HAVEN ✓

Eleven

Sol's village is small, but not quiet as one would expect. People are up and about despite the early morning, focused on their tasks. A woman sets fresh loaves of bread on a window sill, while her neighbor kneels in a garden, filling a basket with ripe eggplants. The day's chores have already begun for the villagers. As we walk through the village, I am elated to see more of life outside of Herald.

Cottages similar to Sol's dot a narrow circular path three rows deep, encircling a well from which to draw water. The houses look sturdy enough, being made of wood and some mud-colored brick, complete with a shingled roof. Drifting among the structures are dozens of people. I'm close enough to hear their voices as they call to one another, but too far to make out what they're saying.

I'm baffled at the difference between this group of people and the horde of Outlanders that invaded Herald. I had nightmares of savage Outlanders coming after me, searching the woods with knives and pitchforks. A warrant for death. But the people before me carry packs made of an animal's hide as they mill about.

Dispersed intermittently throughout the village are gardens well-tended. Unlike the flowerbeds in front of the houses in Herald, Outlanders grow tomatoes and cucumbers on their front lawn out of necessity. A chicken follows us down the street, pecking at the dust our feet kick up. Aside from the hen, the livestock here is small and few. Only a few families have sheep or pigs in their backyard. Their entire culture seems unrefined and unsophisticated, from makeshift houses to unpaved streets, but their hair seems washed and as far as I can smell, they bathe.

The primitivity is fascinating. Without the complexities of technology or economy, it's like I've time-traveled back to the distant past, before Herald was the industrialized giant it is today.

It takes a moment before heads turn and people stop in their conversations, pausing only long enough to begin whispering amongst one another. Tasks are abandoned as we stride through the village, and I know my presence is the reason. My neck and face flush scarlet and I shrink under their scrutiny. I want to become invisible, or to blend in so I become unnoticed. I feel every eye piercing me, a hot iron brand on every part of my body. I don't return their stares, instead turning my eyes to the ground, but Sol pats my arm, whispering to me.

"Don't let anyone make you feel less than human."

I have never liked attention. Not the kind Markee thrives in, the all-eyes-on-me type. I've always preferred the one-on-one kind, attention down to an individual level. An interpersonal understanding. Something that means something other than blindsided popularity.

Down the path, a short, stocky man hauling water waves us down. My first instinct is to duck behind Sol, hiding from his curious eyes like a child. His attention reminds me that I do not belong here. Instead, I inspect the dirt path beneath my feet.

"So this is what all the commotion last evening was about," the man says, chuckling. The sound of his laughter makes me nervous. His approaching footsteps stop right in front of us. "Not many of you around here these days."

"For good reason," Sol says. "It is dangerous for her people outside of their wall."

"Surviving out here is not easy, especially for someone like you," the man says, not unkindly. He sets the pail of water down, some of it spilling into my vision. "Do you have a name?"

At this, my eyes leave the ground. The man is older than me, probably around Sol's age, with an angular face and a weathered smile. Sol nudges me, passing silent encouragement.

"I'm Sophie." My voice is meeker than I intend it to be. Not wanting to appear a weak lamb in the den of wolves, I continue stronger, "It's nice to meet you."