Owena sat in the prison that was on a wagon clutching the water skin. The voice that had just threatened her continued to cause her to try and keep the bile rising in her throat. Her chapped lips finally took a drink, the relief it brought her parched mouth made her close her eyes.
A well. He was going to have built her a well. So she didn’t have to haul water. Then… he was going to buy he a larger bakery next to a beautiful lake. The memory was so sweet it hurt. Was he looking for her?
Loakee. My Loakee. I miss you. But… you would not want me now. I am not the one that can make you smile anymore. Where are you? Do you search for me? Could your knife tricks help me? What of Baldvin? Does he miss me? Ma? Pa? My friends?
The faces of those she loved at the moment did not bring comfort, only the stabbing reality of all she had lost. All that had been ripped from her in a matter of a day because someone else had a use for her. A use she still couldn't’t understand beyond making her suffer on every level.
The dirty dress she wore was stiff in places from the grime. It smelled, despite the bath she had recently had the terrible rags had been put back on her and they scratched against her skin.
A tear rolled down her freckled cheek. She put a hand to the chopped red hair. The hatchet that had taken her long red hair from her had taken so much from the baker.
She took another drink of water then closed the top. It was unpredictable that the cruel faces that traveled with her would remember to give her any water again on the journey. To a destination she did not know.
Death was a fantasy now, almost more than freedom.
