Raasa knew this because the roof was leaking.
The roof was leaking because Papa wasn't here to fix it.
Papa wasn't here to fix it, because Papa was dead.
The small viera child, little more than skin and bones by now, curled up on his small bed, shivering. He wasn't sure if the wetness on his face was due to the leak or the tears that burned in his eyes. His dark gaze strayed close to where the shrouded bodies lay on the floor and then was quickly averted.
He wondered if he was going to die here, too. There was a clean stream outside that provided him with water, but the food had run out days ago, and his arms weren't strong enough to pull the great bow that Papa had used. He sniffled and buried his head in his arms, trying to make the best of his situation whilst he pondered existential questions that no child of his meager years should have to.
The door opened with a suddenness that made his ears stand on end and he darted for the hiding spot under the floorboards where he'd hidden while Livia Sas Junius had stuck Mama and Papa with her swords. She'd laughed while she'd done it, while their hot blood seeped through the cracks and splattered onto his skin. It was the worst sound he'd ever heard. Footsteps swiftly crossed the floor toward him and an unfamiliar voice spoke.
Abruptly, he found himself scruffed by the back of his collar, not off his feet, but caught up so he couldn't run. "Get offa me, get offa me!" he shouted breathlessly, brokenly, flailing and beating his tiny fists ineffectually at whoever was holding him in pure panic.
"I'm not going to hurt you. Easy, easy." The voice was soothing, but firm, cutting through his hysterics and leaving him panting in wild-eyed terror as he stared up at the strange-looking woman. She had long ears, too, but not furred like his, and not at the top of her head. Hers stuck out to the side. She had greying red hair and a kind face, with green eyes that peered down at the malnourished youth with concern and confusion.
"Where are your paren-" She stopped in mid-sentence as she saw the bodies, covered in crimson-stained sheets. "Oh," the word rushed out softly. "I'm so sorry," she said, brows furrowing as she regarded him, uncurling her fingers at his collar.
Raasa regarded her warily, taking a few quick steps back, ears swiveling wildly as he listened for soldiers outside, but all he could hear was the quiet nattering of a chocobo.
"Are you hungry?" she asked, producing a linen-wrapped hunk of crusty bread, along with some dried meat and holding it out to him. His stomach answered for him, rumbling loudly at the sight of it. Slowly sidling closer, he snatched both and backed away again, tearing into the food while he watched her.
The woman gazed at him while he stuffed food into his mouth ravenously, a hundred thoughts rifling through her head. Her drunkard of a husband wouldn't be pleased, but there was no way she could abandon this child to die a slow death of starvation.
"Alright. Gather up your things, boy. You're going to come home with me. Somewhere far away, warm and safe. No one's going to hurt you, I promise," she vowed. Raasa's eyes widened, ears splaying. He couldn't stay here, he knew that. He couldn't provide for himself and the life of a beggar wasn't an easy one. Not to mention, the soldiers still wandered the woods. He considered for a moment, then his gaze moved close to the bodies again, though not quite looking at them.
"Will ya help me bury 'em first?"
"Of course," came the immediate reply from the older woman, who smiled sadly down at her new foster child. "We'll do it in the morning, when it stops raining," she added, reaching out to wipe the tear-streaked dirty face.
Raasa nodded, putting on a brave face, and stuffed more meat into his mouth, chewing slowly now. "What do I call ya?" he asked around the food, studying her intently.
"You can call me... Mama," she suggested - only to be take back by the ferocity of the child's glare.
"But you ain't! She was my Mama, she was--" Raasa crumpled into sobs, with great gulping gasps and large tears that splashed onto his dirty shirt. This time, when he was gathered up in her arms, he didn't pull away, instead clinging to the woman with tiny, filthy fingers.
"We can figure it out later," she said softly, petting his matted hair. "We'll figure it all out out, together."
