She had lived her life in the Low District, watching the people and the way about them. Sure enough, there were many thousands more of them inside the city walls, but it was rare even to find a single elf who was so willing to help another. They sang, now. Bowing at her as she passed and cheering when she bowed in return. Her tent was prepared first among them. It was large. Larger than any place she had been allowed. Scaa came in at her back a few moments after Óraithe had been shown in by a smiling group of five who had erected the thing. It was unfurnished, but they made promises to return with things.
“Speechless in front of people who built you such a lovely tent.”
“Did you know? This thing… it’s large. Audacious even.”
“You hate it?” Scaa frowned and came to her.
“I…” Óraithe looked to Scaa and then back around at the covering. “I do not know.”
“Well, there is nothing wrong with space, is there? Borr calls it a marquee. It was abandoned by horsefolk.”
Óraithe ran her eyes around the expanse she was to sleep in. The high ceilings snapped a picture of the Hall where Briste had taunted her into sharp focus. She flinched and looked away, closing her eyes. Scaa grabbed her arm and pulled her around. She knew Scaa had meant it as a comfort but the pull was too hard and awkward at that. Óraithe could not help but smile at it. She still worried she would wake in a cell at times. Such awkward truths in Scaa’s way were never things she’d have dreamed.
“I will find us another place,” Scaa said with worried purpose. “There are plenty. I—”
Óraithe put a hand to Scaa’s cheek and quieted her. “Do not make trouble. If this is where they wish me to be, I will be here. We will. And besides…” She breathed slow and long to steady her nerves. “I will not be owned by those things.”
Scaa kissed her suddenly, hard and without any delicacy. A hand at her neck pulled Óraithe’s head against Scaa’s lips all the harder. A rush flowed through her body from the sensation. Scaa pulled her lips away, putting her forehead to Óraithe’s.
“Is something the matter?” Óraithe breathed the words heavy. There was an illicit feel to their intimacy still and it swept her at every touch or kiss. She stared at Scaa’s lips waiting for a reply.
“The-there… I…” Scaa twisted her mouth in frustration. “Fires burn it all, where are my words? I worry. About you, I mean. Always. More… More every hour I wish to protect you. To keep you near me. I did not know what you were when you were taken from me… I dreamt of you. Time and again. Strange, sad dreams that gnawed at me.” Scaa kissed her again, softer this time. “I told them your stories… to keep-”
“Mistresses!” A voice called from just outside the heavy flaps on the marquee. “We’ve come with… things. Bedding and things.” The voices were chipper, the ones from before.
Scaa spun, keeping Óraithe’s hand held in her own. “Come.”
Óraithe felt her cheeks flush. She squeezed Scaa’s hand and was answered in kind. A few hastily constructed pieces of bedding and seating were brought in. Rough, but as good as most things Óraithe had ever seen in bars and the like.
A man, not old, not young, stopped and smiled. “Carpenter swears he’ll make something fit for you soon as he’s back at his shop.” He looked at Scaa after. “And Callaire’s calling. Says there’s something you need to see to.”
Scaa nodded wordlessly and the man went to join the others. He whistled suggestively and the others laughed. When they stepped outside, Óraithe saw why. Scaa was flushed bright red. It was all Óraithe could do to not tease her for it, though she wondered if she’d looked any different a few moments before. Óraithe nudged her, deciding to leave it at that.
“Cock it all,” Scaa kicked at the dirt. “I finally… and they come just then?” She was complaining to herself as she walked away from the tent with Óraithe in tow.
“Where is Callaire?” Óraithe considered that taking her mind off their moment might be a favor of sorts.
Scaa stopped at the question and oriented herself. “This way. South side toward the road.”
Óraithe kept with her in spite of Scaa’s brisk pace. Her body was well mostly enough for it and had even started to take something of a familiar shape. The scars would not fade, neither the divots in her flesh, but it was something. The sensation had returned in her lips as they healed and her breasts were sensitive as they’d never been, Scaa was fond of reminding her with pinches and pokes. Those seemed the only places meant for pleasure that worked as they should.
It could not be helped that Óraithe’s thoughts had turned to sex and pleasure. There had been little privacy but still her hunger for Scaa and Scaa’s hunger for her had led to long nights with little sleep. It bothered Óraithe little. She hardly knew sleep anymore and the thought of wasting so much time annoyed her. Scaa had struggled, however. She slept little with her work in Brothaill and poorly in the barouche.
Callaire turned when he saw them. A family was with him. A child, no more than four, and three grown— a man and two women— who looked to be the same age. In their fifties, perhaps.
