Rumors . .

[Bethy]

She'd overheard the rumors, so blythly spoken . .

"NOOOOOooooooo . . they wouldn't!!!! NO!"

Furious . .

Frightened . .

[Bethy]

Her breath drew in sharply, foot narrowly missing the putrid mess before her. . a mixture of revulsion and fascination as she peered down at it . .

She'd slipped away from the Castle months ago, long forgotten now, she was certain. Trying her hand for a time at something "honorable" than her old profession, she soon could not deny that nothing was nearly as lucrative, and eventually began to take on new customers. She worked the tavern in the early evenings, amazed as the night progressed how loose tongues could spill so much, never thinking of her ears overhearing the things they often should not hear.

Word of Windstorm didn't reach her often, but she always perked up at it's mention. Not two nights earlier, she'd heard the rumor . .

There'd been an especially rowdy table full of men, hard at the ale and growing louder by the minute, in a rather merry mood. She'd leaned down low as she gathered the empty mugs to clear their table for more, knowing a goodly view of her ample busom garnered more generous tips, and she winked at the loudest one, who seemed to be their leader. He laughed, and flipped a coin right into the valley between. She simply grinned at him, leaning close to him. "Fetch it out, ye rascal" Not expecting an order like that, he blushed as all at the table roared with laugher.

She'd just gotten the heavy mugs settled in to return to the kitchens, when she heard it . . there was some prisoner soon to be flogged . . a sailor, they said. Then released. Her blood ran cold . . she immediately guessed who they meant . . RELEASED? Why did the not HANG HIM . . She seethed with anger . . and fear, not lingering to hear the details.

Sleepless, churning with anger, she'd finally decided she would travel back and see if she could do anything at all to change their minds . . Keeping off the main road when any approached, she'd come across the carcass she now stood over. She'd seen death before, all too often. Yet never had she seen so many of the rice-like creatures feasting upon one small form. Why had it not been devoured by predators, or other beasts? It seemed nearly intact, despite the decomposition.

Somehow, her superstitious mind convinced her that the teeming, writhing mass of maggots was some sort of sign to her . . She knew not what, but felt a darkening foreboding as she tore her eyes from it and continued on . .