Star Bound

"On your left! Watch out!"

I immediately stepped to the side of the road as a cart came barreling past, its wooden wheels rattling loudly against the packed dirt, fast enough to leave a thick cloud of dust swirling in its tracks. The dry, earthy scent of dust filled my nose as three village children rode on top, shrieking with laughter that echoed all the way down the lane, so wild and sharp it made the birds in the nearby trees scatter. They clung to the sides of the cart, nearly tumbling off every time it hit a bump.

Behind them, old Calf comes pounding after the cart, shoes thudding and voice raised above the racket, already shouting threats to tell their mother. And for a pack of young bear cubs, that was no minor threat.

Watching the cart tumble down the hill, undoubtedly towards the river, I couldn’t help but chuckle at their absurdity. As I brush dust from the skirt of my new blue dress, already mourning it.

I guess that’s that, then, I reluctantly thought with a sigh.

"I’m so sorry, Clara dear," Calf’s wife, Neira, calls out a moment later, hurrying toward me with a hand pressed to her chest. Slightly out of breath, a fine sheen of sweat gathering along her forehead.

"Those devilish boys!" she whizzed out, her voice straining as she fans herself,

"You can’t leave them alone for even a second. What am I going to tell their mother?" She looked down the road where the children laughed merrily, her eyes wary as she shook her head.

"It’s alright, Neira. Really, I’m fine," I assured her, patting some dirt off her shoulder.

I bent down to collect a few fruits that fell on the ground, brushing off the dirt before handing them back to her.

"They’re just kids, playing around and testing their limits. As long as no one gets hurt too badly, it’s good to let them blow off some steam."

I couldn’t really blame them. Living this far out, deep in the mountains, away from big cities. Meant that this small village had hardly anything to offer them. Most people here work the land, with very few craftsmen to spare. It was quiet and peaceful, though a bit boring at times.

Neira looks at me, cheeks puffing, the inner corners of her brows raising at me, as if I’m the one being difficult now.

"You are too kind, child. Far too kind."

Her voice is tender and motherly; she doesn’t say more of her usual lecture. Still, I can see the pity in her dark eyes, in the way her brows draw together, and in the softness of her smile as she looks at me.

I try to ignore the small sting it leaves behind.

She means well. They all do.

Ever since I came to this village a few months ago, alone, starving, and terrified. The people in this village have taken me in with more kindness than I will ever know how to repay.

At first, I was in complete shock. I couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t make sense of it. One moment I was at home, in my bed, and the next second I was standing alone in the middle of a forest I didn’t recognize. The trees had loomed too tall, the silence looming, the air itself different somehow, strange with an unfamiliar scent. It took me two days just to reach this village, and by the time I did, I was crying so hard that when Ada found me, she couldn’t understand a single word I was saying.

Ada was the village healer, and something more than that. Age had slowed her body, but not her mind; there was a quiet power about her. She had a way of looking right through people, past whatever act they were putting on. With one look at me, she knew I was different, aside from the fact that I had no ears or tail. More importantly, she realized how much trouble that could cause, so she only told the people she absolutely trusted.”

At first, I begged her to send me back to my world, but she told it couldn’t be done. That I’d arrived during a rare celestial event that wouldn’t pass again for a thousand years. That day, everything felt like too much to handle. The reality of being stuck hit me all at once, and I cried until my body succumbed to its own exhaustion. The following weeks were a blur of denial and grief. Each morning, I woke with a sliver of hope that this was all a terrible nightmare, that I would simply open my eyes and be back where I belonged.

But I couldn’t escape the reality of my situation. Yet even now, a foolish, stubborn part of me still clings to the impossible. A whisper in the back of my mind, insisting, hoping. That somehow, someday, I will find my way back home.

I hid behind hats and scarves to survive. Ada told everyone I came from a remote mountain family in the Mustelidae line, using their reputation for being shy to explain my appearance.

And while most of the villagers accepted my convenient background story. Some were wary; remote villages were not known to mingle with one another, as Ada once told me. Others were openly hostile. Tollen was the loudest among them, always muttering something about weak beast-women weakening the village. He took it upon himself to show me, on an almost daily basis, just how unwelcome I am.

And after one especially rough encounter with him, one that ended with me coming home wet, sticky, and foul-smelling, my eyes swollen and red from crying. I asked Ada to teach me how to make an extra-spicy powder concoction for self-defense.

And it looks like today might be that lucky day after all.

As I bid Neira farewell and started the walk home. As I turn the corner, I unfortunately bump straight into Tollen and a few of his friends. I try to turn away as fast as I can before a hand grabs my wrist, jerking me sideways into the nearby alley away from the main road. By the time I catch my balance, Tollen is already waiting for me, his body a wall blocking my way out.

What I may have forgotten to mention is that as most of the villagers here are bear beast-kind. Consequently, that meant that little Tollen here was about six feet three and as wide as a cupboard, if the cupboard were on steroids. And what he has in muscle, he lacks in brains. Though for reasons beyond me, that has never stopped him from carrying himself like the cleverest man in the village.

Instantly, I slide my left hand into the pocket of my skirt, curling my fingers around the tiny pouch of red burning powder hidden inside.

"Well, look at that," Tollen drawls, smirking at his catch. "The little weasel is trying to scurry away."

Behind him stood one broad-shouldered boy and two girls, looking just as smug as him. One girl on the right had long black hair and wide brown eyes, her figure tall, scars decorating her forearms and hands. The other has silver blonde curly hair, just above her shoulder, all sharp cheekbones and even sharper beauty, staring at me like she would happily tear me apart herself if Tollen asked nicely enough. Gods, even the women here are huge. One good punch from either of them would probably send me straight into my next life.

I let out a long, tired sigh, looking at the miserable group with as much boredom as I can manage. We were all well into adult age, yet they still acted like teenagers. The look on my face, apparently, was the wrong move. Tollen’s face darkens as he takes another step closer, his massive body blocking out what little light is coming into the alley. His black tank top stretched so tightly across his muscled chest, one sharp breath away from giving up entirely.

"You’ve got a lot of nerve," he gnarled, voice low and ugly.

"Looking at me like that. After everything this village’s done for you." His gaze drags over me again, full of contempt. "You should’ve learned by now to keep your eyes down and your mouth shut. little chipmunk."

The others laugh behind him. Tollen crooks a smile, terribly pleased with himself for this great insult. Which I can only imagine that he probably spent the better part of the day thinking that one up. And as much as I hate to ruin his moment, I’m already exhausted by this conversation.

"Well, I’m terribly sorry for existing and breathing the same air as you, oh noble warrior," I replied, putting extra emphasis on the word warrior. Tollen always talked about going to the ‘big city’ and becoming a chosen warrior. Though already twenty-two years old, that dream seemed more like an illusion than a real possibility. It was a sore spot for him, and I knew exactly where to press.

"Will you ever be so kind as to forgive me and let me pass?"

My tone was dead and dripping with sarcasm, and admittedly, not helping. I really do have a gift for saying the worst possible thing out of pure spite. But honestly? After trying to be the adult with him more times than I can count, I already know there is no reasoning with him; this was my tiny revenge. Tollen only understands power and brute force, and since I have none or the other, we both know exactly how this is going to end.

Unsurprisingly, my comment doesn’t land too well; his hand instantly fists the collar of my dress, shoving me hard against the alley brick wall. A small yelp slips out as stone knocks against my back, pain shooting to my scalp.

The usual strategy of a brute.

Only this time, I’m ready.

Commence Ada’s self-defense lesson 2.0.

I force myself not to panic. My left hand already in my pocket, fingers tight around the pouch. With Tollen still crowding me, I yank it free, tearing it open with my teeth, and spilling the red powder into my palm.

For half a second, he just stares at it. His grip loosens. His mouth opens, confusion coloring his face. That’s the advantage of fighting a slow loading screen of a giant like him.

That is all the chance I need.

I squeeze my eyes shut and blow the powder straight into his face.

Tollen jerks back with a strangled shout, releasing me at once. He stumbles away, clutching at his eyes, coughing and swearing as tears stream down his face.

"YOU FUCKING BITCH! WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?"

He lashes out with a wild kick, aiming for where he thinks I'm standing, but I have already slipped to the side. My heart pounding hard, adrenaline pumping wildly. I keep moving, putting him between me and the others as I shake more powder into my hand.

The three of them freeze. Their eyes dart from Tollen, who is stumbling, cursing, half-blind, and crying at my supposed location.

Good.

"Do you want to end up like him," I ask as I raise one brow at them, lifting the pouch and dangling it in front of them, "or are you going to let me pass?"

The brown-haired boy tenses, jaw clenched, looking ready to charge. The blonde catches his arm and gives a sharp shake of her head.

At least one of them has a brain.

They shift just enough to make a narrow opening for me. The girl with the black hair pushed past me to help Tollen, who was now busy kicking the wall, his face and hands stained red, but not before slamming her shoulder into mine as hard as she could. The hit sent a jolt of pain through me. I gritted my teeth, breathing through the sting to keep from crying.

"Smart choice," I say, though my voice comes out thinner than I would like.

Then I am slipping out of the alley and back onto the road, forcing myself not to run for the first few steps. My shoulder aching.

That is definitely going to be a nasty bruise tomorrow.

Once I was clear of the alley, I broke into a run, glancing over my shoulder, half-expecting Tollen to have recovered and come charging after me.

I shut the door and collapsed against it, gasping for air. My back hits the wood a second later, as I sank to the floor, my skin damp with sweat and my heart racing. Whilst the adrenaline fads, a hard tremble takes over my hands.

"Well, looks like someone has had an eventful walk home."

Ada’s voice drifts over from her seat over on the big red lounge chair, her favorite place in the house. Wrapped in a shawl the color of old moss. The candlelight falls across her silver hair and the open book in her lap. Bundles of dried herbs hang from the ceiling beams. Strings of feathers, bones, and polished river stones sway gently beside the window. The whole place smells of smoke, pine resin, crushed mint, and whatever is simmering in the iron pot over the hearth.

It never quite feels like an ordinary house. As though the walls have a heart and soul of their own, whispering their secrets in her ear, letting her know to goes of this world.

Sometimes, I truly wonder whether reading minds is one of her many suspicious talents.

As though hearing the thought itself, she glances up from the thick book in her lap.

"Your hands are beet red, dear." She states.

I look down, and sure enough, both my hands are still dusted with leftover powder, bright red across my fingers and palms.

Thank God I didn’t rub my eyes on the way home.

Ada rises with a quiet huff, setting her book aside. She comes over and cups my chin for the briefest moment as if checking that I’m truly in one piece, then smacks me lightly on the head.

"Ow! What was that for?" I yelp, rubbing at the sore spot with the back of my wrist, careful not to get any of the powder in my hair.

"For looking at me like I have grown a second head," she says, already turning toward the kitchen.

"I am no witch. And I cannot read minds, child. Yours are simply too easy to tell."

I push myself to my feet, still wincing.

"That is exactly what a mind-reading witch would say." I counter cheekily.

"Yes, yes," Ada mutters, already turning toward the kitchen. "Now go wash your hands and eat—unless you want your dinner extra spicy tonight." She raises her brows, a silent warning.

She looks back at me, her sharp eyes piecing together exactly what happened as she notes my wrinkled dress, messy hair, and stained hands. There is amusement in her eyes, but something gentler too. The sort of look that says she has already counted my bruises and forgiven me for bringing home new ones.

"No, thank you," I whimper, as I hold my shoulder in pain, heading for the basin.

By the time I return, the table is already set, the food warm and waiting. The candles by the little shrine in the corner are burning low beneath their various offerings. I sit across from Ada as she bows her head and murmurs the same prayer she says before every meal. Too soft for me to catch every word, though I know by now she is thanking the old spirits, the patient earth, and whatever unseen hands still choosing to keep us alive and fed.

It is such a small thing, this quiet dinner at the end of the day. A warm meal. A small table. Ada’s voice, the clink of bowls, the last of the evening light slipping through the window.

And yet, in this strange world that has taken so much from me, it feels like something precious. Something almost sacred.

So I bow my head, listen to Ada’s prayer, and selfishly hope this small, ordinary magic never changes.