Thread: Blighted Lands (Yen and I)

Snow looked at the sundial outside of her families hut and sighed heavily. She was late, which didn't bode well since this gathering was anonymous. People were inclined to leave if the person who orchestrated it didn't show. It could have been a weasel trying to work out insurgents. In this day when such people were sacrificed for such infractions as leaving the island without permission, no one would put their heads at risk if they didn't have to. But she had picked this hour on purpose. The Festival of Life was underway. A small gathering of people wouldn't look inconspicuous, at least not at first. These days folk were smart enough to dodge any incriminating questions, but staying in one place for long was suggestive indeed. In that case, she double her pace. She checked and double checked her satchel. Inside were enough supplies, she presumed, to get them to land and a crude map of the old lands. Working as a scribe had its benefits, but most was drawn from memory, which didn't give the map much credibility. No small fry like her was allowed by the Artifacts for long lest her head become big with possibilities. It didn't take more than a glance peek her interest though. Fortunately, she was wise to hide her joy. She would turn her head up in mock disgust and say things like, I don't know why any fool would want to return there. When in truth she was that fool. Or, maybe she was the only smart one. The next sacrifice could be anyone, but these days it was anyone who threatened the order. She remembered reading texts about things like free speech. It sounded less confining than her days tyranny. Snow checked the strap of her bag, making sure she had threaded it properly to withstand unsavory conditions. Inside were also packed tailoring supplies. She had listed what to bring, but resources were tight and she had an advantage being in a family of governing servants. Once she felt secure and swallowed her fear, she took her first step outside. She threw a multicolored scarf around her head, knowing her hair was a dead giveaway. Redheads were no longer common, especially in such warm climates. Twas why she was named snow. A rare sight, but a welcomed reminder that the world was once not covered in blight. With one look around she began to hustle to the beach, formulating a lie for the officials along the way. Any lie about meeting friends was blotchy at best. Scribes had little friends because of the lives they had to live. Learning all day of the old ways and languages, and then not allowed to speak any of it. They were paid well to preserve the past for the day he world was ready. Reaching the beach was no problem. It was once she arrived that the trouble began. Immediately, she knew it had all been too easy. Getting the word out, getting the boats together, and meeting no police along the way. Three people were on the beach, face down tied up with a policeman's foot pressing in their backs. Another officer was at the boats, securing them in case someone broke free and tried to escape. One remained to be secured and so far no officers noticed her. She hadn't thought to pack a weapon, didn't have access to any anyway. When would humble little scribes need to know combat?