[cw: Loss of parent, fantasy racism, disease, trauma]

The child sat at the window, looking out at the fields, away from the town. It looked so peaceful out there in the farms and forests. You’d think that with such a harsh plague the world would be darker. Whenever his mother told him about the world, he assumed places like Sarkoris must be dark. Surely with demons pouring out of the ground the skies would be overcast, wouldn’t they? But maybe this plague wasn’t that bad.

It ravaged the village, and no one else who got it got off light. There would probably be hunger this year, from all the missing workers, but they’d recover. The fatigue and boils went away eventually. No one was seriously injured, no one died.

Well, no one the village cared about.

The thought had the child rubbing at the shoulder where his arm used to be. That would be fine, he was only ten, it wasn’t like he was used to having two arms. That’s not the injury the hurt the most. He rubbed at his chest, but didn’t cry. It didn’t even hurt, it felt… hollow.

The child stared out the window. A fox wandered out of the woods and from yards off looked back into the window of the Snake and Swan. The child stared back, no expression. If it came for a chicken it would surely get killed. There weren’t enough to go around after two weeks with most of the villagers laid up instead of working. A fox would probably do.

“He always just fucking stares,” someone whispered. Or at least, pretended to whisper. It was the blacksmith, though the child forgot his name.

There was an awkward shuffling from the table. “Well ‘is mum died, didn’t she?”

“Snake bitch probably probably caused the plague”. The child knew that voice. That was one of the carpenters. He kept trying to court the child’s mother. He didn’t even pretend to whisper.

“Whaya mean?” came the second voice.

“I mean look at it, everyone started getting better when she died.” Rendal, that was the carpenter’s name.

“Me own mum’s still got the chills,” the first voice chimed in, low, but not low enough that the child couldn’t make it out.

“Yeah, it’s been two weeks, c’moff it.”

“No, I bet she carried the plague,” Rendal said, clearly deep into his cups. “She brought it on the village. They’ve got poison blood, you know. Probably spit all in our food.”

There was an awkward silence, with only the shuffling of mugs. In fact, it was quiet at more than just that table. The child could feel the whole tavern looking at him, eyes boring into his back. He didn’t cry. There were no more tears.

“Rendal, come on, we know you… you know,” one of the other men said.

“Fuck you,” Rendal said. “Fuck you, she probably would have boiled my dick off with…” he hiccupped, and started coughing. “Fucking snake.”

There was a sound of chairs scraping back along the wood and straw, and a startled murmuring went through the few patrons that were in the tavern at this early hour.

“Rendal Carpenter!” came Emma’s voice. Thick and strong, and filling the room. The stamping of her footsteps came closer, and before Rendal could get out a word of protest the chair clattered to the ground and there was the thump of a grown man being thrown to the floor. The child just kept looking out at the fox, which nosed at the ground, looking for grubs.

“Wait, hold on!” he called out. No one seemed to want to help him.