Her days transformed along with her nights from the time their arrangement began.
A few weeks after she started going to the Caverns, the girl went for her late afternoon ride, but changed course.
Instead of going south through the village or west toward the Ancient Grove, she steered the horse east of the manor and followed the river winding through a younger forest. She didn’t know what compelled her to go to this place where she hadn’t been in years.
She used to come here with the Horse Trainer on those afternoons they weren’t inclined to go to the Abandoned Valley. She hadn’t been back since he had gone.
In these woods, the Trainer had introduced her to the ways of the wanderer.
The unlikely mentorship started because she didn’t believe his stories about stowing away in the lowest reaches of the ships, escaping from angry sheikhs, and traveling across deserts by camel.
She didn’t think such adventures were possible for a penniless vagabond. She remembered how ashamed she’d been when she saw the outrage in his eyes.
The Trainer noticed and smiled.
“I’m a lot of things,” he’d said. “But I’m no liar. I dare you to find out just how wrong you are, little Miss.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can show you how a man can live off nothing. You just have to be willing to learn.”
During the rest of that summer, she often regretted accepting that challenge.
Those were the only lessons she struggled with in her life.
The Trainer didn’t make it easy for her, and she hated him whenever he laughed at her.
But he taught her everything he knew.
He showed her how to make a pole and line to catch fish, how to shoot a rifle, even how to hunt with a knife if that was all she had. He insisted she skin her own kills and cook the meat in a skillet over a fire, which he also taught her to make. He instructed her in building a camp when she had something to work with and when she had nothing.
It took the entire summer for her to master these strange skills, but these lessons gave her the most gratification of anything she’d ever learned.
She hadn’t thought about that season for years, pushing those days to the furthest recesses of her mind. But as she cantered the reddish brown steed around the bend of the river, she kept her eye out for their favorite fishing spot.
Their poles were still there.
The long sticks leaned against the tree as if they had been waiting for the pair to return and cast their lines.
She dismounted from her horse and picked up the pole.
She had struggled to carve it until it the Horse Trainer felt it was right.
She bent it slightly and chuckled when the wood split down the middle. She wasn’t at all surprised when she tried the Trainer’s pole and found it still strong and flexible.
The girl hesitated for just an instant before throwing off her skirts and jacket. Clad in peasant breeches and a blouse, she crouched and clawed through the mud for worms. Before long, she had her line cast in the river and after an hour, she pulled in her first catch.
Practicing these forgotten skills, the past intertwined with the present to bring her a peace she hadn’t known for too long.
The girl often looked around, for the Trainer’s presence was so strong she almost expected to find him.
But the memories were enough.
That day, the girl floated through a haze of reminiscence.
She even forgot her ostracism and brought her catch to the kitchen, just as she had that summer years ago. But sight of the corpulent spread of a back bent over the stoves thrust her into the present again.
The girl stopped in her tracks.
Pain exploded in her core, sending an upsurge of bile to the back of her tongue. Before she could move, the Cook turned around, her murky eyes flickering to the line of trout.
Her face mottled when she flushed. Averting her eyes, the Cook mumbled thanks as she took the fish from the girl’s hand.
Her contentment went sour and the girl cursed her absence of mind.
But the next night she thought better of it when she saw the main course was filet of trout on a mound of string beans.
The girl tasted the Cook’s shame in each bite and savored her dinner more than she had in a long time.
She came back to the kitchen the following afternoon and held a skinned rabbit above her head.
Again, the Cook flushed. Yet she reached for the offering. When the Cook’s fingers brushed against her knuckles, she looked up and the girl saw she was afraid.
Something shifted inside the girl in that moment.
In the face of the Cook’s fear, she felt invincible.
She came to the kitchen every day after that, relishing that sensation every time the Cook reached for her kills.
The girl had become somebody she didn’t understand.
By summer’s end, she welcomed the silence that had sent her to the river in despair. Her near exile now served her well, making it easy for her to come and go as she liked.
In being an outcast, the girl now found her freedom.
