The Thief and the Blind

Footsteps. Again. Once again, Arianwyn was not alone in the woods.

Greedily, she inspected the prize she had won; her blessing, from Fortune herself. Though she dared not touch it yet, savoring the moment, she found herself transfixed by the gift she had acquired. She noted the marks hewn into bleach-white bone, the finesse of fine craftsmanship. Her eyes traced the symbols, noting the delicate lines, and the fine layer of powder, as though the carvings were fresh. She reveled in her bounty, her trophy.

Fortune had chosen her. She paid no heed to the hurried, approaching footsteps until a second stranger was mere meters away. Quickly, almost instinctively, she placed herself between the figure and the pile of bones on the side of the road, hiding them with her form as a dog might disguise its toy from prying hands. This form, this stranger, was a threat; an enemy to her fortune, undoubtedly, here to steal the gift she had received. At the risk of her own safety, she would not allow him to be close to her spoils. Whatever fear she had felt before had melted away, replaced by her own deep-set greed.

The figure spoke before she did, a worry in his tone. "Did you accept the Thief's blessing?" This mask, a face etched clumsily into slabbed wood, felt oddly dreadful as Arianwyn examined it, as though it had been carved by a child—or someone in a hurry. Compared to the laughter of the thief, she felt she should have found this figure comforting, but somehow the Blind felt even more chilling. She shuffled closer to her prized bones, though she had a feeling they would not be seen.

 "No," Arianwyn expected to find her voice more confident now, but it stammered all the same. Frustrated, she kept talking, lying through her teeth. "I know not of who you speak. Begone."

 Though the unmoving mask betrayed no emotion, she sensed that the Blind saw through her lies. Sweat dripped down her neck, and nausea once twisted her stomach. Adrenaline surged through her veins, though, instead of urging her to fight, she could only freeze. Though she stood protectively over her gift, she could feel herself shivering.

 "You must accept Grace's curse." The stranger's tone was one of warning, as he produced a sprig of ivy from within the folds of his cloak and held it out to Arianwyn. She was frozen, longing to step away, but paralyzed in her own fear. A curse? Did this stranger not know she was already the chosen of a patron? What good could she possibly do with the curse of Grace? The very sight of the ivy, a sickly green, imbued her with unease. "You have made a grave mistake. The ivy will protect you from Fortune, and from the Thief. Take it. Its effects may be temporary, but it will allow you safe escape from these woods. It is your only way."

The word failure was met by a glare of defiance. No doubt this was a test, and one Arianwyn would not fail. "How dare you speak ill of my gift," she spat back, venom in her tone and eyes narrowed. She would not be beguiled by a fool in a poorly carved mask. No stranger would separate her from her blessing, no lies would steal her fortune away. "I warned you to leave. I do not seek your aid." If looks could kill, Arianwyn would have set this liar ablaze in a heartbeat.

Though the Blind's face was covered, Arianwyn could read emotion in his stance. Was that concern in the tilt of his head? Unease? No, she told herself. He is merely upset that I saw through his lies. Her gaze did not waver, the fierceness of her expression somehow both façade and warning.

The Blind shook his head sadly and turned back towards the packed dirt path. "May the blessing be kind to you yet." His emotions were indecipherable.

With that, he left, leaving Arianwyn alone in the woods once again.

Arianwyn denies the Curse of the Harvest