Lys: A Slave

Aithne listened to the Guttersnipe describe her home. Every time she heard it, it sounded more wonderful than the last. She was content to ride and listen, taking pleasure in the pictures the girl's words created.

Eventually the small company stopped and made camp for the night. They had fallen into a pattern by now- Wulf to the horses and the fire-starting, Aithne and the Guttersnipe to cooking, and Master Lucius, as always, to his reading.

As they worked, the Guttersnipe bent close, telling her all would be well, that she would not be forgotten, but at the words something ripped open inside Aithne. Soon the Guttersnipe would be free. And for all that Master Lucius was a good master- perhaps the best of masters, she was still his slave. To him she was nothing but the person who took care of his books and his cup.
It had been easy to forget the Guttersnipe's status, when the two were wearing the same clothes, eating the same food, and doing the same things, but she was about to return to her place as Lord Ambrosius's ward, and Aithne would remain behind, and no amount of remembering would change that.

Tears welled up, unbidden, and she tried unsuccessfully to choke them back. Stop it, Aithne! Overcome, she leaped to her feet and ran to the trees. She didn't know why it had hit her so hard, she just knew she didn't want to fall to pieces in the midst of them all. Going just beyond the treeline, she sat down behind some brush, buried her face in her hands, and wept.