and gone for both our races, but they still rule over us with the same brutal
iron fist.
But not for long. Or at least, not if we can finally organize a strong
enough resistance to overthrow them.
I cast a discreet but very longing glance up at the windows high above
me. The leaders of the resistance are meeting somewhere in there. Plotting.
Scheming. Discussing crucial plans and making important decisions. I so
desperately want to be in there. But instead, I’m out here. Gutting fish.
A faint clanking sound comes from the left.
My heart leaps into my throat, and I snap my gaze towards it.
Jeiman, the young brown-haired guy who is also watching the street,
frantically tries to straighten the stack of copper pots that he almost
knocked over.
I shoot him a look before returning my gaze to the street.
Mabona’s tits, how did I get stuck with him for this job? I’ve been
working for the resistance for years, and yet I’m still assigned as a lookout
together with this damn rookie who started last month. I should have moved
up the ranks by now. I should be inside, helping them plot and scheme. Not
sit out here as if I’m some fresh recruit that needs to prove herself. I have
proven my loyalty. And yet, they still don’t trust me.
Stabbing my knife into the wooden board before me, I blow out a bitter
sigh before reaching down to switch from the now empty bucket to one
filled with dead fish. Another cold wind rushes between the buildings. The
few fae civilians who are walking down the street flip their collars up
against the chill. One particularly miserable-looking guy stops right in the
middle of the road and heaves an endless sigh.
Behind me, warmth and the soft murmur of voices spill out from the
door to the tavern.
The miserable-looking fae man turns towards it. Then he abandons
whatever it was that he was doing and instead marches straight through the
door and into the tavern’s alluring warmth.
I can’t really blame him. It’s an overcast and chilly afternoon, and the
winds that keep rushing between the rows of wooden buildings aren’t
exactly helping either. I once more flex my hands to get some warmth back
into my fingers while wishing that I was indoors, doing something
important at the meeting upstairs.
