Gold Dust

Chapter 2

She would have stayed in the peaceful slumber if it hadn't been the clanging and shaking around the cabin that disturbed her. Usually, she would have just fallen back into the mind numbing sleep, but when she had gained a sense of awareness, her nose brought the smell of food to her mind.

And that is when her body reminded her not very friendly that she was hungry.

From there she was slowly brought up from darkness that protected her from pain. Her awareness grew every clang and soon she recognized voices were also speaking. Time came and went, an unknown amount of seconds passing before she finally felt the pains and aches. She wished she was asleep more than being aware of the ruin of her body.

Finally she opened her eyes, looking up at the wooden slats of the ceiling. The woman wasn't hovering over like she was before. No, more likely she was over where the voices were. The girl noted silently that she was feeling better than she had the last time she was awake, as she turned her head to look across the hut.

The woman sat at the table, a black pot steaming in the center of the table, and a man with a boy about twelve years old was sitting across the woman. They were having dinner.

"We were able to catch a lot of fish. They always bite after a storm." The older man, the husband probably, said as he ate a spoonful of soup.

"Is there any wreckage? There isn't any new boats in the harbor, and I don't know how she got here." The woman asked, inclining her head in the direction of the girl.

"I found her on the land, not floating in the water. She probably tied her boat up wrong and it was swept away in the night."

"How long do you think she was out there?" The boy spoke up, his voice low but it still cracked a little. "She has some bad sunburns on her legs. I've never seen skin peeling like that before."

The woman reached across the table and smacked the boy in the back of the head. "You don't ask questions like that, Peter. That's considered rude."

The boy rubbed at his head, taking the sting away from the hit as he glanced over at her. He glanced away, then back hurriedly as he saw that she was looking over at them. "Look!" He stood up, staring at the girl.

"Oh, you're awake." The woman said, then shot her son a look. "Sit down, Peter. Eat your dinner." He reluctantly sat down, still staring at the girl who hasn't moved since she woke up. "I don't suppose you're hungry, are you?"

"Yes. I am." The girl rasped out.

"And you sound better too." The woman picked up a bowl and spooned in the soup into it. "Maybe you'd might answer a few questions." She didn't answer, only finally moved until she sat up in the bed. "Careful, don't injure yourself anymore. I won't fix you up this time." The woman scolded as she brought the soup bowl over.

"Thank you." The girl said, before taking the bowl and spoon. She dipped the wooden spoon in the thick soup, and shoved it in her mouth. She was hungry, and didn't care what she looked like. Those days have long since past, all that was left was the will to survive. Nothing good came from pampering yourself, only fake drama and way too much.... pretend. The lies, the smiles that didn't touch their eyes, all of that became too much.

She was halfway through the soup before she hesitated, the flavor finally hitting her tongue. "Frankincense?" She asked, looking up at the woman curiously.

"Yes. My husband found your pouches of spices when he carried you to our house. It is our price of saving your life." The woman didn't hold any punches. Those spices were precious, and very valuable. However...

"I don't care. Thank you for taking me in." She said, before swallowing down the rest of the soup. Her stomach churned, not used to the fullness of it, and for a brief moment, the girl wondered if she might throw up. She really hoped not.

"What's your name?" The boy spoke up, breaking up the peaceful silence, and she looked up.

"Which one?" She asked, "I have many, yet none."

He faltered, in which his mother used the time to smack him on the back of the head again. "I don't know. How can you have more than one?"

"Peter, it isn't polite to ask her that." His mother scolded.

"It's fine, ma'am. To answer your question, is that I've had many names. Some of them nice, some mean, but only one true. The name I was born with was Gwenifer. I mostly go by Gwen."

"What a weird name. Is it British?" Peter asked her, and his mother smacked his head again.

Gwen gave a soft smile, "yes, it does origin of the British Isles."

"You've been clear over there? Is it true it rains a lot? And ghosts of fallen warriors haunt the moors? Does it have moors? Do you drink tea? What are you- ow!" His rain of questions were cut off by yet another smack in the head. There was no doubt that this happened often.

"I was born on British soil, yes. And it does rain quite a bit. Although I've never seen ghosts before, and whoever was telling you that must've been pulling your leg. I don't know about moors, I haven't been there in a long time." Gwen tilted her head to the side. "I haven't had tea in a long, long time. I'm afraid I've lost the taste of it. The newer leaves weren't as good as the older kind." She set the bowl to her side.

"Wow. I've never seen a foreigner before." Peter seemed entranced.

"Yes you have, you bloody idiot." The father snorted into his cup. "Farmer Albin is Swedish. You see him every other week."

"We don't get much British kind over here."

"Where is here?" Gwen admitted, "I'm afraid I was lost at sea for a while."

"Seiland. A small island at the tip of Norway. I'm afraid it's too cold for most traders to come visiting." The husband explained. "That's Peter," he nodded to the boy. "I'm Charles, and my wife is Aoife."

"It's a pleasure." Gwen gave them a brief smile, before looking down at her hands. They felt empty. She had only had to look down at the bed sheets before spying her wand, and plucked it from the folds. Her fingers curled over the wood, knowing every indent and surface. She's had this stick for far too long, yet she could never part it.

"Why do you have a stick?" Peter asked.

"Who says it's a stick?" Gwen looked up at gave him a smile. "The real question I believe is, why don't you have a stick?"

Peter mulled over the words, then seemed to look stricken. "I don't have a stick." He said, and then darted to the door. His footsteps faded away after a few seconds.

"I only suppose it was for the good that he left." Aoife shook her head, watching her son leave. "I have to fix your dressings."

"I believe that is my cue to leave." Charles picked up a large hat, "I have some things to sort out."

"Don't you dare go gambling again." Aoife shouted after her husband, and then closed the door. "Well, it's just us ladies. There is nothing to hide, so don't be ashamed about this."

"Oh." Gwen suddenly wanted to be anywhere but here. She had no idea where these 'dressings' were. She hadn't really looked at herself since waking up.

"Let's start at your legs. This might hurt." Aoife brought over a bowl of water and a wad of cloths.

It did. Her legs were probably the worst out of all of her injuries, her skin was bright red and patches were missing, flaking off. The worst were the blisters, they came out of her skin like an infection. Gwen recognized that her body was trying to heal normally, but even so the sight made her flinch. It was hard to believe that those were her legs, that that she was the one who was sunburned.

"Ooh, this is bad. It'll take some time before you can walk, let alone stand up." Aoife tisked, "sunburns are bad, this one especially."

"I heal fast." Gwen said, even as she took a small tendril of magic inside of her and pushed it towards her feet. It quickly wrapped around her bones, and warmth began to make the aches and pains slightly more bearable. "Trust me, my entire family does."

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