Free Dragonfly Song by Wendy Orr Page B

leaves, heading further and further towards the forest, nibbling as she gathers. She stoops again – and touches a brown and bloody bit of something that might once have been a deer.
    Prickles run down her spine. She hears a rustling in the trees and pictures the wolf. Or the bear or boar – whatever it is, it has killing teeth and ripping claws, and it probably doesn’t care if its next meal is an ibex or a girl.
    Aissa turns and runs. She doesn’t stop till she meets the path to the goat meadow, where she can see people, and the wall of the town.
    Nothing’s following her. Maybe it was just wind rustling the leaves.
    But the mountain suddenly seems dark and forbidding. At least when she lived with the servants she was only slapped and spat at. Nobody tried to eat her.
    Outcast days are busy
    with no cleaning or sweeping
    but full of learning,
    because now her ankle is healed
    and her privy-stink
    gone with the rain,
    she can creep close
    to watch and learn.
    Spying a goatherd
    dozing in the sun,
    his staff in his hand
    and beside it his sling –
    a rope looped in the middle
    to hold a rock –
    so simple to make,
    impossible for her.
    Aissa’s hand twitches,
    wanting that sling –
    not far down the hill
    to snatch it and run –
    but already his dog,
    head up and alert,
    has caught her scent.
    Softly and quietly,
    Aissa slips away.
    Gathering food
    fills the rest of her days –
    evading slaps and kicks
    when she passes too close
    to a market stall,
    but not any lonelier
    than when she was part of
    the servant tribe.
    But outcast nights
    are long and empty
    though full sometimes
    of terror,
    fear that’s worse
    for not knowing why.
    Her cave under the rock is safe
    but in the night
    Aissa doesn’t always
    feel it,
    because it’s dark
    cold,
    and lonely
    with owls screeching
    as if they’re crying
    when Aissa can’t.
    Dark long before nightfall
    and no morning light
    till the sun has risen
    high over the mountain,
    so that Aissa might sleep,
    not knowing it’s day
    and slither out
    when the square is busy
    with people to see her.
    Her cave is cold,
    even now in sun-warm spring
    of longer days and gentler air,
    the rock is chill,
    and so is Aissa.
    Most of all
    her cave is empty,
    full of nothing
    just like Aissa.
    Empty of light,
    empty of warmth,
    empty of food,
    empty of hearth fire
    and glowing embers;
    empty of pots and platters,
    goblets and baskets,
    jugs of oil and wine,
    empty of sound,
    the murmur of voices,
    the shushing of Squint-Eye,
    sleepy groans and snores,
    empty even of smell
    of goatskin fleeces for lucky sleepers,
    of tired bodies
    and a fug of farts.
    But in the mornings, in the dark before dawn,
    before the Lady greets her snakes,
    Aissa’s cave has Milli-Cat
    rubbing her nose
    against Aissa’s cheek,
    butting her head
    under Aissa’s chin,
    curling heavy and purring on Aissa’s chest –
    and Milli-Cat is more
    than all the emptiness.

8
    THE SEA
    The servants miss Aissa, and not just because of her chores. Most of them are hoping Squint-Eye will let her back in. Life is easier when they’re all bullying the same person – now they’re scrabbling for power, terrified of being the next victim.
    Aissa would go back if Squint-Eye called her. Even with Milli-Cat’s love, she doesn’t know how long she can survive.
    But this morning she’s been exploring the rubbish heap, and has found the scoop of a broken bowl, and half a long bone needle that will work as a pin. She sidles past the sanctuary to slide her treasures under the gap, but has to duck out of sight while a woman places a bunch of fresh sea lettuce on the offering table.
    In those few moments, Squint-Eye has come out to the stone bench outside the kitchen, a bowl of lentils on her knee. Her old fingers move quickly, flicking the rotten ones to the ground.
    Aissa will have to walk past her to get out the garden gate.
    She’s so busy she might not see me . . .
    Squint-Eye’s good eye narrows spitefully. For a moment she