Bounty Hunter [REWRITTEN VERSION]

Chapter 58: The Past

A/N; To understand Maize...you must first understand where she came from...

MAIZE
18 Years Ago

The girl was only five years old. Her clothes were old and dirty, wet too with the downpour of the falling rain. The cardboard cover she sat under—with her knees tucked tight to her chest and her face shied away from everything as she bowed into them—did very little to keep the downpour from reaching her small thin body.

At only five years old she hadn't known to question why she was there. Where her parents were. If she had any. For all the cold knew, she was an orphan—a word that barely held any meaning to her, as it didn't do much to give meaning to her state of being. She could only comprehend was the there and the then, all she knew was what she did have—no parents, no home, no food, and a need to just keep surviving on her own.

She was never born with street instincts, in truth, no one was. It came from experience—and she had picked up that experience before most children even began learning the basics of learning to read and write. She couldn't read or write then, but she knew how to do other things. Like to hide from the rain because the dampness brought sickness. Like to wait until just before the bread man hauled his tray of buns and left to get the other, before she took one. To make sure she only took enough that he wouldn't notice. She was resourceful, and had learned everything about living this way on her own ever since she had been left by the blurred faces in her mind that once must have taken care of her in her infancy years, told her to wait by a pair of steps—and didn't come back.

Left like a dog in the street that the owners could no longer be responsible for. She was no better than a stray.

Not to say she had ever thought of it as a bad thing. The street dogs were regarded as nothing but mongrels to everyone else, but there was one, a young pup, like her, abandoned, like her, and when she saw it, it let her pet it's head. Sometimes she would even give it half of her food.

The rain seemed endless, and despite how tightly she wrapped her arms around her small body, she still shivered. The people that passed up and down the street sidewalks—most holding umbrellas or papers over their heads—no one stopped. No one took notice of the cold little girl drenched in the rain. Until one did.

He was a tall man, hooded by the long dark coat that covered most of his body, but he pushed it down, raining dampening his hair and turning them to black spikes as he studied the little girl shivering in the rain. His skin was tan like her own, though they were of different ethnicity, and his eyes were dark—but not cold.

He gently, so as not to frighten her, crouch down before her, putting enough distance that he would not feel imposing or threatening. He asked, "Little one...are you crying?" His voice was so calm and even, the gentle flow of water with a slightly deep undertone.

She shook her head.

"Why not?"

The question was curious, especially to her. She had answered there was no need for more water, making him stare at her, and then chuckle ever so slightly, a warm sound that seemed to dull out the rain. He then removed the coat from his shoulders, seemingly unbothered as the rain began to soak the black fitted clothes beneath, and handed it to her. She merely stared. No one had given her anything before.

"You are shivering, it would be terrible if you were to catch a cold," he said, as if he could read her mind.

Hesitantly, she took it, still wary though he did nothing else but hand it to her. Then he stood, and with one last look, he turned and walked away.