Prompted

She looked to the right and saw that the fire was dwindling. The drizzle had made it difficult to find much dry wood but she had no choice but to search for more. She would freeze without the warmth of the fire. She removed herself from the safety of the light and stumbled out deeper into the woods. Picking up twigs and feeling for any dampness, she slowly gathered up a small collection of hopeful kindling. As she turned toward her makeshift campsite, she heard what she thought was footsteps coming from behind her. She spun around quickly, dropping a few of the precious sticks. The sound ceased immediately. She told herself it was all in her head and took a few deep breaths to calm her racing heart. With trembling fingers, she picked up her bundle and quickly set back to the task of reviving her small fire. As she worked, she recalled the words of her father to her retreating back. "You'll be back, begging for mercy, just like your mother did," he predicted. "But there will be none for you here."

She knew how harsh the wilderness could be, but even the thought of a warm shelter and food did nothing to convince her to turn back to the scorn of her father and the shame of her mother. Ma took her away with her once. She was trying to do what was best for her daughter. The strain proved to be too much. She was too afraid, always looking over her shoulder, thinking Pa had come after them. He never did, though. He was too proud to be caught chasing after some woman. He had a farm to tend to. His land was what mattered to him the most, next to controlling the women and beating them if they ever dared to step out of line.

No, she would not be like her mother. She would not go home, head hung in shame. She refused to live her life in fear. She had enough scars to last her a lifetime.