His demand had sent two younger men scurrying through the small gathering of filthy men and women, each of them clad in rags befitting a beggar. Long moments passed before they came lurching forward, their grimy hands clutching each arm of a thin and dark-skinned woman. From her wrists and ankles clattered heavy iron shackles that had turned a curious brown that matched her skin and the mud of the ground below her bare feet. She appeared emaciated, sunken in and worn. Yet still, despite her hunger-sharpened features and matted brown hair, there was a wicked pride in her brown-black stare as she leaned into the hold of both men. Her stride was stunted by the short measure of chain between her ankles, yet still she lurched forward with the eagerness of one welcoming their fate - be it death or lashings. By the whip in the fat brute's hand, perhaps he would give her both. A nearly delirious smile whipped over the woman's lips, the action causing the nearly invisible crescent upon her left cheek to wrinkle slightly beneath the layer of mud that caked her pores.
As the trio drew even just before the brutish leader of their little clan, a heavy hand fell to Kaelyn's shoulder. The pressure of the fat one's entire weight forced her knees to buckle and sent her landing into the mud at his feet. Her chin swung up as she met the man's stare coldly, a challenge beckoning in the wicked brown of her eyes. Parting her lips, she licked them with a nearly dry tongue before she managed to bark out seething words. "What, getting right down to the dirty work? Not even having a little fun? No wonder the men dream of pissing on you and leaving your severed head to the crows." A leer broke over her cracked and bleeding lips as the man turned a distinct shade of purple that only grossly obese and angry men could turn. He lurched his body around her as the two younger men held her at bay upon her knees. The sound of tearing cloth broke through the otherwise silent atmosphere as he wrenched the back of her tattered blouse apart to bear the skin of her shoulders and back to the wet and heavy air. The thick leather whip uncurled like a great snake as he strode back three paces. "This bitch was caught and tried fer murder. Her head's wanted in Gynk, Albar, the Iron desert and more. Let's give 'em a decorated body when we bring 'em her head!" An unnerving cry of approval rang up from the shabby collection as the man jerked his stump-like arm back over his head. With a hiss, the heavy leather curled up into the air before striking out to land true against the bronzed desert-bred skin. Kaelyn gritted her teeth as the first sting became many, her back turning from soft yet dirty tanned to pink to red with her own blood. Twenty, fourty strikes she took, she could not remember. For the first time in years, the woman could not stop the cry of sudden and bitter pain from breaking from her as her skin broke open.
- [list][list]. . . . . .
Cold sweat had slicked over her entire naked body as she lurched awake, a gasp rolling startled from her lips. With a wince, Kaelyn slowly came to her senses as the rocking and creaking of the ship swayed her from her hazy nightmares. Her sudden jolt had pulled at the healing tissue criss-crossed along her back, causing a sharp burn to ripple from shoulder to hip. Inhaling deeply, the woman pressed up from her belly, her hands sliding over the old but soft blankets that made up the bed she had taken for the night. The heavy fur-weaved blanket that had been placed over her frame slid away, catching uncomfortably on the mass of bandages that bound her from breast to waist. As she moved, she could smell the concoction of herbs that had been pastered over her raw skin in order to quicken the healing of the myriad cuts and lascerations that had been inflicted not a week back.
One palm lifted up from the bed as she eased around to sit upon its edge, her fingers rubbing roughly over her eyes as she squinted through the relative darkness of the small room. It smelled of mold and salt, as any ship rightly would, yet something of the smell drew the warmth of comfort over her. Combing a hand through her tangled hair, Kaelyn pressed gingerly to her feet and strode to the small chest tucked well into the room's corner. There she dragged out a heavy and warm skirt, paired with a blouse and cloak that she quickly covered herself in. The cloak was a new edition, a fine swath of weaved blue as dark as the ocean at night. Along its collar was a line of the finest wolf fur, a grey splashed with white. It was the cloak befitting a noblewoman, a "rich bitch", made finer still by the silver wolfhead brooch that held it closed at her neck. The hood too was heavy and large, concealing her features with ease when she so desired. Half her pay from the last job had seen it in her possession, something she would never regret. Now though, she threw it over her thin shoulders for the sake of nothing more than warmth.
Turning, Kaelyn eased from the room and drifted toward the small stairs that led up to the deck of the large carrack. One hand reached out to brace herself as the ship rocked with the waves, her booted feet picking their way carefully up from the depths of the ship. When she broke out into the fresh air, a curse slid like ice from her lips. Her breath fogged before her face in the late winter chill of the wind that blasted over her and filled the sails. Ducking her head beneath her cowl, the woman stepped across the deck. Her dark eyes scanned the various figures that moved through the pre-dawn grey. Here and there men shouted crudely as they went about their duties, all ignorant to their guest as she strode slowly across to the bow of the carrack. There she found the young man that had paid her passage upon the ship, aptly named the "Salty Bitch". As she approached and came to a still beside him, she felt his chin tip aside and his pale blue-grey eyes regard her thoughtfully. "How much further to Gobaith?" she queried softly through the grey light as her breath swirled in swaths of pale white steam. He chuckled and turned a look back over the waters. For a moment, the two simply watched the waves break across the ship's side before he answered her. "Another day, if winds are with us. We are getting close." Leaning forward onto the railing, the young man - perhaps seventeen years at best - faced into the wind with a deep breath. His blood was more saltwater than anything, she could tell. Born and raised upon the ships. She could respect the hardness that he had endured, partly at least. "What will you do on the island anyway?" he asked curiously, his voice breaking through her idle musing. To that, Kaelyn hesitated for a lng moment. She was not certain what she would do or what she would return to. It had been well over three years yet again, far longer than she had ever intended to be away for.
Running her tongue over her lower lip, the woman adopted a very similar pose to the boy's. Her hood slid back and loosed her dark hair, allowing it to dance in the heavy salt-laden winds. "I am not certain," she admitted softly at first as her brows drew down. Then she flicked one sore shoulder up, "I have a friend there I need to check on. He'll be pissed with me for leaving yet again. Other than that, maybe I'll retire. I feel old." Despite the flat look of doubt that passed the boy's young face, Kaelyn did indeed feel old. Her body was aching and weary. She sought nothing more than to escape the pains and troubles, to wrap herself up in another's arms and sleep her days away. A voice deep within her taunted that this very idea was what she had abandoned when last she left. A grimace passed over her lips at the very thought, one which she quickly pushed aside. Instead, she canted her head slightly to better catch a look of the man near her. He had taken to watching her thoughtfully before he straightened and tossed a look down her back knowingly. "The herbs have helped some, I hope," he offered to which she nodded once in a thankful manner. It had been he that had seen her taken care of, stolen away from that damnable torture pit somewhere between Ann-Korr and Kang-Arr. It had been he that had won her passage onto the Salty Bitch and he that had treated the scathing and dirty wounds that criss-crossed her back. For that, Kaelyn owed this boy much. "The skin is healing. I think it will be sore for a month or more to come though," she replied with a mutter. He nodded in idle confirmation, a lanky and boney hand coming up to scratch the peppering of stubble along his thin cheek. "You'll scar. Nothing but magic can help that," he noted, watching her reaction warily. Little care passed over Kaelyn apart from a wrinkled nose at the mere mention of magic. Pressing from the railing, she lifted a hand up to rub over the rise of her left shoulder. "I can live with scars. The physical ones, after all, are the least painful." She no longer desired to live a life that required her body untouched and unharmed. Scars were her burden, proof of the life she had lived. She welcomed them.
For the next few hours as the sun rose and slowly crawled along the horizon, Kaelyn stood at the ship's bow and faced forward to the east. The boy soon left her to her thoughts, what with his own duties to handle. Left to her thoughts, the woman mused idly on the various faces that she knew and quietly hoped would await her upon that familiar island. More so, she had begun to ask herself just how feasible it would be to truly "retire" and live out the rest of her life upon the island. Never again to leave like the desert wind she was. A chuckle slipped from her at the idea of settling down and becoming someone's housewife and caretaker. No, that would never be her. But would she ever truly be tamed? Perhaps.