Alliance Ch. 01

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She's not as weak as she looks.
1.7k words
4.47
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Part 1 of the 2 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 11/23/2017
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It was once again winter, and that meant months of meager meals and stretching what dried meat she had for as long as she could. The carrots and potatoes she planted the spring before were unimpressive, but if she used one of each over the span of three days, she calculated that she wouldn't starve. She'd also learned to take the fresh young branches of a nearby birch tree and boil them in water for a broth that was tasty yet never filling.

Jo gathered her knapsack, her hatchet, and knife with her after lacing-up her boots tightly over two pairs of woolen socks her sister had fashioned last year. They were supposed to be a Christmas present, but both knew that they'd be of use before the end of December. Jo was grateful for them, but the memory panged within in her and caused her to sit a moment longer, almost as if the memory was strong enough to warm her body. Unfortunately, it wasn't, which is why she rose early in the morning to set out and find squirrels or other small animals who might be foraging for the remnants that summer had left and fall had covered with a thick settling of leaves.

Jo was small in height, but she was solid. Her limbs were strong, after years of running around and playing with her siblings as she grew up. Her chest, concealed by layers of clothing, was pronounced when she readied for bed or left a hot bath, a rarity at this time of year. Her family had been beautiful, no doubt, but there was a perpetual layer of grime and filth that tickled their skin to which they had grown accustomed- after all, regular bathing and proper hygiene was only something highly valued in the more-densely populated areas in the center of town where the wealthy and their families dwelled. Jo's family had never lived there, as her dad worked with timber and created lumber for the town and its outskirts. It never provided them enough to live in anything larger than a cabin with two rooms and a loft- the children slept snug in the loft, while her parents, Seamus and Diane, slept on a measly mattress stuffed with hay and the feathers of the fowl they had used to sustain them.

Like her parents and her siblings, she had long, dark blonde hair. Unlike the rest of her family, Jo was short. Her parents were at least six feet tall, and her sister had been just about there. Her two younger brothers, 13 and 11, were growing quickly, as if their limbs were magically extended as they slept. Jo had often wondered if she should start recording their heights before they went to bed and after they woke up, but this thought was usually tossed out in jest.

Her hair was brown now since she spent most of the time that would be spent in the sun hiding in the shack she retreated to when her family had been killed. Only she and her older sister, Cecilia, had escaped. Jo vividly remembered the pleading screams she heard as soldiers lit the dry wooden cabin and the foundation, covered with years of oil and hay as it succumbed to the flames. This was a little over two years ago; she had been on her own only one year, after her sister had passed. But that thought was too much to bear at the moment.

She tied her long hair in a ribbon and put on a fur hat fashioned out of raccoon and fox- not a fashionable item mind you, but it got the job done. She wore a heavy canvas coat, the one she found on the body of a hunter who had been left to freeze to death last winter, a visible knife wound gaping from his torso. When she stumbled upon him, she nearly heaved, but her sister had recently died and she knew she need it to keep her warm on her own. When she leaned down to the man, cooled by the winter air and the lightest layer of snow, she touched his face, only to see that he could have been no more than 18 years old. She didn't stare too long, fearful that she'd recognize the features underneath the dirt and facial hair as one of her old classmates. She then stripped him of his clothes and ran back to her cabin. She boiled water in a large cast iron pot and threw strands of lavender and some of the lye soap she had saved in the pot. She scrubbed the jacket and his undergarments until her hands bled and until she was certain his smell and his blood was gone. It may have been physically cleaned from the fabric, but she felt some guilt every time she wore it. Perhaps the guilt was a sign of gratitude, of him knowing in the place beyond that he had saved her life with these gifts.

She moved lithely through the trees, moving quickly as dawn rose. She was at least ten miles from the town, and seldom did anyone travel through, but she was no fool and would not take any risks of being spotted. She was familiar with the area around her cabin, which was concealed by a thicker patch of trees and brush. She was wise to only light the hearth at night, so the smoke was covered by the thick darkness that came, thankfully earlier and earlier as winter dredged on. On nights where the stars and the moon were especially bright, she boiled water and put it in thick hide pouches which she placed in her small bed. She had been meaning to get closer to town to see if a mutt had been discarded by another family who couldn't spare another mouth to feed to provide more warmth, but that would have to wait.

She rested for a moment to survey a field close by. After several minutes, she saw movement flutter out of the corner of her eye. She thought it might be a bird, or perhaps a chipmunk who was defunct in hibernating. She placed her hand on her knife, which was sheathed on her belt which was just hidden under her thick jacket. Birds were especially hard to catch with only a knife, but she'd grown quick, as her livelihood required her to be so if she wanted to eat. To her surprise, it was a deer, who was grazing every few feet to try and uncover any bits of green it could find. She didn't want to wait, but she would have to be patient if she were to kill it. One false move would startle the animal and cause a flurry among the other creatures hiding and grazing in the brush that she couldn't see. She unsheathed her knife with her right hand and placed it in the left. Again, the odd one out, Joan was the only one who wrote and worked with her left hand. Her mother found it charming, especially when trying to teach her how to crochet, which was amusing for everyone to watch as her temper rose trying to do everything backwards using her other hand. Her temper had always been quick, but so was its half-life. After tossing yarn and string across the cabin as a child and stomping petulantly away, she would always return after a while, cheeks ruddy from crying, and hug her mother and plead for her help once more.

She didn't have anyone to ask for help now. She didn't need it.

In one swift movement, she rose so that she was half erect and extended her left arm releasing the blade. With a cry, the animal bolted, if only for a few meters before toppling down. An amateur marksman, she had wounded him in his neck and hit a critical artery which would ultimately cause him to bleed out. Then was good for Jo, the more blood he expelled now, the less she'd had the clean when she brought his carcass back to the cabin. She approached the wounded animal, taking its final haggard breaths, and removed the knife. It squealed in pain, a sound she could hardly bare. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, then raised her left arm again, and swiftly brought the knife down to serve the fatal blow.

She was elated that she had such success, and this early. She'd spend the day butchering the animal, saving a few small pieces to store and each fresh throughout the week, and then portioning out larger slabs which she'd salt to preserve. As tempted as she was to gorge herself on all the fresh meat, she knew to prudent, and save as much as she could. She lifted the lifeless animal above her and onto her shoulders. Her frame was deceiving- though she took several wobbly steps forward, she could handle the weight of the animal and carry him to her cabin with some ease. The sun was beginning to rise over the horizon, and she knew she had little time, so she hurried in any way she could to get back to her home.

Once back, she opened the door to a candle still burning on a makeshift table in the middle of the room. She thought, how foolish, but was thankful it gave her enough illumination to maneuver around while still carrying the animal. She threw it to the ground, felt the release of its weight off her shoulders, and sat down. She had a lot of work ahead of her today. She was happy for it. It was a distraction, something she could do to occupy herself, and she could almost not resist feeling pleasure knowing she'd go to sleep full. She smiled to herself, removed her hat and the ribbon from her hair, and began to work.

He was perched on his horse, a lean and powerful chestnut of at least seventeen hands, while the rest of his henchmen waited ten yards behind him, each on their own horse. He could peer, with some difficulty, through her window, watching as she worked on the deer carcass. See her long hair move down her back, her eyes squint in concentration. Though it certainly wasn't women's work, he was impressed with her strength and dexterity as she moved. Perhaps she wasn't as weak as he thought. But that's why he desired her- she was strong, fit, and she'd put up a fight. He wanted her to put up a fight, and the image of him pinning her down and her own strength combating his made him warm. He smiled, and turned.

"Let's go."

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AnonymousAnonymousover 6 years ago
Great Start

Looking forward to the next chaptet...

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Alliance Series Info

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