It had taken the injured girl an hour of walking to find a stream not teeming with tadpoles and parasites. Her wounded arm stung her as she dipped it into the flowing water, painting pain onto her features until she drew it out again. With the opposite hand, she gripped at the bottom of her coarse shirt. It was her only source of bandages, but if she tore it much more, there’d soon be nothing left of it.

“Stupid hag,” she seethed to herself before dipping the wound again. Hethys had hurt her before, but had never left her with an open wound to deal with. The orphan considered it a step too far, well aware of the greater danger posed when one’s insides were exposed.

Gritting her teeth through the pain, she splashed the shallow water to maximize coverage, rubbing and squeezing the wound to clean away as much old blood as possible. Thus distracted, she failed to notice the sound of footsteps in the grass on the other side of the stream.

“Are you all right?”

Fury and fear converged in the orphan’s heart to force her pained grimace into a virulent scowl. She raised her head and leveled it upon the unknown speaker, but at the sight of him, it softened.

Fair-skinned and fresh-faced, he came clad in the gleaming silver armor of a knight most noble. Set into his comely countenance was a pair of sea green eyes, but the winning smile he wore did not reach them. Indeed, she noticed a darkness to them that ran counter to his tender tone, and that detail helped her to remember herself.

“You’re hurt,” the young man said as his eyes traveled to her wound. He took a step into the stream. “Shall I have a look?”

That tore it; no one wanted to help her.

“No!” the orphan shouted, pushing away from him until she managed to get on her feet. She turned and scrambled in the opposite direction before she was even fully upright. She picked up speed quickly, heading for the trees and, ultimately, for the bog into which no other would dare follow her. Alas, she did not get far before another figure came from behind one of the trees to intercept her.

He was young like the first, but with much rougher features, and his cheap leather armor made clear his lower station. He rushed forward before the girl could change course and pulled her into a bear hug to keep her in place. When her subsequent flailing proved too much for him, he wheeled around and shoved her to the ground before pressing his knee into her back.

“Off!” screamed the orphan. “Get off!”

Her leather-clad oppressor only laughed. He was soon joined by a much older man whose armor was the lightest of all. His eyes were not darkened by malice like the others’, instead displaying more weariness than everything else. He let out a long and heavy sigh as the lad in silver joined his companions.

“Was all this really necessary?” spoke the elder.

“Daah, Bram and I’s just havin’ a bit o’ fun is all,” spoke the younger, whose brief shift in attention nearly lost him his hold on the squirming urchin. She bucked and heaved, but he managed to keep her down.

“I should think Master LeBaron capable of finding more suitable diversions than this.”

Stopping beside them, silver-clad Bram shrugged. “What can I say? I wished to test her character.” Leaning forward, he sneered down at the urchin. “That uppity fishmonger spoke true: typical urchin filth. I come out all this way and think to offer her a helping hand, and she just scowls and runs off. The nerve. The unthinkable nerve.”

Bram straightened up and slid one of his legs back. The orphan clenched her teeth in anticipation. The elder attendant looked on in placid resignation as the young master’s armored foot smashed into the orphan’s scantly-covered ribs.

“You don’t! Disrespect! House! LeBaron!”

He used his admonitions to punctuate each kick, and each kick was fiercer than the last. They came as no surprise to the urchin filth he so detested; she’d expected a beating the moment they’d pinned her down.

What surprised her was how oddly ineffectual those kicks felt. Her violet eyes shifted for a look at his boots to see if it was really steel rather than cotton that covered his feet. Sure enough, steel it was, yet still, she felt no pain.

A golden light danced through her eyes and faded as quickly as it came.

“Young Master,” interjected the elder attendant, “we shouldn’t waste any more time. I’d hate to see your father displeased.”

Bram scoffed. “It was his idea to send me out on tax duty. You think he would have me back so soon?”

“I think he’d not have you meting out justice in the streets like a common thug.”

“I am only saving him time; the trials always end the same way. The fishmonger was short, sssoooo…death. Goodness knows this one’s got no coin.” Just for fun, he kicked the orphan again, wincing as his toes impacted a bit too harshly against the inside of his boot.

“Uuuhhh…wait,” the younger attendant chimed in. “Don’t your father avoid hangin’ women?”

“Only because he’s superstitious,” Bram answered.

“Superstition or not, the Lord’s wishes are to be respected,” the elder asserted.

“Ugh. Very well.” Bram reached out to the elder. “Hand me your axe.”

The elder recoiled. “I beg your pardon?”

“Your axe. I’m taking her arm, and I don’t want to stain my sword with dirty blood.”

“Young Master-”

“That’s an order, Duul.”

The tension between them weighted the air as the petulant heir stared daggers at his attendant. The latter swallowed hard, then reluctantly removed his axe from its straps and delivered it into the hands of his charge.

“That’s better,” said Bram. “If she’ll be allowed to walk free anyway, I’ll at least have her arm to teach her the folly of thieving.”

Seeing this, the orphan’s urge to escape went into overdrive. She squirmed with such fervor that the young attendant was nearly thrown clear, only barely managing to steady himself and press down on her shoulders. “Hurry up!” he exclaimed. “This one’s got a fire in ‘er belly!”

“Hold out her arm,” Bram ordered. The younger had to leverage his full weight to stop the girl escaping as he did so only for his master to shake his head.

“Eugh” he scoffed as he eyed the darkened wound. “Not that one. I’ll have the good arm.”

With a heavy sigh, the younger struggled to make it so. Once again, the orphan nearly threw him off. A faint glow flashed through her wound.

“No!” she cried. “No! Please!”

“Hold still now,” Bram said as he hoisted the axe overhead. “I wouldn’t want to miss.”

“CURSE YOU!”

Filled of fear and bitterness, the defeated urchin unleashed a final defiant scream as the axe came down upon her arm.