Siena (Forestfolk, Book 1)

Chapter 1b

It wasn't until the following day that I discovered what the battle was even about. I was heading toward the river to refill my water pot. A guard trailed at a distance behind me, as one always did, to ensure their precious commodity didn't run away.

The compound sat on higher ground, some distance away from the slow-moving river. It was a cluster of structures, some temporary like tents, and some permanent like mud huts, surrounded by a wooden fence. This fence, comprised of roughly hewn wooden poles planted into the ground about two hand-widths apart, made it easier to protect the perimeter against animals and invaders. Mostly other tribes. Nearly all the Plainsmen lived in tribal compounds like this. My mother used to tell me stories of nomadic tribes who lived in harmony with nature, moving to various locations to follow food sources or weather patterns. It made me wonder what happened to them.

From the break in the perimeter, I shaded my eyes and followed its meandering line across the plain. The sun glinted off its surface like a sparkling snake slithering through the grasslands. The plains stretched all the way to the horizon in some places, dotted only by an occasional shade tree.

As I proceeded to the river, another man fell into step with the guard behind me, his footsteps heavy. "Guard duty again?" His voice was deep and gruff, which I recognized as belonging to Grash. "Are you really that useless and soft?"

The guard attempted a manly scoff, though at sixteen, he was barely older than I was. "I do more around here than you so-called warriors. Who attacked us, anyway?"

"It was those flea-infested Kratt. I'm recommending to Chief Magar that we counter-attack at once. While they're still wounded. Make them think twice about challenging the Zurbo tribe."

"Why would they attack us?"

"Who cares?" Grash spat. "By the time we're done with them, they won't know why they attacked us either."

"I heard they have a new chieftain, and he's killing all Aberrations. You think that's why they attacked us? Because we have some living with us?"

My stomach dropped. Aberrations. Like me. I turned around to look at them and was immediately met with a glare from Grash.

"Do you forget your place, girl?" he snarled.

I immediately whipped my head around and fastened my gaze on the ground, my straw-colored hair hiding my frown.

"If it were up to me," Grash said, projecting his voice to make sure I heard him. "I'd kill them all. Unnatural and treacherous, all of them. But Chief Magar insists they have use, so we keep them alive."

"I guess," said the young guard. "But . . . it wouldn't be so bad to be like Stobon, right? I mean, he never misses a target, ever."

"Listen, boy," Grash rasped. Feet scuffled, and with a stolen glance I saw he had grabbed the young guard's arm. "If I was an Aberration, I'd kill myself! Chief Magar may tolerate the useful ones, but we both agree they can't be trusted."

I gritted my teeth. As far as I was concerned, Grash and Chief Magar could both suck a toad.

I reached the river's edge, grateful to give my jittery hands something to do. If there was one person who made my skin crawl on a regular basis, it was Grash.

He wandered away, probably to go ogle some women bathing in the river, and I rinsed out my clay pot. Child-like war cries sounded in the distance. I watched Pimo, my nine-year-old half brother, running after his friends along the shore, waving a stick overhead like an axe. He ran anywhere he pleased because he was the son of a Plainsman, and also not an Aberration. We shared a mother, but that was about all we had in common.