Shattered Line

Chapter 2: Inner Strength

With the distractions dispersed, she directed her attention towards the bandages covering her arms. The frayed ends became more distinct as she unraveled the thin fabric. Droplets of dried blood marred the pristine white, the only remnant of the arrow wound.

Isla grazed the new flesh. The blotch one shade from blending together with her pale skin.

Relief overwhelmed her. She could leave. No, she would leave tonight. Those men could still be hunting for her. How much time had she lost? Rather, would they gather strength from failure and bring seething vengeance?

She rubbed her forehead to relieve the imminent ache. For a brief moment, Isla shut her eyes. A cold gust entered the room, beating against her self-created warmth. She eyed the source, gazing beyond at the dark gray skies. She watched a single leaf flutter through the window, followed by the bobbing of golden blond hair.

"Hi," Leef spoke with his voice muffled. He inched upward towards the windowpane, resting his chin on the ledge. "Why are you removing the bandages? My brother said your wounds aren't healed yet."

Isla beheld his curious look, her lips twitching. What harm would come from responding? For once, she smothered her foolish fears and logical reasoning.

"I don't need them," she voiced with an anchored vice-like stare.

"That's cool. When I get hurt, the cut doesn't go away for a long time. I always pick at it and my brother yells at me. If I leave them alone, will they heal as fast as yours?"

She entwined the blanket between her fingers. Did she just unleash an unquenchable spring of questions and intrigue? Isla relaxed against the pillow as Leef tilted his face, his expectations seeking fulfillment.

"No," she responded.

"Are you special like my brother?" Leef asked, hanging halfway into the room.

Special? What did he mean? Did his brother heal quickly like herself? She clamped her mouth shut, re-phrasing her direction.

"What do you mean?" Isla questioned with an even and deflated tone.

"He can make water move in the air and fire with his hands," Leef squealed. He flapped his hands, mimicking his brother's ability.

"Your brother uses magic?"

"Yes, he can! You believe me, right? The others call me a liar. When I ask my brother to show them, he won't do it. He claims that magic shouldn't be used without purpose," Leef phrased while stretching his eyes and grating his voice. His mockery disappeared and he continued, "I don't know what he means, but he says I will learn why when I get older." Leef's head sunk to the windowsill and his words lacked energy. "That's why the other kids make fun of me."

Isla fiddled with her hair. What did this child crave? Did he desire sugar-coated words or fairy-tail level encouragement? Detra rarely saw magic. They glorified magic as mythical or a sacred art handled only by the Gods. Yet, contrary to popular belief, anyone could practice the skill, a fact society obscured.

"So what?"

He mumbled, "But they say I'm wrong and dirty because I'm an orphan. They say our parents didn't want us anymore..."

She rubbed her thigh, searching for the right verbal tone. Her straightforward attitude could be destructive for a child. Would he understand her meaning? She clicked her tongue, forget it. "Who cares. Ignore the ignorant fools, and become strong. Only the weak complain. That's the only path for our type."

Leef perked up, smiling. "You're the same? You're like me? Then I can be strong like you one day?"

She smirked. "Sure. But only if you stop listening to those weaklings."