Helen

"The idea was to ask people around the city if they'd seen a beastkin woman who looked like this painting," Osric says, presenting the painting to Helen.

"Oh my! It looks just like me," she replies, finishing her leg of ham and setting the bone beside her on the upholstered seat.

The carriage jostles, and everyone shakes in their seats. Elayne murmurs in her sleep, lying on the lap of Helen's new burgundy kirtle. Osric watches as she snuggles in, her tail thumping softly against the cushion.

"Not to be rude or anything, but half-beastkin are apparently rare. So how did Elayne come to be, if I might ask?"

Randolf shakes his head.

"It's quite all right. I love telling this story," Helen says, stroking Elayne's hair.

"I remember it like it was yesterday, I sat there slumped over in my cage. The horse-drawn wagon came to a stop. All of a sudden, two hands grabbed the bars. There he was — Elayne's father, Brant Thorne," she recounts...

~~~

Clang!

Helen's cage shakes. Her eyes jump to the fair-skinned hands tightly gripping the bars. The busy street and the wooden buildings behind her blur away as she stares at the dashing man. A large-brimmed, feathered hat sits atop his silky brown hair. The hair drapes down his blue buttoned overcoat.

"I don't think I've ever seen someone as beautiful," he exclaims, his crystal-blue eyes beam with excitement. "I must buy you at once."

He lets go of the bars and sprints over to the farmer at the reins.

"What is he going to do to me?" Helen whispers to herself.

She looks over. They seem to be arguing.

"Please, name a price. I'll pay it," the man exclaims.

"No way. I'm taking her to an auction. She's not worth much as is. People always pay more at an auction," the farmer argues.

"Now, good day!" The farmer tips his straw hat. Whipping the reins, the wagon sets off.

"Wait!" The man jumps in front, spreading his arms wide. "Whatever you can get for her at the auction, I promise, I can pay double!"

"Why do you want her? She's old and sick. She can't work the fields anymore," the farmer questions.

"Name a price."

The farmer beckons him closer and whispers something in his ear. The man pulls back, dramatically shoving a hand into his brown coat. He reveals a large sack, dumping many gold coins into the farmer's hand.

The man rushes back to Helen. Key in hand, he unlocks the cage, pulling her out and helping her down from the wagon.

He gestures down the dirt path. "Here, my wagon — come sit down."

He pushes her along. She plops down; he sits next to her. He snaps the reins, and the horses start trotting.

"Uh, where are we going?" she asks.

"Well, first, we'll buy you some new clothes. Get you out of those rags."

"And then where?" She asks, scooting away.

"Anywhere," he declares. "I'm a traveling merchant. I go where the money goes. I just wanted some company — it gets lonely on this wagon. What better company than a pretty woman?"

"But I'm a beastkin."

"And a beastkin can't be pretty?"

Her snout half agape, she turns away, flustered.

"Brant Thorne. I'm Brant Thorne. What's yours?"

"We don't have names in the beastkin tongue. We're simply called by our jobs."

"None of your masters have given you a name?"

She shakes her head.

"I—I didn't mean to imply that you've had many masters," he stammers.

"It's all right. And no, none of them have bothered to give me a name. They simply put me to work in the field. And when I can't work anymore, then they sell me."

"Helen. You're Helen," he says, a triumphant smile spreading across his face.

>>>

"We are now the owners of the largest store in Rosescale!" Brant exclaims.

He wraps his arm around a pregnant Helen's shoulders, resting it on her burgundy dress. Her head snuggles into his arm, and the two walk toward the large wooden-beamed building.

The wooden frame, filled in with red stone plaster, towers over the buildings around it.

"You did it, dear," Helen says, climbing up the wooden steps to the porch.

"No, we did it," Brant replies.

"I'm just glad we got it finalized before you were due," he warmly adds, rubbing her belly.

~~~

The carriage gets bumpy again. As Osric is bumped into the air, he gets a glimpse of Randolf — grinning ear to ear.

"Are you all right?" Osric asks him.

"Oh." The smile disappears.

"That just reminded me of how I met your mother." He turns to Osric.

"My wife approached me in much the same way your husband did," Randolf explains to Helen.

That's a sweet story. But how did Elayne end up at an auction in Silverquay? Osric thinks. Can I just ask that — or is it too rude? There's no manual for stuff like this... He scratches at his chin before deciding to ask.

"But what happened next? I mean, how did you end up like this?"

The smile fades from Helen's face...

~~~

"Mama, put this on me." Elayne hops down the stairs in her white bloomers and undershirt, carrying a red wool dress.

"Elayne! Don't come downstairs like that!" Helen shouts.

Helen hands the old lady waiting at the counter a blanket-covered basket. The lady nods with a smile, sets silver coins on the counter, and steps out of the store.

Helen meets Elayne at the foot of the stairs, kneeling down.

"Here, you have to put it on over your head," she explains, grabbing the dress.

Elayne's head pops through the top of the dress. "Where's Papa?" she asks.

"He said he can get a good deal on oil in the next town over. He'll be back for dinner. We need to go buy some bread for—"

Clink!

The slave collar around Helen's neck cracks. It breaks in two, falling to the floor with a clatter. She lets out an ear-splitting gasp.

Elayne stumbles backward.

"What?" she asks.

Helen's hand covers her snout. She doesn't speak, but she blinks, pushing tears out of her eyes.

"Mama, mama, what's wrong?" Elayne shakes her, fistfuls of her dress.

"It's your father," she chokes out. "He's... no longer with us."

"Where did he go?" Elayne asks, tears in her own eyes.

Before her mother can answer, the front door slams open. Two burly men barge in, their ragged tunics stretched taut over their bulging muscles. Their brown drawers stained and frayed. The taller one has patchy brown hair and a vile grin with missing teeth, his hands hidden behind his back. The shorter, stockier man is bald, light glinting off his head, a vicious smirk across his scarred lips. They stride into the store.

"Looks like that merchant is dead. That means you two are free slaves!" The taller man exclaims.

"What did you do to him?" Helen yells, backing up toward the wooden counter.

The shorter man charges her. She reaches behind the counter and pulls out a knife, thrusting it at him. He grabs her wrist just before it sinks into his stomach, but she spreads her legs and pushes forward, overpowering him and plunging the knife into his gut. He stumbles backward, falling. She stretches her neck out, dropping her jaw open. Her fangs sink into his flesh as they hit the floor with a thud.

She staggers to her feet — cracked in the back of the head by something heavy, she falls back to the floor. Rolling over, she sees the taller man looming over her, a wooden club raised above his head. She raises an arm to block the next blow — but not in time, as the club smashes into her head again. Then again. Her upper body goes limp, and her head drops to the floor.

"Mama!" Elayne screams, cowering in the corner, her back pressed against the stairwell.

She stands, still trembling. She bites down on her lip, drawing blood. The violet shaking only worsens. She bites down harder, balling her fists. The trembling slows — only slightly.

With a hearty screech she charges the man. He turns — but not before Elayne makes it to his leg, biting down on his thigh.

"Ah!" he yells, shaking his leg.

His flailing leg connects. Elayne is kneed in the stomach and sent flying into the wall. Her back slamming into the wall, she gasps for air before crumpling to the floor.

The man walks over to her, a slave collar in his hands, unlatched. He reaches for her neck.

"Don't put that on her. She'll sell for more."

The shorter man pulls himself up to his knees. He presses his hand against his stomach. Blood spills out from between his fingers.

"Don't you touch her!" Helen screams, staggering to her feet.

She wobbles forward, vision blurry, but she can see Elayne lifted by her dress. She squirms and wriggles in the man's grasp, her thrashing limbs striking his stomach. Her mouth moves, but Helen can’t hear — her ears ring, drowning out Elayne’s screams.

The man squeezes his arm around Elayne’s neck, her face turning purple. Helen trudges toward her — the shorter man trips her, and she crashes to her elbows.

Elayne, now lifeless, is carried out of the store.

"We can come back for her. We have to take this little one to the auction — these halflings are worth a fortune," the shorter man says as Helen’s hearing begins to return.

Her head spins as she reaches out, clenching her fist while the two men vanish into the blinding sunlight beyond the doorway.

~~~

"When I woke up, I was in a cage on the back of a wagon," Helen explains, wiping her eyes. "It's been — maybe several months, and I’ve been beside myself, thinking I would never see her again." Helen glances down at Elayne, her smile returning.

"Those bastards," Osric mumbles under his breath.

"Bastards?" Elayne lifts her head from her mother’s lap, eyes half open.

"What’s a bastard?" she asks, rubbing her eyes.

"Oh — um…" Osric stammers, searching for a child-friendly answer. Is that a word a kid should know?

"A bastard is like a bad guy," he finally explains.

"Hmm?" Elayne tilts her head, ears twitching as she scratches behind them.