Sarnai limped through the doorway of her house, kicking off her boots and peeling the gloves from her scarred hands. In a few strides, she stood by the fire, with its welcoming glow. She tore off her coat and let it fall on the floor, frowning when she noticed the blood seeping through the linen wrapped around her side. After a few moments, the Easterling cursed, remembering that she’d used the bandages she carried to treat the injuries of a woman she met in the Prancing Pony earlier that day…
Her name was Hannengel. It was a good choice to make, giving her what supplies I had and tending to her wounds. I am young, and she was a mother, beaten and bloodied. At least she found her daughter again… the quiet one, Nellda.
She peeled off the bloodstained bandages and threw them into the fire, watching as the flames devoured the fabric. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out her spare tunic and tore it into strips, as a makeshift dressing for the wound. When her work was finished, she limped into the next room and collapsed on the bed there, falling asleep within minutes despite the dull pain in her side.
Sarnai stood in a dark wood, with long shadows flickering on the ground, almost moving out of the corner of her eye. The leaves rustled with a cold breeze and if she listened long enough, they almost seemed to whisper, answering the hoots of owls and the growls of terrestrial beasts. It was all strangely familiar… when had she seen the like before?
After a few moments, she remembered. It had been over ten years ago, she was quite small, and while the others were gathering firewood she became lost in such a forest. Her father had come when she had thought herself forsaken. She had never seen him so angry before, red-faced, and thought that upon seeing her he would spit fire and curse her name. Indeed, he opened his mouth to say something when he saw her -she flinched, bracing for the impact of his words- but instead, he fell silent, ran forward, and gathered her into his arms, carrying her out from the wood and back to her family.
This time, it was different. Looking down, Sarnai realized that she was unarmed, but an empty quiver was at her back, and she had the strange feeling of something brushing against her forehead. She was without her armor or even her coat, clad in fine silk robes- her mother’s, she realized. It was the first time she had gone without weapons in months, and she felt exposed and helpless, like a turtle on its back. Bringing a hand up to touch whatever it seemed was on her head, she touched a wreath of flowers. Her feet were bare, and she mentally noted that an unshod person could not run far in such a wood.
There was little time to think of herself- soon enough, she heard a strange sound, alike to someone who was perhaps attempting to scream while choking. Against her better judgement, Sarnai followed the noises, stepping quietly over the roots and leaves that carpeted the forest floor. It did not take long for her to come across a small clearing, with small ferns and a variety of grayish-hued shrubbery sprouting up in place of trees. The strange sound seemed to emanate from a shadowed object shaking in the center of the clearing.
Tentatively, Sarnai stepped out from the cover of the trees. Closer to the mysterious object, she had a better glimpse of it in the dim light. It was a child, a girl, huddled on the ground, arms wrapped around her shins. The sound, Sarnai realized, was weeping, as the girl’s small frame shook with muffled sobs. Pity clutching at her heart, she approached. She was surprised to see the girl jump to her feet, and, pulling a dagger from the sash at her waist, point it at Sarnai. Though Sarnai dropped instinctively into a fighting stance, she adjusted it afterward and held her hands up to show that she was unarmed and meant no ill.
As the child glared up at her, still extending the blade, Sarnai had a better look at her face. She glimpsed a familiar visage there, too familiar. It was one she had looked into on occasion as a young girl. She found it unnerving, in fact- as it had been her face, once, before it was hardened by adulthood and marked with scars. Swallowing, Sarnai smiled warmly at the girl, and spoke.
“Hello, Little Rose.” Inwardly, Sarnai grimaced at her own words. The phrases of her native tongue had grown somewhat halting from neglect over the past months, and the rasp in her voice was no weaker than it was in the waking world. She thought she sounded more threatening than amicable.
“Who are you? Who told you that?” The younger girl took a lunge forward, but Sarnai stepped back, out of her reach. Though her tone and action indicated aggression, Sarnai heard somewhat of a squeak in her voice, and her hands shook. Knowing her younger self, Sarnai thought that she would hardly be able to carry through with the strike.
“Your father told me that, young one… although I admit you remind me more of a rabbit than a rose.” Sarnai smiled to herself. The young girl frowned for a moment, clearly bothered with the comparison to a rabbit -some things never change- before her lower lip began to quiver and tears welled up in her eyes.
“I’m l-lost, and I d-don’t know how to get home…” The little girl sank to her knees, shaking as she began to cry again. Sarnai knelt beside her, reaching out a hand.
“What of your father? Would he not come to find you?”
“He is dead,” cried the girl, “Mother is dead, too, a-and cousin Ghazan and all the others. I came here to… to hide from the men with yellow hair. Mother told me to. She s-said it would make her happy.” She sniffled, taking a breath in through her nose. “B-but I don’t think she can be happy because she’s cold and dead!” With a soft sigh, Sarnai reached out and wrapped her trembling arms around the girl.
“Hush, Little Rose. I know that it is difficult… I lost my own family some years ago. Yet we do not know if your mother can feel joy, and I know that she would want you to be safe, whether or not she lives.” The girl took a deep, shuddering breath, and Sarnai held her tighter. It seemed strange to be comforting what seemed like her past self… although this girl, who shared her face, had lost her kin several years before Sarnai had. “I know you can be strong, young one. Your family will be proud of you, knowing that you are safe, and strong enough to stay that way.” She smiled down at the girl. “But just because you will be strong does not mean that you must be alone. I will do my best to take you home.” Sarnai stood, pulling the girl she had privately dubbed the Rabbit to her feet as well. “Come, we shall find a way out of this wood...”
“But you don’t have a weapon. Aren’t you defenseless, then?” The Rabbit’s comment stung a bit more than Sarnai thought it would, and she flinched slightly.
“Well, little one, I can care for myself. Surely your father has taught you to fight with bare hands.” Sarnai wished she could take those words back when the Rabbit’s eyes filled with tears again and she stumbled briefly.
“... He did.” The girl looked down, and Sarnai stopped, to keep her from walking into anything. Sarnai gently reached down to lift the Rabbit’s chin with one hand and look her in the eyes.
“Listen well, young one. One day, there will come a battle that you cannot win. No matter how many weapons you are carrying… you may not be able to protect herself.” Sarnai bit down on her lip briefly, hoping that the Rabbit could not see the tears in her eyes. “It is a harsh truth, young one, but it is best that you learn it now, not later, so you can be prepared.” She took a deep breath and continued, her voice a ragged whisper. “When you lose, you have an even greater battle to fight. All you need to do to win that one is to survive. If they cannot break you, you win, even if you are beaten and bloodied. Do you understand me?” The girl paused for a moment, her eyebrows knitting together.
“Yes, but…” Her lips moved as if forming silent words.
“But what?” Sarnai tilted her head quizzically.
“Is that why you have so many scars? Because you lost a lot of battles?” The girl stared up at her, wide-eyed, and for a moment Sarnai was struck dumb. It was a difficult question to answer immediately, but eventually an idea came to mind.
“Well, I would not say that I have scars from losing battles. They are marks, like the trophies a warrior may take.” She traced a finger along the scar on her right cheekbone. “These marks tell others that I am alive now, despite attempts to the contrary.” She began walking again, the Rabbit in tow.
“What about your funny voice, then?” At the girl’s words, Sarnai smirked grimly. She had almost forgotten how many questions she asked as a child. Turning back toward the Rabbit, Sarnai pulled part of her collar aside to bare the scar on her neck.
“My voice is also a prize won in battle, little one. I am glad to have it, though I admit it is indeed strange. No man may silence me.” Looking down to the Rabbit, she added, “Still, a little silence does no harm… some may even find that it does them a great deal of good.” She smiled slightly as the Rabbit frowned up at her. The Rabbit then extended the knife to Sarnai, holding it by the blade.
“Take this, then. You might need it… and I want to get out of here. Nothing is worth a life.” Her expression was serious, calm. It pained Sarnai a little to see a girl so small seem so grown-up.
“Your parents were wise, then, to teach their little girl something like that.” Sarnai examined the dagger, noting the curved blade and the horse’s head carved of wood that formed its pommel. She had seen its like before, -it was her father’s dagger, and became her favorite- but she had given it away, to Ghazan. “It is a fine weapon. I recognize it as the warrior Baatar’s.”
“He is… was… my father.” This time, the girl did not weep, although her eyes filled with tears again. Instead, she furrowed her brow, showing an expression of anger, or perhaps frustration, rather than grief.
“Then, young one, it is a very special blade. An heirloom that you may pass on to… to your children.” The word choked her like a lie might; Sarnai never intended have children, and she doubted that even this Rabbit would at any point in life. “Also, when you give someone a weapon, it is like binding them to an oath. One that binds them to come back and return the weapon in your time of need. I would not have myself make a promise that I cannot keep.” She averted her eyes, away, not wanting to look at the Rabbit. It seemed that the girl also understood that a change of subject was needed, and did so quite handily.
“It’s nice of you to do all this for me… even though I don’t know your name.” The Rabbit looked back up to meet Sarnai’s evasive gaze, and held it for a few moments.
Clever, Sarnai thought. It would be rude of me not to answer you with my own name. “Well, young one… I do not know your name, either. I suppose I shall have to call you ‘Rabbit’ until I have one, yes?” She smirked again, to mask her thoughts.
“It…” the Rabbit began, yet when she continued, both spoke as one.
“It is Sarnai.”
Perplexed, the younger Sarnai looked up at her elder counterpart.
“Does that mean that you are… me, in the days to come? I… I thought I would be carrying weapons and armor, not flowers and the clothes of a dead woman.” Sarnai shook her head, doffing the wreath -one of wild roses, she saw- and untying one part of it to remove a flower and hand it to the girl.
“No, Little Rose. You and I… hm. I think that perhaps we are a forked footpath, one that began at the same door. Our roads cross here, in this place and time. I do not think I am you… only what you could be, someday.” She smiled sadly, unsure of why this parting seemed so difficult, but for some reason she thought she heard a call like a hunting horn, from deeper in the wood. Looking up, through a strange gap in the forest canopy, she spoke once more. “Do you see those stars, little one?
“The wain?” The girl’s voice seemed thin and fragile, and it stung Sarnai again to think of the losses she had seen at such a young age.
“It is a promise, little one, made by the lady who placed the shining stars in the sky. It is a promise that one day, all will be well again, and the sun will rise again.” She looked down to make eye contact with the young girl for the last time. “This is where the crossroads will split once more. You must go out, walk beneath the sky’s light, where a new family awaits you in the world beyond. Cherish these people; it is not often that one finds their kin, whether these bonds are formed by blood or friendship.”
“What of you, then?” The Rabbit still looked like she was about to cry, but took a step back, out toward the forest’s edge. Sarnai turned away as she replied, walking toward the darker, deeper parts of the wood.
“I think that in this moment, the shadows are a better place for me. After all, someone must keep you safe. Even without weapons… there is little to fear. Have I told you that I met the Reaver from Mother’s bedtime stories? He is actually quite friendly, much like Father… go West and you may see him, too.” She continued into the shadows, looking back one more time over her shoulder. “Farewell, Little Rose.”
As she walked away, the shadowed foliage about her lit up for a moment, and she would have sworn that the leaves were limned in a shaft of starlight. The rose chain in her hand shone with light, and it seemed to grow and twist, becoming a bow of wood, sprouting flowers still and with a green, vinelike string. She felt the compulsion to reach into her quiver, and her hands closed around something warm and light. Pulling it out to take a better look, she saw an arrow that seemed to be formed of light.
Smiling, Sarnai walked into the darkness. Though she could not see the stars above, she knew that they would always shine, and that the sun would rise in time.
Sarnai woke with the sun, as the rays of dawn light streamed through her window. The memories of her dream were fading fast, but she did recall that she was well-rested, and that she had not experienced the usual nightmares. It was a good morning.
