deepened even as she stroked the smooth side of the worn copper pin, before she hesitantly offered it back to its owner.
"Who won?", she asked.
The comfort woman shrugged, refusing to take it back, and instead she reach out to gently fold the little girl's fingers over it.
"In the north, our people pride ourselves in our loyalty", she explained, "the old chief had been a fair ruler; there was no famine, no unrest, and the nation had grown fruitful under his reign—there was no reason for his subjects to forsake him in the name of a mere usurper with little to no claim to a throne that would never belong to him. The greedy man never stood a chance."
"Then he lost?"
"So we thought", the young woman clicked her tongue, before adding, "at the time, there was little he could do with what small revolts he rallied. The loyalist remained loyal, and the people had no love for him. And so, when he was captured at last, he was also severely punished for his disloyalty—can you begin to imagine how?"
Seemingly engrossed, this time little Najak shook her head.
"He was stripped of his titles, his family, and his lands, and he was let free to take all those who wished to follow him, warriors and all—of which many did—and they were all banished away to a wasteland we now call the South Pole, never, ever, to return."
"—You mean men were still willing to follow him even after he failed?", the child questioned
Unable, it seemed, to suppress her bafflement.
"Oh, yes", the comfort woman replied with a small snort, "there will always be those who elect to carve out their own paths, even to their detriment and that of others."
"But…", Najak's brows marred even deeper, " …then what became of those people and of the greedy man?"
The older girl took a moment to chew the inside of her lip as she pondered her response, then noticing the miserable frown facing her, she reached out with her thumb to iron out the crease above the bridge of the little girl's nose.
"He was dissatisfied with his defeat, of course—they all were. But every single one of them had no other choice but to set out and start anew."
"And they survived?"
One short nod, then another sigh, "somehow", the comfort woman replied.
That was not at all a satisfying answer, and as expected, her small, unlikely companion made sure to express so with a frown even graver than her last.
"Older sister—if we have our land and they have theirs…", she wondered out loud, perhaps hoping to make sense of it at all, "then why is there a war?"
Why, indeed.
If only the rest of the world could forever see through the eyes of a child.
If only everyone could remain blissfully oblivious and pure hearted.
All it took was two measly people refusing to meet eye to eye—or even one overzealous nation to step a single toe out of line—and yet, it was everyone else who was condemned to suffer for it.
"That terrible and greedy man", the little comfort slave eventually replied with a grimace of her own, "before he left, he vowed to make the old chief pay…"
And though her voice softened, her features did not, "no one could have expected the likes of him to have the last laugh."
This time, Najak's eyebrows lifted high past her fringe and her frown was pitiful, "he did?"
The older girl, seeing it, couldn't help but grin at such an avid display of concern.
Still, feeling sorry for her and to lighten the mood, she pinched her little nose.
"Our norther walls are tall and mighty and our warriors fierce. There was very little to fear that man's promise, for many years, even", she assured, "—and our two tribes would not come in contact with one another for a long time."
Her grin faded shortly after, however, when she remembered herself.
Much like this little girl, she too had once been fascinated by this story the very first time it had been retold in her presence—and in fact, rather than frightening, she had though it romantic, in part.
Somehow, back then, the greedy man did not seem so greedy and the old king so good.
But that had been too many years ago.
In another lifetime.
Way before, at least, any real threat of the wars had ever become her reality.
"Yet there is always something men tend to forget, whether they are big like kings or as small as slaves", she told the little girl, her dulled eyes growing cold, "and perhaps someday maybe they will see it at last—that there is far more to life, Najak, than battles and victory, and glory."
She liked to think that the old chief might have come to realize it all those years ago, when he learned for himself how those whom you love and cherish above everyone and everything else …they too become dust in the wake of power.
"Just when he thought he had won and his enemy was long gone, little did the old chief know until it was much too late that he had been bested where he had least expected."
She turned to look back at the child, before asking with a cold smile, "—and do you know how it was that the greedy man had taken his revenge?"
Najak's already large eyes grew even wider still and her throat shifted visibly as she swallowed.
Too intrigued to speak, she shook her head one final time.
"He had stolen away the chief's favorite and most beloved daughter."
At Najak's sudden and disbelieving gasp, the older girl chuckled.
Reaching over to take the hairpin—now forgotten—from her hand, she gestured at the little girl to turn around so that she could tie her braided pigtails into a knot before placing it on her hair.
And as the comfort slave adjusted the pin, making sure it stayed put, the child could not help but reach up again and trace her fingers over the metal with a soft smile.
"The princess was kind and wise, and so beautiful that her father had loved her beyond all the ice crystals in the world. More, in fact, than all the silver buried in the sea…"
Once she was fully satisfied with her handy work, the older of the two turned Najak around to meet her eyes again.
Those two large orbs of blue, however, in all their vulnerability and trust, seared her.
"But that other man", she added, willing to end the tale, "—eventually he too became a king, and because he had no ice crystals of his own and only the woman, for the rest of his life, his greed was was never satisfied."
It was not a gratifying conclusion by any means, the comfort slave knew—and could see it on the child's disappointed face—but in truth, the ending had yet to be written.
And nobody was terribly sure about how exactly it would pan out, anyway.
As if jostled out of a fantastical dream, the child, blinking, looked about herself in bewilderment and frowned.
The older woman, sympathizing, gave her a small, helpless smile.
It wasn't meant to be a happy story.
"This is why our tribes are split into two, the north and the south", she explained, reaching up to tap the pin one last time, for good measure, "those with crystals and those without…"
Then pulling herself to her feet at last, she peered down at the little girl before her one final time and gripped her by the shoulders.
She willed her to listen to this, if nothing else.
"Should ever you come across a water tribe warrior, Najak—whether he frightens you or not—you show them that hairpin and I promise neither side will harm you. Do you understand?"
The little girl, frightened for once, tensed as the comfort slave bared down at her with a fierce look in her broken eyes.
"Older sister", she murmured, concerned, "are there water tribe warriors here?"
Shaking her head, the comfort slave tightened her grip, "tell me that you understand, Najak."
Her own large eyes glistening as they traced over every inch of her face, the child finally nods.
"Najak understands."
Satisfied, the young woman nodded in return, though her gaze too lingered on the little one for just one moment longer.
Willing herself, perhaps, to commit every bit of those large eyes into the memory of what little remained of her life.
"Good", she tells her, then gives her a small push, "there's an older sister resting in one of the tents—her name is Shu. If you find her now, you will sleep safe and warm for the night."
"But—
"Go!"
Her tone, firm and resolute, left no room for further quarrel.
The little comfort slave, however, did not wait to watch the spooked child run, and instead with one last, heaving breath, she reached into her sleeve and turned to face the tent.
As expected, it was as uninviting as it was large.
Even the captain's family crest, proudly displayed on a flailing flag atop it, waved down as if to mock her.
And what little warmth of the surrounding torchlight glowed about it, should have soothed the biting breeze of the night air against her cheek…
Yet, as she steps in, all she can feel is numbness.
True to Najak's word, however, the captain is not inside.
There is only a simple writing desk to the left, a large chest, and the mats that make up his bed.
A large, bronze, three legged ding, she noticed, had also been placed amongst his things.
The little comfort slave's dark brows creased in wonder at the sight of it.
Now that was new.
The sheer exquisite look of such a peculiar, yet, handsome cauldron, alone, contrasted starkly against the overall meagerness of the room.
And although there was indeed nothing shrewd about the little captain, or his ego, she had, at least, not known him to be frivolous.
Why ever would he have bothered to have such a heavy and cumbersome thing brought over, she wondered, when even his quarters at the base had been nothing short of spartan?
Much too curious, despite herself, the young woman made her way to it first.
She was not entirely familiar with the practice—in truth—though she had heard of how certain warriors, both in the western and middle kingdoms in particular, had been known to travel with such a vessel.
—Something to do with luck or rather…superstition.
A tut, escaped her lips.
Had the boy thought to make an offering of sorts?
Kneeling before it, almost as if in awe, the little comfort slave bent over to trace the smooth yet intricate carvings on the surface of it's rounded face only to discover that the metal was indeed warm to the touch.
Hm
She grimaced.
Strange.
Had it been used, already?
—Was it a sacrifice?
It was such an outdated custom even now, and yet, the little comfort slave knew better than to put such a cruel and heartless act past the likes of him.
Well—so far, at least, there were no signs of gore.
Taking a look inside, however, she froze.
Shock overcame her first, then the almost deafening sound of her heartbeat pounded violently against her ears.
Her mouth, too, ran dry.
For there, at the very bottom, rested a weapon.
It was a dagger, she noted, and ignoring the uncomfortable heat of the cauldron, she reached down to take quick hold of it.
The handle, though, was cold to the touch.
—Cold enough to be ice.
The weight of it was heavy, the look somewhat foreign, and the polished blade was unmarred.
Turning it it over curiously, she finds an inscription of characters she cannot quite read.
Now her heart truly feels as if it could burst out of her throat at any moment.
Her mind racing, the little comfort slave's grip tightened over the pearled handle, even as her hand trembled and her feet stumbled all the way to the mats.
Here, dropping to her knees, she can think of little else but to drown the dagger under all the furs.
What could this mean? She prayed.
Did it even matter?
'No', she answered for herself, 'it doesn't.'
If her young master had hoped to seek favor from his gods, as far as she was concerned, hers had now seen to it that shed be the granted.
Pinching herself to make sure she was not, in fact, dreaming, the young woman let out the sigh she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
This was indeed a rare blessing, it had to be—and one she would not squander.
But first—first the plan.
Pulling herself up, she pushed her hair out of her face as she looked about her.
The old crone had insisted the paste should be brewed into tea, however, sparks, the only pot, and all of it's cups were nowhere to be found.
They were, perhaps, inside the captain's chest, locked away with the rest of his belongings.
Biting her lip, the girl, restless, tried not to panic.
What to do—what to do?
They had not come this far, she pleaded, only to flounder now.
Not when, for once, the gods may be on her side.
—The gods!
Now dropping the heavy, seemingly impenetrable lock, the little comfort slave rushed back to the bedding.
Her nerves and limbs jittering uncontrollably out of sheer, pure thrill, she felt around desperately for the precious blade—a new plan brewing in her head.
One better—more satisfying.
Why lace his tea, she thought, when she could lace his dagger?
Why make him parched—if she can make him weep?
It would do very little in quenching every inch of her vengeance, this she knew, but it could still be something of a comfort of her own, to think back on as she journeyed.
In fact, if she set to work on it quickly enough, much of the paste should dry well in time before the little captain's arrival.
Though if he was as drunk as Shu had relayed—well—it wouldn't even at all matter.
Ah—there it was!
Securing the dagger, at last, the little comfort slave gave it a kiss, before digging into her sleeve to pull out the parcel.
All she needed to do was poison him, after all—she reasoned, cutting the string—why should it it matter the method?
This way, even, it would spare her more time that she rather not waste.
The task itself proved to be easy enough—as well—and by the time she had coated the whole blade, there had been plenty of medicine left to consider worth saving.
Observing her handy work one last time, the young woman nodded, satisfied.
Returning what remained of the parcel to the inside of her sleeve, she then blew on the dagger for a minute, before carefully hiding it back under the furs where it would stay.
Just in time, in fact—as within moments—what had sounded like a pair of soldiers meandering about somewhere near the vicinity of the tent, were laughing drunkenly.
The little comfort slave grimaced at the roughness of their voices and the callowness of their words, though she schooled her face accordingly.
Stopping shortly to take a moment to fix her hair—well as much as one could without the help of a copper mirror—she then pinched the hallows of her cheeks and rubbed her lips until they flushed.
Now, looking down at herself, she scrunched her mouth.
Her tattered, plain robe was unappealing, however if she let one side of it fall off her shoulder—enough to exposed her collarbones, like so—the men wouldn't even care to notice.
Not that any of them ever did, anyway.
—And not that anything had ever stopped them.
It didn't matter—none of it mattered—she reminded herself, as she worked the fabric, thinking only of poor, dear Shu and little Najak.
—Of all the women and children stolen out of their homes and away from their loved ones.
For them, this little comfort slave would trample over her miserable pride all the way to her very grave, if she had to.
'I will succeed'—like a mantra she chanted it, over and over, under her breath.
The gods, themselves, would see to it.
As if they too had heard her thoughts, the two playful soldiers mocking about outside the tent laughed even louder still—their tall, lanky shadows now growing nearer and clearer against the streaming moonlight.
Yes.
Their gods and hers, she vowed—even if they forsake her again—would at least be made sure to bare witness.
All she needed now, was to bate her trap, and secure her pray.
.
.
.
A/N: Shout out to Nietzsche! He hated hope too.. (jokes). Thanks for reading!