A brigand's dream.

[highawaywoman]

Wide green eyes awoke to a world that glinted with a golden hue. This isnae real. It wasn't real, but her sleeping mind accepted it as such.

Feck. Another bleedin' dress. This one resembled a commoner's sack, losely knotted below the natural waist and the wool faded from many washings. She'd awakened in her old bedroom. The one she'd shared with three brothers, a loft in a small smokey cabin.

"Ye still in bed? Lazy feckin' scag! Get oop!" Large hands reached for her, roughly hauling her up from the warm nest of blankets that she'd been curled inside.

"Ye cannae roough me oop lioke that. Nae noow. Noow? I can kill ye." Instead of a child, the Ailova being pulled from the bed by her red-haired devil of a da was the adult one. Nevermind the simple homsespun gown that draped about her frame. "Droop me. Noow. Or I kill ye."

As quick as she was hauled up from the bed, the devil was gone. A blink and no longer was she in her in childhood room. Now she was on the road. A young teenager aboard a skittish grey gelding. Gaewinn.

"Och. Good. Ye. I loove ye. Silly daft bastard. I should 'ave nae gone oot that day."

Nae. She wasn't supposed to know that happened. He was still here. Myrken wasn't a stain upon the map of her life.

"Let's riode to the pub. I need a dram."

[Antichthon]

On the golden road, Along Ailova's path, there was a bottle. A whiskey bottle.

But perspective was a tricky thing, and even trickier in a dream. As Ailova drew near, she would see that it was not a normal-sized bottle, just a few hundred feet away, but a man-sized bottle, much farther down the unnaturally straight road.

And as Ailova drew even nearer, she would see that it contained more than whiskey. Floating within the brown liquid, curled into a ball, was a girl with horns.

Pho'r. But not the Pho'r Ailova knew. But neither was she the Pho'r she had met in a dream on a cliffside. This Pho'r was about six years of age. Her horns had grown and curled. She was naked, asleep, and serene. So long as she had the whiskey to breathe, she was serene.

[highawaywoman]

"Isnae that a spoot o' luck." Ailova patted the grey gelding; a three year-old she'd recently trained and acquired. She'd named him Gaewinn, a sweet name for a gentle soul.

But the nearer the nineteen year-old brigand came to the bottle, the larger it became. Between the sky and the glinting road, it was hard to make out the small figure inside until she was but a mere few feet away.

"A feckin' child. God's teeth." The child seemed familiar, but she couldn't place the horned-girl or how she would've known the urchin within.

"We should get 'er oot." Ailova spoke to the horse next to her, his large grey head coming about to nuzzle her booted foot from it's rest in the stirrup. In a scant few minutes Ailova took a length of rope from the back of her saddle, securing it to to her pommel and then the other about the bottle. A flew clicks under her tongue and the gelding backed up.

The bottle fell over.

[Antichthon]

The bottle shattered, and the girl was washed out in a torrent of whiskey. Moments later, the whiskey and broken glass vanished, leaving only the naked urchin.

Except she wasn't an urchin. She was clean, and well-fed. And now, free of all the dirt and grime that had covered her in both her older and younger forms, it was clear that she was going to grow up to be very pretty.

The girl lay there for a while. Then she coughed, sputtered, and awoke. Phor--and she was Phor now, Pho'r was long gone--did not know that she dreamed. But when she saw the golden road, her dreaming mind accepted it. It was odd to be outside, but that too, she accepted. She didn't remember how she got here, but that was normal. memory blackouts had become a standard feature in her life.

Phor rose to shaky feet. Just as the whiskey around her had disappeared, so did the whiskey within her, leaving her stone sober. She finally saw the highwaywoman, but she didn't recognize her. She almost never recognized anyone. It was easier to see her clients as weird, fleshy things, not people.

Phor smiled. It was that same childish smile Pho'r had given to Ailova on the cliffside. Full of happiness and joy. But something was off. And it was difficult to put a finger on it, but if Ailova searched hard enough, she would see it. The lights were on, the expression was convincing, but no one was home behind those eyes.

"Hello, Miss." Phor's mind had forgotten how to integrate faces, but she still knew how to pick out enough features to tell if her client was old or young, man or woman. It was very, very important not to use the wrong word. And Phor preferred women clients. They didn't hurt as much. There was a momentary blankness in Phor's expression when she saw that her client was riding a horse. Oh, this was going to be one of the weird ones, wasn't it?

But soon enough, that childish smile, adorable and full of enthusiasm, was back. "What do you want me to do?"

[highawaywoman]

Gaewinn spooked beneath the brigand as the bottle fell and smashed. Pieces of glasses came spilling with the liquor, but in a blink it was all gone. No bottle, no whiskey. But the horned-girl remained.

Ailova steadied the horse underneath of her with shifting weight, leaving the reins between her fingers slightly loosened. In a beat her right booted foot swing over the rump of the gelding and she came closer to the child. The poor thing was naked, which sent Ailova to looking over her shoulder toward the golden gleaming road.

"Ye need 'o poot somethin' on yerself. Some beast may spy ye here." The highwaywoman shrugged out of her bright maroon woolen frockcoat, tossing it to the young one.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Here. Poot that on. That's wot I'd lioke." Ailova looked uncomfortably away, biding her time so that the child could cover herself.

The late teenager spoke to her horse, not looking towards the child till she was covered.

"Ye shouldnae be here. They will kill ye."

[Antichthon]

Phor shied away when the horse spooked. She didn't want to be stepped on, but she wasn't sure this wasn't part of some weird act, either. Grown-ups did lots of weird things she didn't understand, after all. And she'd rather get stepped on than risk making her client mad. She'd get punished, even if she had had no way of knowing what she was supposed to do.

Ailova tossed her frockcoat, and Phor made no effort to catch it. It hit her squarely in the face and crumpled around her feet.

Poot that on. That's wot I'd lioke

"Yes, Miss." Phor did as she was told. The coat, much too big for her, covered her down to the shins.

Ye shouldnae be here. They will kill ye.

This was sounding like roleplay. Some of the clients liked that. Phor tried not to panic when she realized no one told her how she was supposed to act. Either that, or she'd forgotten in the memory blackout. That happened a lot, too. She did the only thing she could do: She winged it.

"Oh, no!" She clapped her hands over her chest in faux shock. "But I have nowhere to go! They'll kill me for sure!" She was a damn fine actor for her age. It explained where the older Phor got it from.

[highawaywoman]

"Wot 'appened to yer feckin' clothes?" Children should be clothed. Ailova even at this age had very firm beliefs in right and wrong. They were her own beliefs, not shared by her father or the men she ended up working with. They were her own. No one took them from her.

"But I have nowhere to go! They'll kill me for sure!"

Something about this didn't ring right in the dreaming Ailova's mind. The golden hue of this strange world tilted everything in her vision. She'd wanted a drink, but instead there was a child in front of the brigand.

"Who? Wot the feck are ye babblin' aboot child?" The teenager looked over her slender shoulder, checking for anyone that might be about them. The gelding next to her nickered softly, huffing as it lowered it's head further to survey the little one.

"Did someone 'urt ye?"

[Antichthon]

Phor looked down, as if struck by the realization she had, in fact, been naked. Most people would have realized that while putting on the frockcoat. Phor had apparently been oblivious.

"I, um. Don't know, Miss." She usually wore clothes. She actually had multiple outfits. Well, not really hers, but...A lot of the clients liked it when the girls dressed up. There were a number of outfits in her size. Oh no...did she mess this up, too? "Was I 'sposed to be wearing something special?" Oh no, oh no. "I-I'm sorry, I'll go--" Go where? The brothel wasn't anywhere in sight. And it make matters worse, it looked like she said the wrong line. The client was acting all confused. Ooooh...she'd really screwed up this time, hadn't she?

"Please, please don't tell Madam. She'll--" Wait. this was a new client. At least, Phor thought so--hard to tell when you couldn't integrate faces. But she didn't get many women. And one thing Phor had learned really early on was not to tell a new client how Madam would punish her. Not until she were really sure it wouldn't give them ideas. "...I-I can do something special to make it up to you. Just, please. Don't tell Madam."

"Did someone 'urt ye?"

Phor averted her gaze in thought. Was...was this an out? "Do...do you want to hurt me? 'Cause you can do that! You're just not 'sposed to hit me in the face or break bones, unless you pay extra. Miss." Ugh. She was just making it worse. At this point, she should just accept she wasn't going to get any food this week. And she'd been doing so well recently, too. She almost couldn't see her ribs anymore.

[highawaywoman]

The teenager shifted in her stance, booted feet uncomfortably kicking at some of the golden dust on the road. Nothing that came spilling out of the young horned-girl's mouth made sense. It all smelled uncomfortably of something vile to Ailova. Someone had used this little one, taught her to be goods, a parcel to be bought and sold. Repeatedly.

Bare hands went up in a gesture of stop to the girl, Ailova didn't want to hear more. It filled her with rage. Rage to the point that her vision blinked red in that golden world. The teenage Ailova didn't have the older brigand's controlled temper. This Ailova felt and exploded when she wished, to hells with the consequences. Whatever manner of blackness had put the child into these circumstances? Anger boiled in her blood, making her forget what her original mission had been. Now she wanted blood.

"Do...do you want to hurt me? 'Cause you can do that! You're just not 'sposed to hit me in the face or break bones, unless you pay extra. Miss."

"No. I dinnae hit children. Nor do I feck 'em. But. I'd verra much lioke 'o ken the direction o' yer mistress. The madam. I'd lioke 'o kill 'er fer ye." The golden-haired teenager spat to the ground, "I'll even do it fer free."

"Then. I'll get a drink."

[Antichthon]

To Ailova, nothing Phor said made sense. And the reverse was also true. Phor had had a lot of weird clients, but she usually knew what they wanted her to do. And here, this one was saying she didn't want to use her at all! And in Phor's twisted mind, that was because of how thoroughly she'd failed. The client wanted her to point her in the direction of the Madam, to "kill 'er." Grown-up talk for yelling at how stupid Madam was for giving her someone as worthless as Phor.

Phor had given up trying to avoid punishment. It would come, and she was helpless to stop it. But the client had asked her one last question, and she'd be in even more trouble if she shut down before answering it. "Madam is in the brothel." Well, duh, but after looking around Phor realized she had no idea where she was. Or where it was. This was Ailova's dream; she was but a guest.

"She's in the brothel," Phor repeated. She sounded truly heartbroken at her perceived failure. Forgetting she was still wearing Ailova's coat, she sat down to wait for one of the older girls to come get her. The few times she'd found herself in a weird place after a memory blackout, that's what had happened.

[highawaywoman]

This wouldn't work at all. Ailova sighed, closing her eyes and trying to blot out this strange horned-child's words. Then. Hoofbeats. She heard hoofbeats pounding far down the road, but in minutes they would be upon the two girls.

"We cannae 'tay 'ere. They'll 'ang me." Ailova bent down to grab the young girl, tossing her up into the saddle and nimbly swinging up after the horned-one. "Hold on. TIGHT!" With a gentle nudge with her left booted foot, Gaewinn sprang froward into a gentle canter. A few long strides and the gait lengthened into a swift gallop. The highwaywoman didn't touch the girl in front of her, but her arms were on either side of the girl with the odd words. They held the reins and directed the three of them to a trail that led off to the right in a dark copse of woods.

They hit the woods line and the horse beneath them vanished; the forest was gone, trees melted into the golden sun and spit the two girls to a different place and a different time. Now the two were sitting in a stall, a large draft eyeing them while munching hay.

"This is better." A five-year old Ailova grinned at the other child. "I'm Lovah. Ye lioke 'orses? They be me favoorite!" The five-year old had an infectious smile that spread all over a happy face, even into her green eyes. Bruises were fading about her mouth, left eye, and cheek, but otherwise she was a beautiful little girl.

"Ye SCAG! Ye DINNAE clean that harness well enoof! WHERE ARE YE?!" A deep male baritone broke through the golden day, and the five-year old jumped, reaching for Phor's hand.

"Folloow me! I ken where he won't look fer us!" The child Ailova pulled the girl along, ducking in and out of the way of adults and narrowly missing being kicked a few times when she came to close to an adult and their work. The blonde flew to the hayloft, pulling down a ladder and quickly hauling herself up it, "C'mon! Hurry!" Once Phor was up Ailova pulled the ladder up, locking it with a self-satisfied smile. "He's afraid o' heights. 'e never coomes up 'ere."

[Antichthon]

"We cannae 'tay 'ere. They'll 'ang me."

"Madam might hang me, t--oof." Phor hadn't expected the woman to pick her up and throw her onto the saddle. Did that mean her client accepted her, even though she couldn't do anything right?

Her client told her to hang on. "Um. Okay, Miss. like th--" Phor yelped. They were off! And once she got over the initial fear, this was...fun! She couldn't help but squeal with laughter. "I like this!" But then--

The horse was gone. No, wait, it was right there in the stall! No...that was a different horse. Phor was overcome with a sense of disappointment when she realized she must have had another memory blackout. But she was having fun... Wait. She wasn't alone.

"I'm Lovah. Ye lioke 'orses? They be me favoorite!"

She was saying her name, so they must not have met before. Phor gave the other girl a cautious smile. "Hi. I'm Phor. Are you one of the new girls?" Horses? "Yeah, I love horses. They're really big, but they're always nice to me."

But then a man was yelling. Was he yelling at her? He might have been yelling at her. It wouldn't be the first time Phor came out of a memory blackout in the middle of servicing a client. But, no. He was yelling at the new girl! Phor yelped again when she grabbed her hand and took her through an obstacle course of legs and hay bales.

"Nonono, you gotta go back to him," Phor said. But she didn't even think about resisting the girl. "Madam will have you beat more if you're not good." How else would have Lovah gotten those bruises? "Or she'll hang you. Please, she'll hang me, too!" But up the ladder she went, after the girl. Frightened of punishment as she was, she didn't know how to say "no."

After Lovah closed the hatch and locked it, Phor knelt beside it looking like a kicked puppy. "You're stupid. You're so stupid. Now she's going to hang both of us." And afraid of heights? Phor gave the girl a blank look. What did that even mean?

[highawaywoman]

"Can't get us oop 'ere." Lovah pointed below them, the girls could hear a heavy man's boot-steps marching in the barn. The five year-old tugged on the other child's elbow, pointing to a slat in the boards that they could peer through at the commotion in the main stable aisle.

"Did ye see the red-shanked mot? Feckin' gel! She wos supposed 'o clean this and then go cook! Nae even a fire 'as been started!" The blacksmith raged in the stables and the stable boys scattered in the face of his exploding anger. In one hand the giant held a hammer and in his other, a whip.

"Smith, she's proobably out gatherin' wood. She's a good gel." The coachman had entered the stables, having been alerted by the lads that Smith was at it again - drunk and raging. A daily occurrence after the death of Lovah's ma.

"Nae 'er! That one is a devil. Evil, I ken. She be evil." Smith spat to the ground, but followed the coachman out of the stables. "Ye happen to 'ave a a dram on ye?"

Lovah sat back on her heels, the plain homespun woolen dress hitching up with the movement. Curious green eyes, the eyes of a child peered at Phor and her horns. Very hesitantly, a hand reached out to just trace the tip of one horn.

"Nae, not stoopid. He cannae get me 'ere. Fer noow." Lovah met Phor's gaze, dropping her hand with a blush. "Your horns are beautiful."

"One day, I will run froom 'ere. I will ev'n kill him. That bastard. He's me da."

Despite the bruises and the beatings that awaited her, Lovah appeared calm. The child even canted her head towards the back of the hayloft, indicating for the other girl to follow.

"I've got doolls, they all be 'orses. Lioke 'o play?"

[Antichthon]

Phor had no clue what was going on. This was all so weird. But...maybe there was a reason for all this. Maybe it was part of some big roleplaying thing, and she was doing exactly what she was supposed to be doing. That possibility was the only thing that prevented her from collapsing into catatonia.

Lovah pointed her to a break in the floorboards. Curiosity won out over fear, and Phor laid down to peer through the slat.

The man raged, and Phor identified his type immediately. A Beater. Madam hadn't given Lovah those bruises, this man had. Phor felt sorry for Lovah. She knew what it was like to have a client like that. She watched until the Beater left the stables before sitting up again.

Phor smiled at her new friend--she'd already forgotten she was supposed to be scared. "You're evil, too?" Phor didn't really know what that meant, but people called her that a lot. It was a point of kinship, to find someone else bearing the same label. Then the girl reached out and gently traced one of her horns. Phor followed her hand with curious eyes. She was touched a lot, it didn't bother her. Particularly when it was a friend.

"Your horns are beautiful."

"You mean my handles?" Phor beamed at the compliment. "Thank you. A lot of the clients like them, too. They give them really good grip."

Then Lovah spoke of running, and Phor's smile fell. "You shouldn't talk like that. When they catch you, you'll be beaten to death. And Madam will make us all watch. I don't want to watch you die." Not again. Not another friend.

Phor brightened again when Lovah spoke of dolls. "You have dolls?! Yay! I love dolls!" Madam never let her have real dolls, but as long as she was good, Madam let her and the other girls play pretend with the dolls they made out of bits and pieces lying around. She jumped to her feet and followed the other girl excitedly. "I get to be Madam!" she declared.

[highawaywoman]

"O' course I'm evil. I'm a gel. A useless twat." Lovah mimicked the words in her da's deep baritone, wrinkling her pert nose with her efforts.

"If'n I had 'orns? I'd gore me da whilst 'e slept." The younger girl was enthralled by Phor's horns, they were so strong. So hard. The horned-girl was strange. As odd as the goat with three horns that lived by the woodpile. Handles? Lovah tilted her head, not understanding the meaning of the girl's words.

"You shouldn't talk like that. When they catch you, you'll be beaten to death. And Madam will make us all watch. I don't want to watch you die."

"Wot? They'd give me a sovereign 'ere. If'n I were able 'o poot down the old fecker." Lovah shook her head in confusion, giving the girl a shaky smile. "Are ye rioght in the heid? There's no Madam 'ere. There be the Laird. He's alrioght, fer a noob. He feeds 'is horses well."

The flaxen haired child led Phor back to her play area. Behind a few neatly stacked bales was a horse-crazy girl's dream play. There was a small barn made from stones she'd gathered from the creek, complete with neat little fences made of twigs. The best part of it all were her wooden horses; all were painstakingly carved and made to resemble a multitude of breeds. Ailova picked up a heavy looking draft horse, with luxurious feathers and a mane that almost reached it's wooden knees.

"This is Brute. 'e's the knioght's beast. 'e's mean and 'e be the only stud in the paddock. The mares all loove 'im. Knioghts are bastards, but I lioke their 'orses." Another figure was picked up, a smaller saddle-horse, with long legs and a light body built for running. "This is Bruiser. She's the 'ighwayman's 'orse. One day I ill ride 'er."

"When they beat ye? Dinnae show them ye are scared. Ye should run with me." The golden haired child bent her head, clucking to her horses after that idle comment. "Yer lady sounds a rioght hoor. Even me da ain't that bad."