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Rated: 13+ · Other · Fantasy · #1938828
She's "just" a secretary . . . . with a lot of value.
It was completely quiet. No sound betrayed what had happened only moments before. The wind lazily teased the leaves of the trees, finally detaching one. The leaf gently fell to the ground, falling into a small puddle of red liquid. A river of the liquid wound itself around the forest ground, flowing freely from its source. Drops of the liquid fell into the river, falling from a small, child-like finger. A curious yet cautious mouse scampered up to the finger, sniffing it. Deciding that it was not edible, nor would it move suddenly, the mouse scrambled up on the limp hand. From where it was perched, it was given a good view of the creature's face. As a mouse, and only a mouse, it knew nothing of the words the child's face expressed. The face was still wet from tears, and a frightened and lonely expression still lingered. The mouse froze, waiting to see if the eyes would move. When nothing happened, the mouse crept closer.

A rustle in the underbrush startled the mouse. It took off without a second glance.

A hand reached down and gently brushed away a strand of brown hair that cut across the girl's face.

"Sattarm," a voice said quietly.

The man turned and looked at the woman who had been following him. "The third one," he choked. "The third one. This has got to stop."

The woman closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "We've all been saying that."

Sattarm looked back down at the girl. "Are they that heartless?"

The woman said nothing.

"If I could make her breathe again . . . " he said, his voice trailing off.

The woman kneeled next to him and started to rearrange the girl's bloody clothes, neatly smoothing them out to the best of her ability.

"We may have to move," the woman said softly.

Sattarm looked up sharply. "We can't move!" he protested. "There are many others- and this is their home!"

The woman shook her head. "Sattarm, that argument will always get somebody into more trouble. I know this is home to many, but soon it will be their grave. Like Helia," she added, a sob choking her. Sattarm watched as a tear slid down her cheek and fell on the little girl's limp hand.

"Meagan . . . ." Sattarm began quietly. But he didn't know how to continue and so the two were lost in sad silence.

"Meagan . . . ." Sattarm began again. "Don't you remember what Varnice said . . . ."

"I remember," Meagan replied stiffly. She looked up at Sattarm, eyes full of worry. "But they already know that, and so keep it locked up. What makes you think that they'll just let us-"

"I know," Sattarm cut her off. "But if we can get it, this can end."

"It's not that simple."

"They keep it locked up. Therefore, how cold can it be?"

Meagan hesitated. "You mean, you want to-"

"Why not? I'm willing to do it if it will save lives."

Meagan stared at Sattarm for a second, and then nodded. "Very well. But you're going to have to work harder to sell that to the others. A lot of them are set on moving."

Sattarm shrugged and looked back down at Helia's body. Sighing heavily, he slid his arms under her and delicately lifted her off the ground.

"Come on, Helia," he whispered into her deaf ear. "Let's get you home."
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