~FREYA~
The village was alive with the usual bustle of pack life. Members moved about, tending to their chores, their voices mingling with the rhythmic clang of weapons from the warriors training in the distance. The faint sound of laughter echoed as a small girl darted past Freya, chased by a group of giggling children. For a moment, Freya stopped, watching their carefree play. The sight tugged at her heart, filling her with a bittersweet longing for the innocence she’d lost so long ago. It reminded her of Daemon, of the days when she wasn’t so alone.
She turned her gaze away and continued toward the rear of the packhouse. From within, she could hear the chatter of the omegas in the kitchens, punctuated by Darice’s sharp voice calling out instructions. Freya hesitated as she reached the doorway, standing in the shadows, unsure whether to step inside. She hated being here, surrounded by people who viewed her as an outcast, but she had little choice. Hunger gnawed at her, and she needed Darice’s help.
Before she could call out, one of the women inside noticed her. With a sneer, the woman sauntered over, her hips swaying exaggeratedly. “Oh, look,” she said loudly enough for the others to hear, “if it isn’t the hobbit. What do you want, you dirty little tramp?”
Freya instinctively stepped back, keeping her head low. “Darice,” she muttered, her voice barely audible. “I just need to see Darice for a moment. Then I’ll leave.”
“Well, you can’t,” the woman snapped, moving to shut the door in her face.
Before she could, Darice’s voice cut through the commotion. “Freya?” She appeared from the kitchen, her expression softening when she saw her. Darice pushed the other woman aside, ignoring her protest, and smiled kindly at Freya. “Do you need some supplies?” she asked, her tone gentle. “I thought you had a harvest this year.”
Freya shifted uncomfortably, glancing toward the ground. “The weather,” she whispered. “It wasn’t kind.” She didn’t dare mention the truth .. the teens’ malicious destruction of her garden. Trouble always followed when she spoke out, and she didn’t want to cause more problems.
Darice studied her quietly, the slight furrow in her brow betraying her disbelief. She knew the weather hadn’t been harsh enough to ruin an entire harvest, but she said nothing. She understood the dangers of pressing Freya for details. “Stay here,” she said instead and turned back into the kitchen.
Freya lingered in the shadows, waiting for Darice’s return. The other women in the kitchen exchanged glances, their voices dropping to whispers. One of them, bolder than the rest, slipped outside and approached Freya with quiet, deliberate steps.
Before Freya could react, the woman slapped her hard across the face. “You bitch,” she hissed, her voice low enough not to attract attention. “How dare you come here and steal from us? We work for what we have. What do you do, huh? Nothing. Go away. Before we kill you.”
Freya flinched, her cheek stinging, and fought to keep the tears from falling. Without a word, she turned away, heading toward the woods. She didn’t want Darice to see her like this, didn’t want to risk her kindness bringing trouble down on her as well. She would go deeper into the forest and find food. It wasn’t safe, but it was better than this.
But the woman wasn’t finished. Freya heard her footsteps following and tried to quicken her pace, but before she could escape, the woman struck her from behind with a stick. Pain exploded in Freya’s head as she fell to the ground. Warm blood trickled down her scalp, seeping into her hair. She curled into a ball, shielding her head with her arms as the blows rained down, each one accompanied by mocking laughter.
Eventually, the beating stopped, and Freya heard the woman’s retreating footsteps, followed by the sound of her laughter fading into the distance. Slowly, Freya uncurled, wincing as she tried to sit up. Every movement sent sharp pain through her body, but she forced herself to stand. She couldn’t stay here.
She didn’t hear Darice approach until she was right beside her. “Freya!” Darice exclaimed, rushing to support her. She dropped the holdall she had brought and wrapped an arm around Freya’s waist, helping her stay upright. “Let me take you to the healer,” she growled, her voice thick with anger.
Freya shook her head weakly. “No,” she murmured. “I’ll just go home. Thank you, Darice. You’re so kind.”
Darice hesitated, clearly torn, but Freya gently pushed her away. With slow, pained steps, she picked up the bag Darice had brought and began the long walk back to her cottage. Each step was agony, but she kept moving, her mind already planning her next trip into the forest. She couldn’t keep doing this, couldn’t keep enduring this. But for now, survival was all that mattered.
