This will be a short chapter…
Did you just mutter, “Hooray,” Mister?
…Well, if you say you did not, then I will believe you. But I am going to keep an eye on you. If you ever say something like that, then—Slap! Do you understand me? Good. Let’s continue with my story then.
Think of this chapter as a transition, moving Mythilda away from Dawn and towards her fate. Nothing exciting happened as Mythilda trekked through the Holding Dawn. She avoided villages, in case Lord Falkirk had sent guards to search the Holding for her. For the same reason, she quit the road whenever travelers passed her by. The trip bored Mythilda. With nothing to distract her, she brooded over what had occurred in the City Proper. Feeling homesick, she lapsed into sorrow.
A week passed. Mythilda exited the Holding Dawn and entered the Holding Narrows. She was beyond Lord Falkirk’s reach. She was finally safe, but she was not happy.
The Holding Narrows was a… Well, it was a… narrow Holding sandwiched between Crescent and Able on the east, and Bramble and Dawn on the west.
Go on, Mister. Laugh at me. Yes. Yes. I used the word narrow to describe Narrows. Ha. Ha. Silly Izzy’s vocabulary let her down. Thinking up words to use is not easy, you know. I would like to see you try. Then, when you are stumbling over your tongue, I can laugh at you. Perhaps that will teach you a lesson.
Anyway… Despite its central location amongst the Holdings, Narrows was a land of little merit. Years of economic bungling and fraud had brought the Holding low. Narrows was so hard up that even the Elvenhomes seemed wealthy in comparison—except, of course, for the Elvenhome in Narrows. That was the poorest place in Nisse Cul Tairna.
For a day and a half, Mythilda followed the road that led to the City Proper in Narrows. On both sides of her were untilled fields teeming with weeds. Vacant farmsteads blotted the countryside, rotting into ruin after their owners had fled to seek a better life elsewhere. “If I could live anywhere, it would be anywhere but Narrows,” was a popular saying in Narrows back then.
On the afternoon of her second day in Narrows, Mythilda happened across a motley scene as she neared a crossroads. Four gnomes…
Yuck! I know. Gnomes, right. Just saying that word makes my skin crawl. It feels as if a cluster of spiders is scurrying about my arms and legs. Oh! Gnomes are so disgusting. The way they soil their pants as if doing so was something of which they should be proud. And the way they smear mucus over their dirty faces. Yuck! You would think they enjoy looking filthy…
Right. This was supposed to be a short chapter.
So… Four gnomes had chased a young woman, aged sixteen just like Mythilda, up a black walnut tree. At present, they were attempting to chop down the tree by head-butting it repeatedly. A knapsack belonging to the young woman lay nearby. The gnomes had riffled through it already. Everything that had been inside the knapsack was scattered upon the earth. The young woman, meanwhile, clung to a branch above the gnomes. She passed the time by screaming hysterically.
Let me pause on this scene in order to describe this young woman. She wore an off the shoulder, long sleeve dress—forest green in color with a floral pattern about the waist. Draped across her shoulders was a tan travelling cloak with a hood attached to it. This young woman was petite in stature… Five feet tall… She had long, curly red hair… Bright green eyes… And a face full of freckles. Yes. I was that young woman.