Page 35 of The Ashpaw: Part One

She held herself, already feeling deprived of gentle contact.

The Ashpaw stands apart.

The day after a shift was one of partial rest for the Solvekh, and many were in their cots when she arrived.

Hers was occupied now, the brown hair on the head sticking out of the blanket familiar.

Slowly, she turned towards a low clicking sound, Marin calling to her quietly so as not to wake the other women.

“You sleep there, Ashpaw.”

Her eyes followed the direction she pointed, but she knew what she was looking for—the dark, cold corner with the threadbare blanket that belonged to the last Ashpaw, her dress and boots lined up beside it.

Her bare feet whispered over stone she could no longer feel.

Someone kicked her and she lurched forward, just catching herself before landing on her knees.

The Ashpaw does not belong.

With a wet sniffle, she dressed and lowered herself to her new assigned space, wincing at the dirt. And with just the one blanket, she’d have to choose between laying on top of it or using it to cover her.

Instead, she rejected it altogether, stuffing it out of the way as she curled up as tightly as she could, wishing to fall asleep and find this had all been a terrible nightmare.

But no such mercy would come, and perhaps this was the peace Darion had promised.

If Fern had nothing left to strive for, then she had nothing left to lose.

* * *

“Breakfast in ten!”

Fern had gone numb to the cold, and the dull throb of her body protested the stone beneath her. But the moment she moved, white-hot pain lanced through her hips and she bit back a gasp.

She could not bite back the scream when a heel came down on her hand, though.

She looked up, cradling it to her chest, at the woman who walked away, not even bothering to glance back.

A woman who just two days ago had split her bread with her.

She stood, leaning against the wall for support, and then shuffled off quickly to the bathing room. Conversation continued around her as though she were nothing more than an inconvenient column interrupting the flow of the room.

Crouching down on the slick floor, she scooped up some water to wash her face as she did every morning.

And someone pushed her in.

Her lungs seized from the cold, skirts weighing her down despite the depths being shallow enough to stand in. Her feet slipped along the algae-coated bottom until finally she rose, gasping for breath, violent quaking overtaking her limbs.

“Smells so much better now, doesn’t it?” someone asked as they exited, laughs echoing behind them.

One woman remained in the room. The previous Ashpaw.

She looked different now, her posture slightly straighter, her brown hair more smoothed back.

For a moment she watched Fern, considering her carefully.

“Are you coming, Rosen?”

The woman gave Fern one more furtive glance, a mixture of pity and relief, and then hurried out to follow the group.