Ara's exhausted grunts sounded inhuman as she hacked away at the fleshy, segmented, creature before her. It was the size of a wild dog, only longer, fat as a pig with a body like that of a worm. Narrow eyes glared at Ara as if she was cruel for defending her home.

"Don't look at me like that," she chastised between gulps of air, pointing her hatchet at the creature while circling. "You try taking what's mine, you filthy thing. You get what you deserve."

A screech escaped the beast and its large, black, mandibles snapped. Her hatchet fell again. "2,000 years since Bhishma's execution and you worms still plague us!"

Sweat dripped down the side of her face despite the sun not yet bearing down on her; the wood of the hatchet was beginning to blister her palms. The hide of the nyssavir was just too thick for her to break through.

"Back up, Ara," her father shouted, running from the confines of their home. The sun creeped up and the sky was aglow with morning light. It was dim, but just bright enough to see the little monster. Gaius—Ara's father—stumbled sleepily up to the tangling duo and snatched the hatchet from Ara's hands. Just as she handed the weapon off, the nyssavir lunged for Ara's leg. Gaius, however, shoved her aside, causing the creature's mandibles to sink into his calf.

Gaius yelped, swinging the hatchet down onto the nyssavir's head. Again, he let the hatchet drop. A third time and the blade finally sank into the animal's brain. Gaius dropped the hatchet, falling back to his rear, breathing heavily. He looked down at his calf and chuckled.

"What's funny, Pa?" Ara asked, her brows pulled together tightly.

The nyssavir ate nearly half the crop, she thought sourly.

He chuckled again and said, "Of all the creatures in this world to destroy our crops it just had to be Bhisma's progeny. It's just ironic is all."

Ara shook her head, her hands going to her hips. "Pa, we won't be able to recover what we've lost before winter comes."

Surviving is hard enough as it is…

"Bah," he said with a wave of his hand. "We'll be just fine, dear. Now, help your old man up." Ara reached down, pulled him to his feet, then helped him back inside. The time to leave for work would come quickly.

Inside their home Ara cleaned and bandaged Gaius' wound. "Keep a close eye on that so infection doesn't set in."

The old man sighed. "What would I do without you, Ara? Always taking care of me."

She merely rolled her eyes, but the comment made her smile nonetheless.

You'd be doomed, she thought. That made her giggle and the look Gaius gave her—probably trying to figure out what was humorous—shifted the giggle into a fit of laughter. She sighed, looking into his glassy eyes.

How can one look so sad, she wondered, yet so happy?

Despite all the heartache Ara endured, she remained in the world, a beacon of light amongst the shadow. She tried, anyway. Ara couldn't remember her mother that well, and her father rarely spoke of her. She did, however, remember many of the boys she'd known and befriended who'd been taken by the age of sixteen, hauled away to die in the war.

Where are you, Gorenos? she prayed, thinking about the Lowborn like her she'd watched be stripped from all they knew over the years.

She'd called every god's name she could think of a thousand times over, but none would answer her prayers. She didn't need riches, didn't need to be named queen. Ara longed for a happy life; one without worrying about when her father would be taken from her, or which friend would be the next to leave.

And they always leave.

I want to be more, Ara though idly. Why can't I change my status? Why am I doomed to being Lowborn, when I'm worth ten of the nobles? They don't deserve to live so lavishly; they do naught to help the world.

Gaius wobbled to his room as Ara lost herself in thought. The motion shook her from the trance. Standing, she blew out the candle on the table as sunlight pierced through the one window in their home.

Shaking her head, she thought, Happiness is a choice.

As Ara moved to her room, turning to squeeze past her clothes chest, and plopped onto her bed, she thought of her life. The aches, the pains.

For as long as she could remember, Ara had desired to rise above being a Lowborn; then again, there wasn't a Lowborn alive who wouldn't want the same.

When Ara was younger she'd asked her father, "Pa, why is our last name 'Lowborn'?"

To which he sighed and said, "Those born without noble blood are not dignified with a surname other than 'Lowborn', my dear."

Ara tried not to think about it, but there was a constant reminder that she would forever be inferior to the Highborn. Ara promised herself as a child that she'd one day be worth more.

Of course, she'd never tell her father of those thoughts. It would break him and, he too, had endured enough pain.

Just then, Gaius limped into her room—squeezing through the cramped space—and sat down next to her, patting her leg. He gazed into her eyes for a moment.

He said, "I couldn't be prouder of the woman you've grown into. Your mother would be proud too."

As always—when speaking of her—there was a sad twinkle about his eyes.

Ara was finally woman as far as society in Gosatha was concerned. She didn't feel like a woman, however, and was not yet prepared to do the things that come with womanhood. There was an immaturity about her that she would be expected to give up, but she didn't want to. It was the childlike innocence, the lighthearted air she carried, that made Ara who she was. It may be a facade, but no one else needed to know that.

Ara smiled back and said, "Have I ever told you, Pa, of the admiration I have for you? I know you loved Mother; that's always been clear to me. You never let her death stop you from taking care of me." She covered his hand with one of hers.

It looked as if he fought back tears when he said, "You'll learn someday, when you have children of your own, that no matter what you do, you always feel like you could have done more. I just hope…" his voice cracked and Ara squeezed his hand. "I hope your 17 years haven't been too dreadful." He released a tearless sob, smiling sadly.

"Of course not, Pa," she said, wrapping her arms around him, feeling the stubble on his face against her cheek. The oil lamp in her room flickered, reminding her that the sun was up. They pulled away from each other and she said, "I best get ready for work."

He moved to the doorway, saying, "My dear, today you will do nothing. You've earned your keep this day, I must say. I want you to take a day for yourself."

She hated it when he insisted on her lying about while he breaks his back to earn a little silver down at the butchery. "Pa, you've worked for the butcher all my life and then some to provide for us. The least I can do is help put food on the table."

"That is my duty as your father," he argued, smiling haughtily. "You take this day off, Ara. I insist."

"Pa, I am perfectly capable of putting in work, no matter the circumstances," she protested.

He nodded. "Yes, I know you are. You're more capable than most, in fact. However, it's my wish that you would take a break. You've always been a tenacious girl, especially when it comes to helping your old man. It's been nigh on a year since you've taken a day for yourself. And you defended the rest of our crop from that worm. So, go see your friends. Enjoy the weather. Please?"

"Fine," she gave in with a groan. "Just this once, though."

"Excellent." He clapped his hands together. "I'll be back in time for dinner. I love you, Ara."

"I love you, Pa." She watched him go with a faint annoyance.

I hope he makes it there with ease, Ara thought, concerned over his leg. They'd never been able to afford a horse or even a mule and, with their home being just a league away from Osta, her father's trek was bound to take longer than usual.

Now, what to do with myself?