Bow and Sparrow

CH 10

Chunks of hair fell to the floor as I hacked through the worst of the tangles with the dull scissors. Rylan had found them in the med tent. They were small, used for cutting strips of fabric for bandages. Not very sharp either. When I tested the blade against the pad of my thumb, it left a small indentation behind. They made a horrible sawing sound when I grabbed a handful of hair too thick.

I stood in front of the wash basin in the bedroom, staring at myself in the mirror. I stood far enough back to where I could see almost my whole self. All the grime had been washed clean and I could see the freckles on my pale face again. The first cut had been the most terrifying, but when the scissors snipped through it and the piece of hair fell loose, it felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders and I picked up the next strand.

"Do you feel better?"

I spun around, scissors held out in front of me. Rylan was leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. I remembered the way his wet shirt clung to his body. Blushing, I turned back to the mirror.

"Yes." I turned my head from side to side. I felt lightheaded but in a good way. "Is it even?"

"Sort of."

I swiped my hands through my hair again, taking pleasure in the lack of knots and tried to find any long pieces. Rylan crossed the room, wordlessly plucking the scissors from my hands. I tried to watch what he was doing, but he turned my head so that I was looking forward. I could barely see his face in the mirror as he picked up a long strand, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. The cold metal of the scissors brushed against the back of my neck, leaving goosebumps in its tracks. Rylan combed his fingers through my hair, checking for any more tangles but the feeling of his fingertips on my scalp sent shivers down my spine.

"What do you think?"

It took me several seconds before I realized that he had stepped away, admiring his handiwork. I glanced in the mirror and gasped. My damp hair ended just past my shoulders and it felt unnatural when it brushed against my neck. I impulsively reached for the ends of my hair before remembering it was all gone.

"Huh, I look like a boy." I scoffed, turning this way and that. I wasn't prepared for the onslaught of emotion at seeing myself in the mirror with short hair. For all my life, I was taught to take care of my appearance, brush your hair, stay modest, for the inevitable time that I would have to marry. I rarely kept up with any of that, and Ayla was quickly following in my footsteps -much to my father's dismay, but I could just imagine the disappointment on my father's face at the blatant disrespect of his parenting. I cursed myself silently. He didn't know if I was alive or not and here I was worried about my hair.

"It suits you." Rylan looked at me curiously.
I tore my eyes away from the mirror long enough to give Rylan a dirty look. "Are you saying I look like a boy?"

"A pretty boy."

If I still had the scissors, I might've stabbed him. I resorted to shooting daggers with my eyes. Rylan held his hands up in defense, his lips curling at the corners. "I was joking. You look like you."

He disappeared, carefully placing the scissors on the washbasin. Maybe Rylan was right. I didn't think I looked like a boy and at least it was even now. It was only hair. It would grow back. Did he just call me pretty?

I spent the rest of the afternoon cutting through the thickest parts of my hair that stuck out at odd angles before finally forcing myself to put the scissors down. Now that it had dried, my hair stopped just short of my shoulders and there was a curl to it that had never been there before. I still wasn't accustomed to seeing myself with short hair but I couldn't deny how soft it was when I ran my fingers through it nor the pleasant feeling of the ends brushing against my neck.

I swept the loose hair into a neat pile and searched for a suitable place to discard it. Tucked away in a corner, nearly hidden from view by a bookshelf, was an empty basket. I dumped the hair into it and made a mental note to ask Rylan about it later. My eyes landed on the books crowded onto the bookshelf. I had noticed it before but I hadn't been close enough to read any of the titles.

I ran my fingertips over the spines. The three tiered shelf was cramped and some of the books were stacked on their sides to allow for more room. I would have expected history textbooks, or military novels or maybe even more ledgers similar to those in the other room, but when I pulled one off the shelf and opened the front cover, an illustration of a sailor fighting off a giant sea monster stared up at me from the page. As I thumbed through the pages, I realized that the book was full of short stories about the same pirate. Faine "The Fearless". I recognized some of them. The Face of the Isle. The Salt of the Sea. I remembered reading Ayla these stories on stormy nights so she wouldn't be scared of the thunder. I wondered why Rylan had them here, tucked away in his cabin. I slipped the book back into its spot on the shelf, where it sat amongst a large stack of other 'Faine "The Fearless"'. I studied the other titles, some I knew but most I didn't. On the very bottom shelf, wedged beside a clay pot was a journal. I pulled it free from its hiding place.
It was half-filled with messy handwriting. Most pages only had a few lines written on them and I realized with a start that they were poems.

I can almost taste it
The ground beneath me sways
And I am home.

A feeling swelled in my chest and my eyes started to water. I wiped away the first tear before it fell. I knew what the poem meant, at least to me. I turned the page and there was another one. Half of me wanted to read until I finished the entire journal and the other half urged me to put it back exactly where I had found it. I thought I might know whose handwriting it was.

"What are you doing?"

The journal still laid open in my hands, and the owner of said journal loomed in the doorway with his lips pressed together in a thin line. I snapped the book shut, heat rushing to my face at being caught snooping.

"What are you doing?" Rylan repeated, stepping further into the room until he stood towering over me. It took a moment to form a coherent thought and another to remember how to speak.

"I was looking through your collection," I admitted, gesturing to his crowded bookshelf behind me. "When I found this. I didn't read it, I swear." I held his journal in front of me like a peace offering. Rylan plucked the journal from my hands and tucked it under his arm. He didn't look angry but with his carefully guarded expression, it was hard to tell. He turned to leave.

"I lied. I did read one of them. It was rather good." I'm not sure what made me say it. Whether I felt guilty at being caught or that I thought he might need some affirmation because the way he cradled it against his chest made me think that it was special to him. Whatever it was, the words were out of my mouth before I had a chance to stop them.

Rylan stared at the journal in his hands. The leather cover was timeworn, like it had been opened and closed a million times, and there was a deep scratch across the front. The pages had grown thin from someone flipping through them too much. "No one else has ever read these."

I opened my mouth to apologize but he brushed it off with a shrug. "It's fine."

Rylan's shoulders were a little less tense now but he hesitated in the doorway, one hand on the frame. "You really thought it was good?"

"Yes, quite." I was quick to assure him though my voice barely spoke above a whisper.

He looked at me for a long moment, his hazel eyes searching my brown ones, but then his face softened. He didn't say anything else but I thought I saw the ghost of a smile on his face before he turned around, shutting the door behind him.

A/N
Don't forget to vote and comment if you like the story so far. Thank you so much, my lovely readers!
-T