Chapter Text
Irony was finally having food but no longer having an appetite. Brida knew she had to eat anyway, and watching color return to her mother's sunken cheeks made it easier.
"How did you get all this?"
She kept her eyes on her plate. "I went treasure-hunting in the Deep Roads."
"You must have made some good finds." She smiled sadly. "Your father would be proud."
The food stuck in her throat. She coughed. "I might go back tomorrow, venture a little farther."
"Do be careful. It's dangerous in the deep."
"I will." She had covered the gash on her arm, which finally stopped bleeding. She didn't want her to worry; she also wanted something to distract her with if she asked too many questions.
As it turned out, her mother dozed off by the fire before she could ask anything. Even in the flickering light, Brida could see how tired she looked, how weak. Her once-lovely face bore lines of sorrow and grief that added decades to her age. She minded casteless children by day - and sometimes for longer - but it brought in little money, and Brida knew she felt guilty for not being able to do more. But her mother had been born and raised in the Diamond Quarter, and wasn't meant for this life.
In spite of everything, her aching muscles and full belly helped her fall asleep quickly.
Being well-fed for a change suited Brida. With her newfound strength and energy, she delved farther, dug deeper, and brought more out with her. She'd spend hours in the dark warrens of the Deep Roads, combing through the rubble of forgotten thaigs, looting corpses when she found them. Occasionally she heard others pass near her; she'd hide in whatever crack or crevice she could find, sweat beading along her hairline and coursing down her face, holding her breath. It didn't matter who it was - almost anyone who might find her down there would have killed her.
Not everything would fetch a price, but she took whatever seemed salvageable. She could sew, and so she cobbled together armor to trade in Dust Town. That was risky - the Carta didn't like any business that they didn't get a cut of - but she kept it quiet enough that no one noticed. What she found that she could sell, she took to Kirun. She briefly considered waiting until she had collected a few items - one trip to his shop sounded better than three - but she didn't dare return to Dust Town with her treasures. There were too many casteless who would steal them; some wouldn't hesitate to kill her in the process. If she died, there'd be no one to care for her mother. And really, it wasn't so bad. She thought of the coin, of the food it would buy; she dreamed of gifts she might bring her mother, little trinkets to make her smile. She always vomited, but she never cried, and enough ale gave her dreamless sleep.
Things could be worse.