It had taken longer than it should, longer than Silver would have liked, but in many ways she didn't mind. She still felt hurried and harried, concerned that the murderers from the farmhouse might have taken up pursuit, but the slow progress was necessary. Eithwyn, as she had learned the little girl was named, needed frequent rests and an awful lot of feeding! More than that, she needed comfort and care, cuddles and reassurance that Silver would keep her safe, that the bad men would never harm her. When asked after Eithwyn's parents and brother, Silver didn't know what to say beyond a gentle admission that they wouldn't be coming.
By the time they made it to the house in Hytbold, newly rebuilt after a recent attack, Eithwyn was nodding off in the saddle. Silver reached up and gathered the girl into her arms, tenderly cradling her as she buried her face in Silver's neck and drifted off to sleep. Having no hands spare with which to knock at the door, she took the only option available to her; she kicked.
"What is it?" Yanna demanded as she yanked the heavy wood inwards. She froze then, eyes wide with shock. "What do you want?"
"Entry would be nice," Silver said wryly.
"You're covered in blood!"
"It's not mine."
"What have you done?!" Yanna demanded indignantly. "I should have known you'd come back, trailing your evils like a bad smell! Filthy wretch! Half-breed scum!"
Aware that a crowd was beginning to gather, Silver glared at the eldest of her half-sisters.
"Shut up," she snapped, albeit quietly, as she barged past the woman and inside the house. "You'll wake Eithwyn."
Ignoring the protests and spluttered insults, Silver made her way into the common room and laid the girl gently down upon a cushioned bench. She waited a moment, making certain that the child still slept soundly before turning to face her eldest half-sister.
She looked so much older than her years. Deep lines sat at the corners of her eyes and further puckered her pinched lips. Thick white streaks ran through the sun blonde hair that sat so neatly coiled into a bun and dark circles sat beneath tired eyes, set in a sharp face bedecked by leathered skin.
"It's like this..." Silver started, but was quickly cut short.
"Why did you come here?" Yanna demanded, hands thrown theatrically to the air. "Is it to taunt me? Is it to have the last laugh? This life was meant for you, not me!"
"And what life is that?" Silver enquired wearily.
"They made me marry him, you know," Yanna carried on, one finger pointing accusingly at Silver. "They made me marry Anfeald after you ran away! You wouldn't believe what he's put me through! The humiliations, the scandals, the neglect! He never looked at me the same way after our wedding! He never touched me again after it became clear that we couldn't have children. That's his fault! I know it is! Because he's not got any bastard whelps with those bar wenches he plays around with, I'll tell you that!"
Silver opened her mouth to respond, but Yanna carried on, her self-pity in full swing.
"I should have married a rich man! I should have married a captain of an Eored! I wouldn't be forced, forced, to my knees as a refugee then! I'd have a good home! A rich home! A husband who loves me! Not this... this... cast off life, left over by the likes of you! You did this to me, Sairona! Your selfishness caused me all of this pain!"
Silver was gobsmacked. Even a cursory glance around the place revealed the comfortable life that Yanna led. Everything, from the sweeping curves of the table legs to the plush rugs and thick tapestries, spoke of wealth and privilege. That she could have all this in a town so recently remade after a devastating attack spoke not of the ravages and hardships of life as a refugee but of a woman cared for and coddled.
"Did you ever stop to think," Silver butted in. "That you brought this upon yourself?"
"Me?!" Yanna sucked in a breath, bosom straining at her bodice as she puffed out her chest. "How could you even suggest such a thing? You were supposed to marry him! He was hand-picked for you! You ran away! You left him and the guests humiliated! There had to be a wedding after that! Father had already paid the dowry!"
"And weren't you the one swiveling on his pike the night before?" Silver asked sweetly. The look of sheer horror on the womans' face almost brought a laugh to her lips, but she schooled herself to seriousness and continued on before Yanna could start whining again. "Setting that aside; your father is dead, as is Radnir, his wife and their son."
True, she could have broken the news better, she mused as Yanna flung herself over onto another couch in the most overblown manner ever to be witnessed. She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve, using it to daub delicately at her dry eyes as she sniffled and pretended to sob.
"How could you?" she cried. "
"It wasn't me, you hair-brained twit," Silver hissed venemously, her gaze falling to Eithwyn as the girl stirred. "Keep it down, will you? The girl is exhausted from the ride here."
"Eithwyn, oh Eithwyn!" Yanna intoned. A further fake sniffle ensued before she sat bolt upright and, turning, stared down at the sleeping child for a long moment. "Why is she here?"
"She needs a place to live," Silver explained as patiently as she could. "Her father mother and brother were killed only days ago, Yanna. You're her aunt, you're all she has left."
"Well, she can't stay here!" Yanna rose to her feet once more, hand planted firmly on her hips.
"She's your niece!"
"She's another mouth to feed!"
"Is your head stuck so far up your own vacuous sheath that it's replaced the troll testicle you once called a heart?" Silver demanded. "She's a little girl who has lost everything and you won't open your home to her?"
"Why don't you?" Yanna spat back. "She can't stay here!"
Balling her fists, Silver stepped toward the older woman, a fire alight in her heart. She had never liked Yanna but now hatred burned bright within. Silver raised her fist. Yanna cowered away. Just then, Silver caught sight of the sleeping child from the corner of her eye, pale cheeks flushed with the warmth. The shirt that Silver had given her to wear, grey naturally, hung about her tiny frame like an oversized sack, spattered with mud from the journey. Turning on her heel, she gathered the child back up into her arms and marched back toward the door.
"Go on!" Yanna called from behind. "Get out, you savage!"
"Open the bloody door," Silver growled through gritted teeth. "My hands are full."
Yanna did as was demanded. Anything to get the pair gone, it seemed.
Stepping outside into the street, Silver half turned to glare back at the woman over her shoulder.
"You know," she stated as a parting shot. "I never expected that you and I would reconcile. You always hated me too much for that. But I had at least hoped that you would have turned out better than this."
She turned back down the street, continuing on her way without stopping. Behind her, Steel followed sedately, the packhorse trailing in his wake, whilst all around came the hushed whispers of interested onlookers.
