Two Crows Watch from the Gallows Tree (cont'd)

"Well." Etha chewed at her bottom lip, tapping her pencil on the page. "Never say never, Aren. I'm sure it'll work out eventually." If she and her brother had a better relationship she'd push the issue, but the likelihood of Ithicus freeing one of his slaves was as high as a warm summer in the farthest Northern corner: next to impossible.

Oh, it certainly would. He'd gather information for Ash, as he promised. And then he'd go and get his well-earned wages. And then he'd come back and bash Tarr's head in -- let Etha get a chance at being the lord of the keep. Hell, he might even hang around and ensure that she had a smooth transition to power. It said a lot about a person, to be willing to extend compassion to someone of such low rank as a slave. To treat him as human, when no one else viewed him as such.

"Yes, ma'am." Pratik dipped his head, offering a small, polite, smile but not making eye contact. "I'm sure you're right."

Not that she'd be right if he was an actual slave. It wasn't like he was going to earn wages during his time as a slave. And without money, there was no potential for him to purchase his own freedom back. It was a naive sentiment to think otherwise. But, he supposed it made sense that she didn't fully grasp how the world worked when you weren't in a place of privilege and power. Still, it was a nice thought and he appreciated the sentiment.

(I'm feeling a bit under the weather so this'll be my last post for the night)

Etha didn't generally make a habit of speaking to slaves. She'd been brought up to think of them as subhuman, and it was safer for all involved if she continued to pretend that was what she thought. This slave, though, interested her. She wasn't sure why--perhaps she'd been on her own for too long--but she did want to keep talking to him. He was very bold for a slave, and his story about selling himself to save his daughter moved her. He was unlike anyone she'd ever met.
"Is your wife a kind woman, at least?" Etha asked. "She cares for your daughter?"

(Sorry to hear that! Hope you feel better <3 I also need to be getting to bed so no worries ^-^ )

"Yes, ma'am," Pratik murmured, delighted that Etha continued to ask questions to prolong this conversation.

He wasn't sure how far to push his luck, yet. He didn't want to put her on the defensive or worse make her lash out and ruin this good thing that he had going now. But he was intrigued by the fact that she was interested in him, who she believed to be a mere slave. So, he'd continue selling his sob story.

"My wife is absolutely wonderful. If my Kyzia turns out to be half the woman her mother is, I'd be the proudest father on the planet." Pratik hesitated a moment, not quite sure if he'd made a misstep there.

If Etha had had a poor relationship with her father, that would probably fester at the daddy issues -- the fact that Pratik was proud of his 'daughter' when the former Lord Tarr might or might not have been. But if they had a good relationship, then maybe it would be insulting to her for Pratik to be sounding like he was claiming to be a better father than hers. Either way, he shouldn't have said that. Not without knowing what Etha's relationship with her father was.

"At least, as proud as a simple man like me could possibly get," Pratik continued, hoping to smooth down any feathers he might have ruffled with his former statement, before they became an issue. "I don't dare claim to know the ways of my betters."

"Your daughter's very lucky," Etha mused, frowning at Pratik. "I'd ask you for your town's name so I could make sure she and her mother are taken care of, but I'm not exactly in good standing with my brother. And we're at war, which makes travel very difficult." She shrugged and smiled slightly. "I admire you."

A jolt of jumbled emotions stabbed through Pratik, all at once. Utter shock at the fact that Etha cared about him and his imaginary family. And also panic that she was thinking about going in search of people who didn't actually exist. That would be a fatal blow to his alibi.

But, thankfully, he'd mastered his emotions so well at that point that his expression stayed neutral, despite his surprise.

"Thank you, ma'am." Pratik dipped his head respectfully and mirrored her tiny smile, looking up to briefly meet her eyes, before he dropped them back to her shoulder. Not cowering anymore -- but also not pushing his luck with prolonged eye contact. They weren't equals. And he certainly didn't want her to think him too forward and it end in him getting flayed. Still, he decided to risk feeling her out a tiny bit. "I'm sorry to hear things are... tense... with your brot--" He thought better of being so casual. "His lordship."

"Oh." Etha shrugged again and wrinkled her nose. It was nothing new to her, nor should Aren care. He was a slave; it wasn't his place to care. But, she supposed, she had shown that she cared for his story. He probably hadn't had much kindness shown to him since becoming a slave. "Well, you know. Not everyone's rich in family love. I'll leave here someday, though, and find myself a fine lover, and we'll have a little hut in the Southern Realm somewhere."

"That sounds delightful," Pratik murmured, barely resisting the urge to bite his lip. Should he keep pushing? Should he back off? He wasn't sure. On one hand, he wanted to keep this conversation going. On the other -- or, perhaps, on that same hand -- he couldn't push his luck too far if he wanted things to continue going well. "I hope you get everything you could wish."

"As do I." She paused again. "And I hope you get to see your daughter again." There was the sound of footsteps from around the corner, and Etha paused, listening. It was the uncertain pit-pat of her mother's slippers. "You should go," she hissed. "Now."

Pratik hesitated. His sister? Was this a test--?

Before he had a chance to process that comment, he heard the footsteps and Etha's urgency. They didn't sound like Tarr's, but he didn't know who else it may be. Mother Tarr? Or... a general? Or someone generally of higher rank than him? Or, maybe, she just didn't want the embarrassment of someone else seeing her talking to a slave.

He didn't wait around to figure out which one it was.

When someone told him to run, he was generally quick to obey. Questions could come later, once he was safe and secure.

So, he gave Etha a quick nod and then swiftly started down the hall, moving the opposite direction from the approaching footsteps.

(Nope that was a typo. My bad!)

Etha watched him go, then shut her journal with a snap. Her mother rounded the corner slowly. She was a small, wispy woman with intense brown eyes and graying hair. Her face was always twisted up as if she expected to be struck, and she moved gingerly with her hands clenched at her sides. Stiff as a board, Ariella Tarr stopped as she saw her daughter.
"Writing again?" she asked through slightly clenched teeth, speaking barely above a whisper. "Do you ever tire of it?" Etha lifted her chin up.
"Never, Mother," she replied clearly.

(All good! I figured that's what it was, but had to stay in character for him haha)

Ah, so it was Mother Tarr. That was interesting. He wished he could make out what had been said. But, for now, he'd settle for a glimpse of what the old woman looked like. He cast a momentary glance over his shoulder, then turned back around, never slowing his pace. He took a moment to process what he'd saw -- etching her image into his mind, so that he'd recognize her if their paths ever crossed again.

"It won't do you any good to write," Ariella said sourly, approaching her daughter. "Nobody's going to read a second-born child's journal, especially not a Tarr girl."
"No, probably not." Etha turned away, setting off in the opposite direction. Her mother followed. "I like to do it anyway. What's the harm?"
"Should your brother get his hands on your journals--"
"If he ever comes up here," Etha scoffed. "Really, Mother. He's not Father. He'll just rage a bit even if he does come up. Which he won't."

Pratik slowed his pace, ever so slightly. Still definitely in motion. Still definitely walking in the opposite direction. Still definitely facing straight ahead. But straining his ears to hear as much as he could before he was too far away.

Overheard conversations were almost always far more interesting than the ones he actively participated in. And he was certainly fascinated to know what Etha and -- Ariella? he was pretty sure -- thought of Tarr.

"No," Ariella agreed, though she sounded completely uncertain. "No, he isn't like your father, dear."
"As I said." Etha glanced over her shoulder. "Do leave me alone, Mother. I'm busy." Ariella frowned at her daughter and paused.
"Why do you treat me this way, child?"
Etha turned fully, facing her mother. "Because I'm tired, mother. I'm tired." She went silent, waiting for Pratik to disappear down the staircase. She had more she wanted to say, but not within earshot.