Page 16 of Escape from the Green

Her cheeks were painfully red.

The skin would dry and peel in a few days.

I knew that sensation all-too-well from the early days of my captivity. Back when I didn't have enough muscle, enough fat to keep me warm. Back before I had time to slowly fill in some of the holes in the barn that was my home, caking them with mud where I could, filling others with masses of dried leaves, spare bits of fabric if they could be found.

Those early winters were a bitter memory of being curled in a corner of a room, shivering from head to toe, teeth chattering, sure I wouldn't make it through.

Maybe I had even been somewhat disappointed to find out I had at times.

I didn't want that sad fate for her, the feeling of unending coldness, the certainty of your impending death.

She had barely even gotten a taste of a life on her own terms.

I'd be damned if I let her die before she even got an opportunity to live.

Even if leaving her alone made a pit settle in my stomach.

Sure, this was the Light.

And, sure, it was the most brutal time of winter where most fae were holed up indoors to stay away from the severe weather.

But that only meant that the fae with ill intentions would be all the more on the prowl, on the lookout for those who would not know to defend themselves until it was too late. If they could defend themselves at all.

I had no idea if Amethyst had any skills, any way to protect herself. If she was named after her potential skill set much like her half-brother and half-sister were, then it would imply any skill she might have would be a passive one. One that brought peace and calm, one that maybe gave her some slight intuition.

That, mixed with her ignorance of The Green as a whole meant she was about as defenseless as a babe.

From the sound of things, she would be able to navigate much better on her own once we crossed the veil. She knew the human ways. She would find her way there.

So it was my job to keep her safe until I could get her there.

I owed her that and more.

She gave me something I never could have gotten for myself.

She had given me my freedom.

It was something I had all but lost hope in.

I didn't know what freedom would mean for me.

But I was thankful for the winter, for the heavy jacket wrapping up my body.

The last beating I had endured had broken some of the plates in my back, making it impossible to slip back inside my skin like it normally would after I forced the Change to stay mostly at bay.

They would heal.

They always did, given enough time, given the chance to repair without being broken again.

As soon as they healed, they would slide harmlessly back into my skin once again, making it impossible for someone to know who - to know what - I am.

And so long as no one knew I was Draca - that I was descendent from a line of fae so rare they thought us the stuff of fables, of myths to tell their children about at night to spark their delight, to deepen their wonder - then I was relatively safe. As safe as any fae in the woods in winter.

They might wonder why I was bigger, stronger, why I was corded with muscle while most fae were slight and almost delicate.

But there were excuses for that.

The work camps, for example.