It had been a hard winter for everyone. A particularly long and dry winter, with hardly any snow, and less ice melt than that. The wells stayed dangerously low, and everyone prayed for a wet spring, but if the past season was any indication, they were in for a hungry year.
Raegyn and her father lived on the outskirts of a small village that was so far away from their kingdom that many of the children (and some of the adults), didn't know what their king looked like, let alone been to the castle. She and her parents and brother had lived together in their small cottage, making a good enough living to be considered among the wealthier inhabitants. They were as needed by the villagers as they were feared, even loathed.
Her mother had been a healer, spending many nights midwifing at the bedsides of laboring women, or brewing restoratives for sick children. They needed her, but when hard times came, or crops failed; "witch" had been whispered in her wake, usually accompanied by the rubbing of rosaries or a great flurry of prayers and fingers to foreheads. It didn't help that she didn't look at all like the rest of the village; Flaming red hair, piercing green eyes, and a soft, lilting accent that had soothed many a feverish child to sleep.
Of course, she had been the saving grace of that place. They all had. Mother would gather edible plants, mushrooms, berries, and tubers when the harvest hadn't reaped quite enough. Father fletched the finest arrows gold could buy. Bows, too. His weapons had killed plenty of game to bring in when there was no meat to be had. Raegyn and her brother had been taught to hunt and gather, and spent most of their days doing so, stocking up for hard times to come. And all were generously given to those in need. But instead of being thankful, the other villagers became resentful and suspicious of their fortune.
Regardless of the ignorance of the rest of the town, they had lived a happy life together. Until the war came. They didn't know what caused it, or why, but the news had traveled quickly of a war between their kingdom and the neighboring one. Then came the soldiers, with bright uniforms and shiny buttons and swords. They took the men they wanted, the ones who looked like they could fight; especially Raegyn's brother, with his aptitude for the bow. They were in great need of archers, they said, and gave her father a conciliatory gold-piece, and a black eye, when he spat on their boots. It was harder to keep food on the table, with just father hunting, but they managed.
Then the fever hit. Spreading like a fire in a high wind, it ravaged the countryside, taking their elders and the young. And Raegyn's mother. She was a healer, she had patiently explained to her fearful family, and she needed to help, regardless of the potential harm to herself. She saved many lives, infants and children mostly, but when the time came... She was unable to help herself. They tried desperately, even seeking the help of the village priest, but he had his hands full with the sick and fearful seeking spiritual guidance. So they turned to their fellow villagers, beseeching. And were rebuked.
Raegyn remembered begging everyone, anyone; but even those whom her mother had saved hurried away. She was lost within days; a cold reminder that life was unfair and God cared nothing for the pure of heart. Raegyn had bolted outside, the rain like shards of ice after the intense heat of the house, and screamed. Screamed her loss at the sky, screamed her hatred and fury at God, screamed her pain; until her throat was as raw and torn as her heart felt.
But that had been years ago. Now, it was only she and her father, and the difficult spring they had ahead of them. Because of the loss of her mother and brother, her father had cast normal propriety aside and taught her to hunt; a man's job. She had long ago forsaken women's clothes, and favored breeches and a tunic, which she had taken from her brother's things. They fit well, as she had grown in the time since he last wore them.
The girls in town tittered at her, laughing behind their hands, or sometimes openly pointing at her, for she not only wore men's clothes, but she wore her hair up, like a woman. You were only a woman when you bled for the first time, and they hadn't, so, of course, neither should Raegyn. Little were they aware, she had started her blood cycle several years ago, after her eleventh birthday. She had become a woman before most of them were even distinguishable from the village boys.
"I'd rather raise a daughter who dressed like a man, and knew how to look after herself, than raise one of those clucking hens whose only thought in those daft little heads is for which cock they're to be married off to. Useless, the lot of 'em." Her father had said when she first brought it to his attention. And she paid them no mind after that.
So she grew strong, and she grew fierce. She could kill anything that moved, usually with a single shot, and she could skin and gut it almost as fast as her father could. She could survive out in the woods indefinitely, and could tell the difference between Hemlock and wild carrots. She had learned, from many scraps with the village boys, how to throw a punch and how to take one, and she could pick a pocket and a lock, given the right tools to do so. She was self-sufficient, self-assured and unafraid. Perhaps it was because of this lack of fear that she found herself a captor in the same kingdom that had taken her brother from her.
The game had migrated. The lack of water made for a lack of grazing, and the animals had been forced to range further and further away to find food. Raegyn didn't mind. Now her hunting expeditions took a few more days; an excuse to be away, alone with her thoughts, which was where she preferred to be.
She was a few hours behind a doe and her two fawns, one of which was pure white. Its obvious coloring would make it the target of other prey if not her, and would make a nice pelt to sell. She would take it tomorrow. It was getting dark, and they were bedding down for the night, so she would as well. She hummed lightly to herself, a song her mother used to sing to her, as she skinned a rabbit she had caught in a snare earlier. She would roast it and eat it with some berries and nuts she had gathered previously.
She didn't know how they snuck up on her.
A sharp knife found its way under her chin, pressed gently enough, but even slight pressure had nicked her, and she felt a trickling down her neck. She longed to scratch it.
"Well, well. It dresses like a man, but wears its hair like a woman. Which is it?"
She kept silent, unsure whether the query was directed at her, or to a hidden companion.
"Turn it around and see." Another voice answered back.
"Hands out, where we can see 'em." The first voice barked, the words tumbling from his mouth with a practiced roughness, as if this was a phrase he said often. She slowly put her hands out, balanced on the balls of her feet, and hoped she didn't fall and slit her own throat on his blade. "Stand up and turn around slowly."
She obeyed, casting a regretful glance at her bow, where it lay on the other side of the fire, then to her own dagger, at her feet. There's no way she could be fast enough, especially when she didn't know what the other man was equipped with. If he had his own bow trained on her, she would die even if she managed to take the first man with her, and she was perfectly happy keeping her blood on her insides. So she complied, turning to face the two men who had managed to catch her unawares.
"A woman." The man furthest from her said brightly. "That'll make this much easier." He didn't have a bow, but had a hand resting casually on the pommel of a sword. He seemed at ease, but Raegyn's experienced eye saw a different story. He was balanced slightly forward, ready to lunge at a moment's notice, his sword an extension of his arm. It was because he looked so well at ease while being constantly at the ready that she knew he was a highly trained swordsman and not to be trifled with. "What brings a little thing like you all the way out here?" He asked, politely enough. "You're miles away from any village."
"The game is ranging." She replied, and allowed a small sliver of hope that this was not going to turn out horribly. "It's going to be a hard winter. We need the stock."
"Yes, well, unfortunately for you, little lady, you've been stocking far enough from home that you've ranged into private lands. And as much as it pains me, pretty little thing as you are, that's something you'll have to be punished for."
"And how was I supposed to know I had entered private territory?" She retorted, allowing her anger to bury the fear that was swelling in her chest.
"There are signs up, you see, so's to warn people out."
"I haven't seen a single sign up. Besides," She raised the pitch of her voice a little higher, adding a becoming lilt to it, and cocking her head slightly. "I haven't killed anything, excepting that rabbit, but I don't need it. Why don't you gentlemen sit down by my fire and share it? Take a rest off your feet."
