“Don’t pass out yet, little girl. You still need to tell me where your stash is.”

It was the first active burg Corva had found since escaping Fareburne and she’d royally messed up.

She thought she was ready. She’d done everything Avó had told her to. Her bag was stowed just outside of town. She’d pulled out just enough seed to trade for food and supplies. Any markings that said where she was from were hidden. Still, it wasn’t enough. Corva didn’t know anything about haggling. About looking people in the eye. About how showing the slightest hint of weakness would paint a target on you. She was not at all ready.

But there she was, pressed against a wall and held off the ground by her throat. A scruffy street kid had his forearm pressed against her while his buddies egged him on. Even now, she can still smell his nasty breath. Feel the grime that covered his skin. Hear his raspy voice push across his chapped lips. He was only a handful of years older than Corva, just into his teens. But at that age, a few years makes all the difference. They were all bigger than her. Stronger. Faster.

They’d caught Corva’s scent the moment she’d stepped foot into town. Knew she was an outsider. Knew she was alone. That was before Corva had figured out that she had to make up a story about how she got to a town and why she didn’t have anyone with her. “Mamãe is hurt and Papai sent me to town to get her food and medicine.” “Our caravan is headed north and they let me come in and trade for provisions; they’re watching from over there to make sure I do it right.” Or sometimes she’d try to blend in with a group as they came into town.

This was before all of that, though. They pegged Corva as a mark and came after her the moment she made her first trade in the bazaar. Dragged her to an alley, took everything she had on her, and wanted more.

Her clothes were torn. Her nose bloody. Corva had tried to fight back, to resist, but the girl had never been much of a fighter. Running, evasion, hiding; those had always been her strongest skills. But those skills were worthless here. She was trapped. Outmatched, outnumbered, and out of options. Even if Corva told those kids what they wanted, they were going to beat her down for their own enjoyment, perhaps even worse. She could see it in their eyes. There were gangs like this back in Fareburne, but she’d always been shielded from them. Protected by Avó.

But the old woman wasn’t with Corva anymore.

Blood from Corva’s nose trickled down to her mouth. She could taste it. Salty. Metallic. Warm. Breathing was hard with that boy’s arm against her neck. Tears blurred her vision as she tried to look at him.

Corva tried to speak, but there wasn’t enough air. Choking sounds came out instead of words.

“What’s that?” The kid grinned, toothy and malicious. He reduced the pressure on Corva’s throat enough to let her slide down the wall, but only enough that her toes touched the ground. Only enough to let her talk.

The words came out strained. Hardly a whisper. “Outside of town. Half a klick. South entrance.”

He pressed his arm against her harder. “You think we’re stupid? You came in from the east.”

With his free hand, he delivered a punch to her stomach. Punishment. It didn’t matter that she was telling the truth. That she’d been extra careful and skirted the edge of town to come in from a different direction than the one she’d traveled from. It didn’t matter at all. They didn’t want to believe. Corva gasped for air, and spit and blood flew out of her mouth. It landed on his face.

One of the kid’s friends piped up, “Aw, gross, Puck! She spit on you! You gonna take that dis?”

“Fuck no!”

Helpless, Corva looked up at the kid holding her, the one named Puck. Corva still couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even apologize or explain it wasn’t on purpose. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she looked at the faces of each kid in the gang, pleading with her eyes to show some mercy, to let her go.

They responded with jeers and laughter.

Puck took the pressure off Corva’s throat, but before her heels could fully touch the ground, he swept his leg and kicked her feet out from beneath her. She fell to the ground sideways and landed with a thud. Coughing and sputtering, she tried to get back to her feet.

Out of the corner of her eye, Corva saw a foot swinging at her head. Reflexively, she pulled her arms in to block, to shield her face and protect herself from any more pain. And it worked! The foot connected with her forearms. It hurt awfully bad, but it was better than taking a boot in the jaw. She should’ve known better. She should’ve stayed down.

A stab of pain cut across her body as a different foot connected with her ribs. Could’ve been delivered by Puck. Could’ve been anyone. It didn’t really matter. It was the first of many, and it had to be from all of them. The kicks just came too fast. No rhythm or pattern. Just fury piled on top of anger.

Somewhere in the distance there was a voice. A woman. Corva didn’t know if the voice was muffled by the sound of her sobs or the thumping of feet against her body, but it was soft. But Corva heard the woman clearly. It was only one word. “Pathetic.”

Corva wanted to look up, to see where the woman was. To ask her what her problem was. To find out why she couldn’t help. But Corva couldn’t. The kicks kept coming. Even with her arms over her head, dirt and dust flew into Corva’s eyes, stinging them shut.

Her eyes were closed, but she could see lights flash every time a kick landed. Even still, she could feel darkness encroaching. She was becoming delirious. She was about to pass out. The laughter and insults from the gang beating her faded away. Corva was even becoming deaf to her own sobbing. She heard nothing. She felt nothing. She was nothing. This was the end of her.

Then the woman spoke again.

“Fine.”

Corva can’t remember what happened after that. She just knows that she didn’t die. She woke in a daze. Groggy. But not really hurting, not like she should’ve been. She looked at her hands. They were covered in blood, a lot more blood than what would be generated by the cuts and scrapes on her arms. Corva reached for her face, her head. More blood. She was covered in the stuff. Just how long did they beat me? In a panic, she started running her hands all over her body. If she was bleeding that much, she needed to find the source and stop it. Prevent herself from losing any more before it was too late.

Corva had some cuts and scrapes and a couple tender spots, but there was no open wound gushing blood. No lacerated artery spraying the walls of the alleyway. She braced her hand against the ground to try to stand. But the ground was wet, just as blood covered as she was. Her hand slipped and she fell over into something that wasn’t the ground. Something that squished.

It was then that she noticed them. Or what was left of them. It was a tangle of limbs. Wet. Cold. Lifeless.

Corva screamed and scrambled back to the alley wall, slipping and flopping like a freshly caught fish. She hugged the wall as if it could somehow protect her, as if that sloppy mass of bodies would somehow come to life and come after her. They wouldn’t. She knew that much. Not just from looking at them. She knew in her core that they would never come back.

And in a corner of her mind, Corva heard the woman’s voice again. Soft. Distant. Fading into nothingness as if she were never there.

“You’re welcome.”