<strong>Captured Innocence</strong><br/><br/>The plodding gait would have been lulling if it didn't rock her side into the biting edge of saddle with deliberate regularity, soothing if she wasn't still feeling foreign slashes of heat on her backside or perhaps even calming if she wasn't absolutely terrified.<br/><br/>She should have known by the rheumy look of fear in Mabyn's eyes that morning.  After sipping at the special tea the old woman sometimes drank in place of their usual brew, she'd gone silent, meditative, the bowl of steaming liquid held in both hands as she stared into and past the dark surface.  Mabyn 'saw' something in the slick of iridescence - an omen, a warning, a vision - and it shook her.<br/><br/>Mabyn, who had grown more bent of back though she was still wiry and strong when necessary, retained a nimble mind though the wise, green eyes had grown a bit milky with time. Some had whispered 'hag', 'witch' but Briallen never would; Special, Gifted, even Enchanted, but no witch.  Briallen had never seen the woman in such a way; concerned, yes, or thoughtful but those previous visions had been about villagers distant from their small haven at the edge of the swamp.  Thinking back on the shadow that had crossed the beloved creased face, she understood she was in straits more dire than her imagination could conjure.<br/><br/>The older woman had quickly turned uncharacteristically melancholy, digging through a small chest of keepsakes to pull out a small leather pouch cinched closed with a long leather lace.  She hung the thing around the bewildered girl's neck, the 'pouch' settling between her breasts.  Then palming the smooth unblemished cheek in a leathery hand, she spoke.  "Keep this with you always, Briallen.  It might save your life some day."<br/><br/>The leather had grown dry with disuse and lifting the thing away from her, it fit easily in the palm of her hand where she studied it with curious confusion.  "But Mah.."  Boney fingers pressed the girls lips to shush.  "I thought it best to keep you from the world's horrors, girl.  And now you are ill equipped for what is coming.  May the Goddess forgive my arrogance and have mercy on us both this day and those yet to be."<br/><br/>How long ago was that?<em>Forever, Bree... forever ago.</em><br/><br/><div align="center">~ ~ ~</div><br/>He had flushed her out to running and that's when she met his trap.  Her scream pierced the surrounding woods, but no help came as she dangled and screeched.  An attempted run for home for the familiar arms of Mabyn came with a lesson that she would not soon forget.  The man would just not listen to reason, muffling her pleadings with a rag that tasted of musty dust while it sucked nearly every bit of moisture from her mouth.  Tears of frustration and fear had wet and dried and wet and dried her cheeks over again.<br/><br/>And the indignities kept mounting.<br/><br/>The burning in her shoulders, the chaffing at her wrists and ankles, the sore at her side and ribs; all these were forgotten as he off-handedly molested her naked body, taking stock as if she were a beast to trade or sell.  Ducking his touch was futile and struggling had got her nowhere, so she opted to lay as passively as possible.  Still she squirmed and whimpered, squeezing her eyes closed tight when they weren't stabbing daggers at him.<br/><br/>Where was her pouch?  The long lace bit into her nape when her captor snapped it from her neck, the dried leather giving easily with a dull pop.  Was there magic in it to save her life?  Earlier, when she sneaked away from the safety of their humble home on a quest to fetch some gooseberries - Mabyn's favorite treat - the curious girl had peeked inside.  The three items nestled there had only made her more curious; a ruby gem the size of her smallest fingernail and the color of blood, a lock of hair that was still soft and curling, the color of her own, and a tooth, largish and ugly with markings etched on its surface.<br/><br/>Fresh tears leaked, nearly silent but for the wheezy breathing through her nose; eyes red rimmed and puffy, the crying snot gathered on her muzzling rags as she lay pinned on the cart bed trembling and naked under a web of biting ropes.<br/><br/>Briallen had never known hate; it was a unfamiliar feeling, an unknown concept.  But its seed had been planted that day under dappling sunshine and the sweet smell of peaches, taking root in a young girl's fear.<br/>