Page 4 of Bound

Firen’s smile fell, but only briefly. “Of course. I don’t know how you live outside the city, really. It’s hard enough minding the stall, let alone doing all the rest of it.”

Wren shrugged. It was her life. And while she harboured many regrets, she did not truly have any complaints. It was quiet, but it was hers. She had animals enough for company, and there was plenty to occupy her time.

Her mother had taught her to be grateful. That they had food to eat and shelter, and the rest... extras.

Most of the carts had already arrived, loaded from the ships at the docks and brought before first dawn was even a smudge over the horizon.

But there was a clamour of hooves and the roll of heavy wheels against the cobbles, and even Firen turned her head to see what had arrived so late.

Two male hesperpulled the cart. She always forgot how much smaller Temperance and Calliope were compared to their male counterparts. Bulky and muscled, they pulled the cart heavily laden with logs with relative ease. A hired cart by the signet painted onto the wooden wheel. The driver walked beside, a long pole in hand as he encouraged them forward. He was young, and as he took upward to reach to the other side, the line attached to the pole fluttered against the flank of the left hesper. It reared, its horned head thrashing in distress, irritating its yoke-mate, which turned to the other to shove at it reproachfully. She’d seen Temperance do much the same to Calliope with near daily frequency. But her horns were small and curved behind her, so the damage was rare.

“Control your beasts, driver!” a man bellowed, storming up behind, dripping with impatience. “You lose this load...”

A wheel caught in the dent of the cobbles, and with the tussling of the hesper, the threat did not remain empty for long.

They were more trees than logs. Stripped of some of their branches, but they were not the tidy pieces she tucked into her hearth each day. They spilled free of their confines, rolling and tumbling freely. There was a flurry of movement as stall-keeps tore up to the skies, leaving behind their wares as the first of the stalls was hit with a terrible crash of splintering wood and shattering tiles.

Firen had disappeared as soon as the first of the logs had tumbled free, while Wren...

It all happened so quickly.

She made it free of the stall, but the log itself was thick that she had no way to jump over it, only try to escape around. But it crashed into the stall beside hers and there was nowhere to go.

Her wings moved of their own accord, the instinct strong even if it was impossible to accomplish. They were useful for quieting a fall, but she jumped as best she could, knowing it was not nearly enough.

She felt the scrape of bark against her leg, cutting and rubbing and burning and she waited to be caught beneath, for it to break and shatter bone as she was pressed between the log and the cobbles.

But something caught her around the middle, pulling her upward as she drew her legs up and over.

“Worse than a fledgling,” came from behind her, the voice low and angry.

It shouldn’t have hurt. Shouldn’t have stung. But it did.

The last log settled and with it the chaos as merchants descended from the skies, furious at their losses.

The man eased her down, but she could not bring herself to look at him. “Are you all right?” he asked at last, and she shrugged.

Yes. No.

Did it really matter?

She opened her mouth to offer him a retort. To assure him it was not her fault that she had no abilities with her wings.

But merchants descended, both upon him and the young driver, and she lost her opportunity.

Her legs stung. She should have worn her tall boots, but she hadn’t, and her leggings were torn at the calves.

She was bleeding. It was sluggish and slow, more scrape than a true wound, but she would need to tend it.

She glanced at what remained of her stall, the large log—no, the tree that had fallen through it dominating the space.

The stools had been crushed. Toppled and broken.

She wouldn’t think about that. Wouldn’t think about her mother sitting beside her. Wouldn’t think about her baskets and how she’d been quite right to keep her mother’s tucked safely back at home.

What few coins she’d made were attached to her belt, and she would leave the rest. Her hands were shaking, and the commotion was only worsening just how distraught she felt. The Proctor appeared, hands outstretched as he called for order and would likely soon be talking of recompense.

She had no idea what she would ask for. It was an accident, and while she should likely wait to give some sort of testimony, the last thing she desired was to bring any sort of trouble in front of the Proctor. She’d had to beg to be allowed to sell at all, given her... status.