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[hider=updated outcast post]In the rain everything looked grey and bleak. She stood beneath a mighty oak tree and tried her hardest to enjoy the shelter it gave her. Every now and then a raindrop would find its way through the maze of leaves and branches overhead and drop down on her clothes. But it didn’t matter. She was always cold now, cold and trapped, might as well be wet too. 
She remembered when she first came to the outlands after her exile, some three years earlier. She’d seen heavy clouds from miles away and wondered what they meant. Suddenly water had started to fall from the sky. She had been so taken by the realisation that the pain of her exile had vanished in a heartbeat. She’d danced around in the rain, smiled and laughed. She tried to collect the water, hold it between her arms and breasts but no matter how hard she tried the water ran away from her. After her legs had grown tired she’d sat down, tilted her head back and with her mouth wide open she’d drank water directly from the sky. 
When she was no longer thirsty, she was wet and cold, but alive and filled with ecstasy. She wanted to return home like a prophet. Tell her people that in the outlands water was so common that it fell from the sky like the plagues of old. Then she remembered why she was there in the first place, and her happiness ran away. 

It felt like it was always raining now, the sunny and warm days were too short and the dark ones lasted forever. Not only that, she was always trapped somewhere. In the forest where she was safe trees stood close and denied her to see well around her. In the towns where she’d gotten her knife and warm cloak there were tents of wood and stone. Even the ‘big’ square felt miniscule and constricting.
Back home there was no walls, no forest, no hills. You could see for miles around you. Some mornings she had left her bed early, slipped into her lover’s kaftan and left their tent just to see the sun rise an almost impossible distance away. The air would still be cold, like every damn day in the outlands, and she’d feel like there was still magic in the world, like in the stories of the world before…

She watched the road in silence for a few minutes until she was satisfied that no one was following her, and she turned away from it. 
Roads were like double-edged swords in her mind. They made travelling easy, and she could easily walk twice as far on a proper road than on the desert sand in a day. On the other hand other people had found out the same thing and at any given time someone could come. Sometimes the strangers didn’t bother to look, sometimes their eyes filled with hate and they wanted to fight. It had taken its toll on her. 
She kept walking for a little while and found a small clearing where she sat down. Tired, exhausted, but there was still work to be done and little time. You can rest when the sand claims you.

Despite the rain she managed to get a fire going and sat close to it for warmth. Her blanket was spread out under a tree much like the one by the road, and in a little while she’d retire to it and try to sleep. A sound from behind caught her ear and she turned around quickly.
“Who’s there?” She asked without thinking, and regretted it immediately. In the Gurgan outlands no one understood Gor. She repeated the question in the outsider-language, but it was too late. If her native language hadn’t revealed her identity, surely her brown skin would do the job. Silence. Seconds turned into minutes and she grasped the shaft of her wooden weapon a little bit tighter for every time she blinked. 

Footsteps.
She brought up her staff and got into a fighting position. All her weight on her right leg, the left leg slightly in front, only her toes touching the ground. Her right hand gripped the shaft tight and held it at her hip while the left hand held it loosely at arms length in front of her chest. The staff had made a swooshing sound when she got ready, after that only the soft pat-pat of raindrops could be heard.
The leaves on the bush in front of her started to rattle and she got ready to strike. A red and white face poked out, it was furry and looked almost like a dog, yet different somehow. 
She relaxed her stance and looked at the small creature with a smile. 
“Tell me, creature of the forest, have you come to slay the fallen Caz dan Ro?” 
She spoke in Gor, for she was once again convinced that she was all alone. The small animal looked up at her as she spoke and then looked as if it was considering her words for some time. Then it turned and walked back the way it came. Such a shame, it was the most fulfilling dialogue she’d had all day. 

She put out the fire and went to bed. Even though she was going to sleep she held her weapon in her hand. As she closed her eyes the image of a pale-skinned woman returned to her mind like so many nights before. Her face twisted into a mask of fear, surprise and agony. How she loathed that woman, not only for being an outsider, but for costing her everything. She fell asleep shivering, cold, wet and alone. 

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