Chapter Text
Alley cats were, objectively speaking, better than humans. This was a fact. A universal truth, even. They were kinder, gentler, and much, much softer in their treatment of fellow strays than people ever were.
Isha would know.
She was a stray.
Somehow, despite the city leaving everyone beaten and bloody, it bred sweet cats. They always let her pet them and the most generous ones shared their food with her even if they were just as skinny as she was. Other people never let her share their food— she was too dirty. But the cats didn’t mind. They didn’t think she was damaged goods.
It was something she’d quickly learned— nobody wanted a stray kid but fellow strays.
The cats taught her to fight too. That was different too. They didn't chase her, choke her, or force her into thankless work surrounded by bitter adults. Sure, they scratched, bit, and fought but Isha didn’t mind. It just made her learn to defend herself better. It was important to protect herself as a stray in Zaun.
More importantly, the cats didn’t know that no one would miss her if she disappeared and they didn’t act like it. It was her favorite part about them.
The first time Isha had tried to ask an adult for help was after her parents had died. It had worked, but only for a while. She’d been five years old but already, they were never home so she didn’t remember much about them.
But she remembered the mines.
Her parents worked in the mines.
The day they died, she got woken up by noise in the kitchen. That was weird; usually, they’d already left by the time she woke up. This time, once she got out of bed, she recognized the noise as the whistling of an old kettle her mother had got when her grandma passed. Isha didn’t remember her much either.
The house was small enough that, even on her clumsy little feet and the ratty blanket dragging behind her, making her trip, she was there in seconds.
Her parents were lying on the floor.
The kettle’s whistling started to sound more like screaming. It took her a while to realize the screaming was her own.
She was still sobbing by the time she got to the mines. Her family was settled in the fissures but it didn’t take long to get there. Still, when she did, all she could manage was choked sobs and gasps, as she shook her again and again, whimpering pathetically.
Somehow, some of the miners managed to calm her down; they’d been really nice about it too. One of the women had even wiped away her tears with her soot-covered fingers and told her it was okay if she couldn’t speak. Isha had started to cling to her pretty desperately after that. The next day, when they found her asleep at the mines’ entrance, the woman took her home with her. She even shared her dinner.
Soon after, a strange man in a black suit showed up in the mines and snarled at her like she was disgusting. Isha tried to hide behind someone’s leg but she found everyone was as far away as possible. The way the man looked at her made her feel disgusting.
That conversation was another thing she didn’t remember well; lots of things from that time were. But soon after, the man left and Isha had a miner’s hat on her head and the word debt , whatever it meant, ringing through her ears. All the miners were extra nice after that. The person forced to take her home that night, Isha didn’t remember who it was, even gave her two servings of dinner. She didn't know why.
There was a lot she didn’t know when she was that small. She kind of missed it. She didn't know the best way to use a pick or how she was supposed to support the weight of a shovel with her body.
She knew love, though.
Isha learned that word for the first time when she was seven. Or she thought she was seven. She couldn't be sure how well she was keeping track of time. But it must've been around that time because her parents were already dead but the miners still talked to her.
It was the woman from that first day that had explained. Isha didn't remember her face. She didn't remember her voice, either, but she remembered what she said.
“That feeling when you really like someone? When they make you happy and you wanna keep ‘em safe and take care of ‘em? That's called love.”
Isha remembered another man, one that always took bread she could snack on, chiming in.
“Like when we take ya home for dinner.”
Isha thought she knew love perfectly well, then. The way all the childless adults always ate a little bit less than her, the way they smiled brightly every time they saw her, the way they taught her how to use all the tools so she wouldn't hurt herself. Even the way her parents always made sure she woke up to a piece of bread on the pan.
It was all there; love clear as day.
She loved a lot of people too, at that age. She hoped they could tell by the way she latched onto them and tried really hard to make little noises when they spoke to her. She didn't have much else to offer or prove it.
She loved them for lots of reasons.
Her parents, even if she barely knew them, were the first people she’d ever loved. All she remembered was that her mother had Isha’s huge, yellow eyes (the miners told her) and both of them took turns kissing her forehead when they got back to work (she was supposed to be asleep but she always pretended, just to hear their voices wishing her goodnight.)
She loved the miners too when she was little; they were all sweet and patient with her.
They took care of her for the first few years after her parents died.
Isha knew they probably felt bad for her but she didn’t mind. She’d feel bad for her too. She was just happy they were nice about it. They taught her songs and some of them could even read enough to teach her how to sound out words. They didn’t even get mad when she only did it in her head.
But one day, the man in the suit walked in again and started yelling. Isha knew it was him because she'd never seen clothes so clean or so new before. All she remembered from that conversation was the miners stopped ignoring her after it. Sometimes, they’d still smile or share a little piece of food with her, but none of them acted like they used to. They were distant. They didn’t take her home with them anymore either.
After that, she had nowhere to go. She wasn’t sure why but she didn’t want to go back to her old house. It smelled bad and Isha hadn’t been brave enough to walk past the door. The thought of her parents not being there to kiss her forehead when she slept made her cry and she started to sleep outside the mines again.
She ran away a few months later.
That’s how she ended up with the cats and she loved them too. They were kind of mean, at first, but she always knew what to expect from them so she didn’t mind.
That only lasted until someone told her that cats don’t count as people, she couldn’t even remember why, but she assumed that the miners would be the last people she’d ever love after that. She cried herself to sleep that night. The thought was crushingly lonely.
The next person she’d grown to love, against all expectations, was Powder. She loved her more than anything and anyone in the world and Powder said she loved Isha too. After that, she always slept in a bed and never cried alone at night.
But she didn’t know that when she was living with the cats.
The important thing about the cats was that they didn't loom over her and throw a helmet on her head when they realized no one would miss her. They didn't call her a miner when the tools were heavier than she was. All that mattered was that she didn't hurt them and they didn't hurt her; an understanding. Her only demand was getting food, and with time, they gave her food too.
There were no cats where she was now. Only people.
She hadn't wanted to leave them. She didn't like her new spot between some rusty old pipe and a half-broken brick wall in the center of Zaun. No one curled up beside her when it was cold. There was no affection in the heart of a healing city. Not for the kind of stray that reminded everyone what they were healing from .
But there was nothing left for her in the fissures, she couldn't go back there. And it hadn't been her decision to leave the cats; she had to. She hoped they understood she didn't come back with food after the last time she'd left because she couldn't. She didn't want to run away, leaving them to starve, but she had to.
Somehow, she'd managed to be stupid enough to rob the wrong man's house. She'd found the man in the suit again and she'd managed to make him angry. Again. All she remembered from him was screaming and the perfect fabric he was still wearing and debt.
Now, she could hear him screaming it all over again. Debt . She didn't know if he was actually saying it or she was imagining it. She thought he might've recognized her miner's hat; known her having it so far away could only mean one thing. She thought maybe he remembered her, somehow. She thought the loaf of soft bread in her hands wasn't helping.
She crawled out of the window before he could grab her and she faintly heard him send three men after her. Somehow, even if he wasn't the one chasing her, she still felt like she was running from a ghost.
They were still chasing after her long three blocks later. She was starting to run out of bread. She wanted to call for help, to scream at someone to do something, to save her . She couldn't.
Every time she tried to speak or reach out, she found her throat closing and her eyes welling up. She couldn't do it, no matter how hard she tried. She'd heard somewhere that parents were supposed to speak for their children and she bitterly resented having no one to speak for her . She wasn't strong enough to do it herself.
That was another thing about the cats— they never expected her to speak. They were content with her soft noises and giggles and grumbles. They purred every time she brought food and every time she fell asleep. She didn't have to call for their help, as soon as a stranger passed by, they hissed and snarled and hid until they left.
But she'd run away and she was all alone again.
She felt like she was running out of breath. The men behind her didn't slow down.
She didn't like being alone. It was scary and quiet and just reminded her that she couldn't speak even if nobody else could. The most she had to drown the silence was her crying, but when even that made her choke.
The silence attracted monsters. Like the ones chasing her right now. They wouldn't have chased her with her cats around. The cats were never quiet. They kept the monsters away.
The thought itself made her choke, tripping on air. She didn't even want to keep running. Her inability to call for help hurt and the monsters scared her. But then, she turned, watching them get closer, reaching out, calling for her because they only ever spoke in screams, and she couldn't stop.
At some point, she was scrambling so desperate she leaped halfway to a pipe, scrambling to climb it. Luckily, she was a good climber and the speed at which she'd managed to grip it to avoid falling almost made her feel strong for once.
Still, the men were bigger and stronger than her, and one of them grabbed onto her leg, pulling her down harshly. His nails were cut long and uneven, and Isha’s leg burned horribly as they dug into her. No matter how much she squirmed and pulled, she only managed to make them sink in further.
The sting of her skin and the smell of blood, however, reminded her of her friends, who'd quickly taught her to use their opponent's size against them. Biting her lip, she pushed her leg against him as hard as she could, ignoring the searing pain of flesh being pulled out of her, and propelled herself upwards. It didn't matter because she successfully managed to scramble onto the roof.
The men turned out to be decidedly less agile than she was despite their size and strength, and she took the advantage to run off the roof as fast as she could. Still, their legs were longer and their lungs were bigger— she saw that in an old topsider book in the dump— and Isha didn't know how far she could run before they got tired of chasing her and shot, instead. They didn't seem kind.
It was almost looking like she'd outrun them when she was faced with a jump so big she just knew she wouldn't make it. But when she looked back she found the men running towards her at full speed and, in a split second, decided it was better to die by falling than die in someone's mines. The older cats made bigger leaps than building roofs; maybe she would too, somehow.
She closed her eyes and jumped as far as she possibly could but her leg burned and she hadn't eaten since the day before and in the end, she wasn't strong enough. She plummeted straight to the ground, closing her eyes and hoping that Janna would somehow be kind enough to save her. The miners used to say she was the sweetest god in the world and Isha didn't have anyone else.
She braced herself and curled her head into her lap and hoped but somehow never felt the cold concrete. Instead, she fell right on top of a warm body, much softer than the fate she was meant for, toppling under her with a soft oof .
For a second, she wondered if it was Janna. If she'd somehow summoned the angel everyone swore would one day protect her. But then, the person under her scrambled back, looking at her strangely and Isha realized it wasn't a god at all.
It was a girl.
Instantly, Isha felt herself freeze in pure horror. This wasn't supposed to happen. She didn't know this girl and she hadn't met a kind person in her life . She could be mad, she could hit her, she could shoot her. It didn't take her long to learn that good people did not walk around dark alleys. Good people especially didn't like Isha.
The men were surrounding them not long after and she was sure she was going to die right there. If it wasn't them, it would be the girl.
One of the men reached for her roughly and Isha instinctively whimpered, curling into the girl's side, more desperate than rational, and gripped onto her clothes like a lifeline. At least the last thing she'd feel was her soft clothes. Isha had never touched something soft before. Her own clothes had been broken and scratchy for as long as she could remember, and half the cats didn't even have all their fur by the time she found them.
She expected the girl to slap her right off. Isha was dirty and smelly and bleeding all over the place. The girl's outfit was pretty and looked brand new. No one would take kindly to some strange kid causing them trouble and ruining their clothes.
But somehow, the blow never came.
Instead, Isha found two thin arms curling around her, pressing harshly against the girl. The grip seemed so desperate, her knuckles were white. Isha blinked in confusion, looking up at the stranger holding onto her so tightly. She didn't understand why she'd try to defend her.
The girl turned to the three men, then, tilting her head lazily with a wry smile.
“Give us the kid and we’ll leave.” One of the men spit out impatiently, making a move to get closer to the poor girl. Isha felt bad for her. She was probably only trying to help.
But just like that, the girl raised an eyebrow and swiftly pulled out a pistol, shooting thrice, one next to each of the men. She was a good shot. Suddenly, Isha felt the urge to scramble away but found the girl was gripping her too tight.
“Wanna repeat that?”
“I said ,” he growled, “hand over the little brat and we won't hurt you.”
Instantly, Isha felt dread build in her stomach. The girl would hand her over now. It didn't matter that she had a pistol; she was just bluffing. No one would go through all the trouble for her. Especially not someone who didn't even know her.
That was why she was holding onto her so hard. It wasn't fair , she thought, wiggling desperately against her grip, she just wanted to be left alone. She was scared and hungry and cold and now she was getting handed over to the man in the suit's lackeys and she'd never see the sun again in her life .
It wasn't fair.
The thought made her eyes sting and her chest hurt and Isha tried really hard not to start crying right there and then. She was a big girl. She had to be strong, at least. Crying was embarrassing.
The girl looked more outraged by the second. She shot again, this time closer to one of the men's heads. It was clear she'd missed on purpose, even Isha could tell.
“No.”
Isha immediately felt herself freeze at the word. No? That made no sense . She didn't get it at all. The girl had every reason to hand her over. She was starting to wonder if it was all some cheap trick to get Isha to do something for her instead. Somehow, she minded the thought a little less than being handed over. She stopped resisting the girl's grip but it tightened, anyway. It might've been protective.
“No?!” He snapped.
“You heard me.” The girl hissed. “Kid's mine so back off or I shoot.”
“Like hell she is!” Another man yelled but didn't move. Isha could tell a coward when she saw one. She knew how to run away too.
“How would you know, hm?” The girl hummed, twirling her gun with practiced confidence and making Isha wonder where she could possibly be going with this.
“It doesn't matter how I know, the kid's ours .”
Isha couldn't help the little whine that escaped her at the words, and out of nowhere, she felt the girl's fingers rub small circles on her neck. It made her want to cry even more.
“Well, not anymore. You have ten seconds: out or I shoot. ”
“She kid's indebted to the fucking mines .” The same man insisted, already patting the wall behind him.
Isha flinched back. Hard.
She couldn't be sure but she thought the gesture made the girl harden further. She hoped, more than anything, that she hadn't done something wrong again but the girl seemed to grow impatient.
“Oh! That's real unfortunate.” The girl pouted, looking like the situation was a lot funnier than Isha found it. “Might have to get you jailed for child labor.”
The three men bristled immediately, reaching for their pistols with shaking hands. Somehow, in the time it took them to point at her, the girl had shot all three guns out of their hands. Isha started reconsidering if Janna really was just a blue-haired girl with cool clothes.
“Time’s up.” She grinned.
“I'll kill you, you bitch.” One of them snarled, despite the other two haphazardly trying to pull him away. Isha understood. He was clearly being stupid.
The girl just snorted. “Wouldn’t wanna mess with Silco's daughter if I was you.”
As if to make her point, she shot again. This time, it landed so close to the man's foot that the three of them physically started climbing upwards. The girl shot again, two times for good measure.
Finally, the men were gone and Isha shimmied off the girl's lap. Neither of them looked away until the men were fully out of sight. Still, Isha felt small and scared and entirely unable to take this girl and her gun on. She didn't even want to try.
She almost relaxed when she saw the girl lock the trigger but then she turned the gun to her and Isha felt like she was going to be sick. She looked down at it and back up at the girl. She felt her eyes were watering and she hoped it wasn't noticeable.
She pushed back her knees, just in case she needed to run again, even if she knew perfectly well the girl could shoot her dead in the time she managed to get up.
“You feel it? That… buzzing behind your eyes?” She smiled, swaying the gun back and forth. “Because you know, in a moment, it could all… poow .”
The girl made a little explosion sound with her mouth, pointing the gun back at the floor and letting her grip go lax. Her finger was far away from the trigger.
She shook her head. “Worst feeling in the world, kid.”
Isha nodded, leaning in curiously, just as the girl threw her arms back, stretching slow and cat-like.
“Phew.” She sighed lightly, hanging the gun off her belt like the encounter had just been a small inconvenience. “On with it then.”
The girl turned, grabbing a big plastic bag beside them and carrying it off to the dumpster at the far end of the alley. Only then did Isha realize they were behind a bar and the girl had just been taking out the trash. It felt fitting then, that she'd find Isha too.
Still, she seemed so unphased, swaying and whistling softly, like nothing had happened, that it was making Isha's own fear even more apparent. Suddenly, she felt like she couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe. She didn't want to go back to being alone. She couldn't breathe.
She didn't move, just sat and watched, trying to shove down the choked gasps building up in her chest.
The girl continued acting normally like Isha was not there at all. It wasn't a new feeling but it was one that stung all the same. Her chest was starting to hurt.
She watched the girl reach into her pocket and roughly throw a handful of something on the floor in front of her. The sudden movement made Isha flinch. The girl wiped her dirty hand on her thigh, lazily. Isha was shaking harder by the second.
A couple of cats emerged from somewhere, though, walking around the girl and eating whatever it was she had thrown with ease. Isha's head was spinning. They looked fuller than her cats had. Her leg was starting to hurt double as much as before. The girl was smiling at the cats with a disconcerting amount of fondness. Isha wanted to throw up.
Finally, the girl turned around to her, making Isha shield her face instinctively.
No strike came. The girl didn't move at all. When she pulled her arms down, the girl was looking at her with wide, horrified eyes, and immediately knew she'd messed up again. She couldn't help the choked sob that made its way out of her throat.
She was sure the noise would be her last straw but the girl just smiled and knelt in front of her, careful to leave a couple of feet of distance between them. The space made her breathe a bit easier.
“What's your name, kid?” She asked, sounding so gentle, so tender and devoid of expectation that for once, Isha actually wanted to tell her. It just made her little chokes and gasps even more frustrating and she couldn't stop herself from crying.
She shook her head.
“You can't speak?” The girl asked kindly.
She shook her head again, furiously rubbing her fists over her face to try and stop. It was embarrassing and it was weak and the girl would laugh at her.
It wasn't fair.
Everyone always thought she was stupid and useless and she wasn't. This girl, in particular, was cool and pretty and she'd saved Isha for no reason at all. She didn't want her to think all those mean things about her. She wanted her to like her. She wanted her to love her.
It had been a long time since someone had loved Isha and the thought made her cry even harder.
“That's okay.” The girl soothed, making Isha feel even more hysterical. “My name's Powder. I don't know sign language but I'll ask you questions and you can nod or shake your head, ‘kay?”
Isha nodded hesitantly, not wanting to find out what would happen if she refused her.
“You have any family?”
Briefly, she thought of her cats. The strays that slept with her and ate with her and watched over her when she was sick. She'd left even them behind. She didn't think they counted, anyway.
Then, the miners crossed her mind. They'd basically raised her in those years after her parents’ passing before she'd run away. They'd taken her in and told her what love meant. But they didn't want her anymore.
Isha had no one.
She shook her head, sniffling when she saw how sad the girl looked at her answer.
“Anyone looking for you? Apart from Muscles back there and his squad.”
For a second, she stopped to think, wondering if there was any reason for someone to chase after her. Bitterly, she realized no one even knew she existed, not really. It made a fresh wave of tears roll down her face. She shook her head again.
“Okay.” The girl nodded, keeping her voice low and calming, but Isha shook her head again, now fully sobbing and frantically slamming her fists against her face in an effort to stop the tears.
It wasn't okay.
She started hiccuping, gasping, and choking on her own wails as the realization settled in. She'd run away and she had nowhere to go. It was cold in Zaun and her clothes were practically coming undone. Three scary men were chasing after her and this was the first time someone talked to her in months. Her leg hurt and her palms were sore and Isha was scared.
It wasn't okay.
Powder seemed to pick up on the cause of her meltdown and moved just slightly closer. Isha didn't have the energy to back away.
“Is it okay if I touch you now?” Powder asked, lowering her voice to something so sweet and careful, that Isha almost thought she was talking to someone else.
Mindlessly, impulsively, she nodded, unable to remember the last time someone had touched her. Her leg was still bleeding and the sight of her own blood always made her recoil. She wanted it to stop. She wanted her mama.
Slowly, Powder fell forward and crawled toward Isha with outstretched arms. Isha had time to spare to move away but she didn't. Somehow, she still flinched when Powder's hand made contact with her face and the force of it made her hit her head against the wall behind her. The older girl didn't comment on it but the sudden pain just made her cry harder.
She leaned into the touch.
Powder's hands were soft and warm, slithering their way beneath Isha's frustrated fists and cupping her cheeks carefully. Slowly, she started wiping her tears away with her thumb, smiling at her like she was something precious. Isha knew because it was how she smiled at the kittens.
She'd never been smiled at like she was precious.
“There, there, kid.” She shushed, wiping away her tears despite Isha being gross with grime dissolving on her face and into the girl's fingers. She didn't mention it. “It's okay. It's okay, cry all you need. I'm here.”
The words instinctively made Isha crawl forward, pushing herself against the girl's touch as hard as she couldn't. Soon, she was making desperate, grabby hands, not even knowing what she was asking for.
Powder somehow knew, looking at Isha like it was the simplest thing in the world. It felt nice to feel so understood. It didn't happen often.
“Oh, sweetie. ” Powder cooed out, scooping Isha up in her arms so tenderly it made her cry harder. She'd never been called that before.
The contact instantly made her hold onto Powder's shirt with a vengeance. She was sure her nails were long and cracked enough to rip the girl's clothes but she was already bleeding all over them so she didn't care anymore. She was happy to take whatever punishment she had to later if she could be held like this for even a few seconds. But Powder didn't seem to mind at all, just tightening her hold around Isha's back.
“Come on,” the girl cooed, “you look like you need some rest.”
They both fell back softly, sitting against the wall and shifting into a comfortable hug. Isha buried her face into the girl's shoulder and sobbed so loud her throat hurt. Powder just rocked her softly, swaying back and forth with slow, careful movements. Isha didn't know anyone could be careful with her.
“It's okay.” She whispered, rubbing small circles against Isha's back. “It’s okay, I got you.”
Isha didn’t know why but she believed her, nodding fervently through her tears. She wondered if she was trying to convince Powder or herself. She didn't think it mattered as long as she didn't have to go back out alone.
Soon, Isha's sobs turned into soft sniffles, and her eyes started drooping in exhaustion. She wasn't sure if she could— if she was allowed to— but she let her head fall against Powder's shoulder, relishing in the warmth.
The winter months were coming and even with her cats, Isha shivered pathetically every night. Her clothes were far too thin and she didn't have anything to cover her arms with. She couldn't even go back to the old house to get something there— they didn't have much at all. She dreaded the rainy season the most. Her shoes were three sizes too small and two holes too useless.
But this girl was safe and warm and she held onto Isha like she had no intention of leaving her out in the cold again. She didn't quite believe her but it didn't matter as long as she could play pretend. It used to be her favorite game as a kid, after all.
For a few seconds, she let herself think they weren't playing pretend at all, but then the girl pulled away and Isha was left whining pitifully. She didn't want to be alone again.
“Hey,” Powder frowned, bringing her hand to Isha's leg, “you still bleeding?”
Immediately, she felt panic overtake her again. She was still bleeding all over the girl's clothes. That was why she was pulling away— it must've been. Instantly, she brought both hands down to the cut, pressing down on it like it would somehow stop Powder from seeing the gushing red spreading on her fingers. She tried hard not to flinch when she felt it burn.
Unfortunately, it was the wrong move. It didn't make Powder pull her closer or hug her again. Instead, the girl shot up and she gasped tilting her head towards it. Isha immediately knew she'd messed up again and the urge to cry was back in double the force.
She frowned, letting her hands hover above it like she was unsure if she was allowed to touch it. Isha didn't understand why she didn't just grab her.
“Doesn't that hurt, kid? You're getting blood all over yourself.”
Isha couldn't help herself— she nodded frantically, starting to sniffle and rub her hands against her face again. She didn't want the girl to see her cry over something so stupid.
“Can I see?”
Isha was tempted to say no. To pull away and run and accept she'd never love or be loved by another person again. Why shouldn't she? She had no reason to trust this girl— no reason to think she could. Sure, she'd defended her from the people chasing her, she'd hugged her and asked if she was okay, but that didn't mean anything. She was too old to think otherwise.
She wasn’t a baby.
But Powder looked concerned and her leg hurt a lot so she supposed there was no harm in letting her help. Or there probably wasn't— she couldn't really be sure. It's not like she had much to lose, anyway.
She nodded shyly, deciding she could always run away if the girl got mean. She was good at finding temporary places to go— she could find one again.
“Okay. Wanna come home with me so we can figure this out?”
Isha's first instinct was to run away again. Admitting something hurt wasn't the same as admitting she did want to go with her. She did want Powder to figure it out— whatever it was that meant. She just didn't want to be alone again. She wanted to stay somewhere warm for once. Powder looked like she'd take her somewhere warm.
Still, those kinds of offers were cruel traps. They were never true. Every time she'd take them the rug was pulled out from under her and she was left right where she started. It would be repeating the cycle all over again.
Maybe sensing her hesitation, Powder seemed to soften. “You know, kid, I was from the fissures too.”
Isha looked up, startled. She didn't understand how she could possibly know that. She didn't even know if what she was saying was true . Powder might've been kind and warm and good with a gun, but she didn't look like fissure folk. Not even a little.
“It’s the helmet, silly!” She giggled, tapping Isha's hat playfully. Her laugh came out so light and airy, that it made Isha want to take her up on her offer right then and there. Maybe she could sound that happy one day too.
“Yeah, I know it's hard to believe now.” Powder continued. “But my parents died and my dads took me in! They were miners too. That was in the old Zaun, though. Things used to suck a lot more back then.”
Isha blinked; she'd heard talk about the old Zaun from the miners. She didn't quite catch it, they never told her about it directly, but she remembered the adults saying they didn't miss it.
Things used to be even worse , they said, at least now mining people could afford to eat. At least now they're fighting for us.
Isha never asked after she heard that.
“But new Zaun or not, us fissure folk have to stick together, right?”
Isha wasn't sure about that— she used to think so too. The people in the fissures were always kind growing up. She'd loved them . She thought they'd loved her. But that felt like it was years ago and she hadn't gotten such a sweet promise since.
She wanted to shake her head, deny any resemblance between them, and run away, tired of being tricked. All her instincts were screaming to kick the girl and get away. She could fend for herself perfectly well. She couldn't just trust a stranger.
But Powder had fed the cats and smiled at her and called her kid . And well, Isha knew the word was an insult but the girl said it so fondly it didn't even sound like one and it was the most kindness she'd ever been— and be — afforded in her life. She desperately wanted to believe she could hold onto it forever.
Powder was patient with her. She was quiet and waited for Isha to make up her mind— there was no rush in the way she looked at her. She'd said her family had been fissure folk too. She only looked kind. She was smiling, with her hand held out but no intention to move it away.
Isha couldn't help herself. She really didn't want to be left alone again.
She nodded and took Powder's hand.