grandmistressofbows:
Hairud laughed. “Now that is something I don’t want to risk, you being angry with me. That would be worse than any danger of the world,” she said, only partially joking. In fact, she’s always looked up to Mildryd and admired her skill and bravery. Although Hairud’s been through enough in her life, sometimes she still felt like the scared little girl from the village.
She reached out and grabbed onto one of the lower branches which snapped under her touch. She observed the wood before discarding it. “Do you ever wish for things to be different?” she asked absent-mindedly.
Mildryd was quiet for a moment, mulling the question over for a while before she answered. Did she? She liked where and who she was but she wished they did not have to hide in the forest, living constantly under threat, she supposed. She wished she could practice her craft in peace, without the judgemental stares of men who did not believe a woman could be skilled enough.
And she wished . . . she wished that when she closed her eyes at night and dreamed of her childhood, she did not dream of beatings and blood and pain, of cowering in the corner, of finally standing up for herself only to hear the snap of a neck breaking. She wished that when she woke she did not have the scars to prove it had all been real.
“Sometimes, I wish some things were different,” she said slowly. “But if they were, I think I would also be different. And I do not know if that is something I want.”











