[[A few notes before this piece, I think.
This is a flashfict (fanfict) I did over the summer as a mental workout. The intent was to try and touch on a very very grim story while retaining a sense of dignity regarding the character. In short, I didn't want the reader to see every moment of what was going to happen, yet I wanted them to have a very real and accurate idea of what occurred.
The end result was this two and a half page piece. The character Mayhoof is one I played in the video game World of Warcraft. She was a favorite of mine given her physical disabilities (inability to speak, as well as a permanently ruined arm). The assumption is that the reader would already have a very good picture of where things were taking place, which is why I follow a more minimalistic approach to details.
All that said, enjoy this short story!]]
She was not harming anyone that day. Mayhoof had been sitting on the curbside, her face looking up to the Cathedral with not a word spoken of prayer or muse. Innocence and hope resonated from this woman despite the numberless months she had waited for her miracle.
Her presence had not gone unnoticed. Sometimes a clergyman or nun would throw a few copper pieces at the woman, though they never risked a second look down to the lame beggar. Guards too had observed the Draenei, but these men were not the lions of Stormwind. They were wolves, which only wore the skins of the noble animal as a guise.
“Hey there! What’s a pretty girl like you doin’ all by your lonesome then?” The man speaking wore full plate armor, his visor down. His tabard was neat and unwrinkled, but his shield was not at his side. With him was a second guard of similar appearance, and who spoke next.
“Poor thing. Think She talks? Sure hasn’t the last couple o’ times.” He said.
Mayhoof indeed said nothing. She looked up at one of the guards, and then the other. Their language was still indistinguishable to her.
“Think she’ dumb then? Maybe that’s why the buggers just let her wander off.”
“Shut it stupid! Beggin your pardon, miss. Can we get something for ya? Being you is visitin our fine city.”
Mayhoof remained silent. Was she in trouble? Did she do wrong? Her eyes flitted away from the guards to the cathedral. What if she were taken away from this place, would she still be able to find healing?
“Yap. Dumber than dirt!” The second guard cackled out, only to be pushed to one side by his companion.
“Don’t mind him none. Just light-headed. All this heavy armor, yah? Speaking abouts. You lookin pale yourself. Want somethin to eat and drink?”
Mayhoof said nothing, though she did look back to the guards now, watching as the second man made as to pour an invisible glass and drink it. Her eyes drifted back to the Cathedral.
“Look, uhm. Why do you come with us? You can come back to the cathedral later, when everything’s done.” The second man said. He shuffled forwards, and offered his hand out. “Come on. Come with me.”
For a minute Mayhoof hesitated. Fear and uncertainty ruled in her mind, but still the hope of being lead closer to the cathedral was prevailing in her mind.
So lamb followed wolves,
From light into shadows,
From shadows came no sound,
Though twin wolves were found.
Helpless lamb taken,
And then, just forsaken,
A silent lamb’s cry,
And no ewe nearby.
It had been a warm summer day. Mayhoof had not hurt anyone as she sat on the curbside facing the Cathedral of Light. She now wore rags, torn and dirtied. Her eyes were no longer wide, but instead the Draenei hugged herself with her one good arm, her face turned away from the street.
Only remotely did she hear the words of scorn, spoken in pure Draenic about her. Only in passing did she register the contempt of other Draenei, looking down at what they supposed was nothing more than a common harlot. Still the lamb was silent, even in anguish.
© 2013 R. P. McDonald,
Credit for character race, and the city ‘Stormwind’ to Blizzard Entertainment.