His words were so hateful and venomous that she swore his poison would surely infect the others. His hate was so strong. So strong his words were that her lower lip began to quiver, and her eyes fell to the ground. She shook against his voice, and wrapped her arms tightly around herself in a futile way to protect herself. But the damage was done. She had understood him loud and clear.

She wanted to...

She wanted to scream back at him. To take off her own tunic to show him her own scars. She wanted to tell him how the Dorcha murdered her own parents in front of her. She wanted to tell him how she had lived as a slave until she was cast aside like dirt once more. This man was beyond understanding anything that did not fit his narrative, if only he knew the truth. Something had hurt him too, and for the first time in a very long time, Aeryn felt a pang of empathy for him, followed by disgust that soon bubbled back up as hatred for him. Little did he know that if she really wanted to, she could kill him in his sleep. It wouldn't be the first time she'd done such a thing. That would just be proving him right though, wouldn't it? Still, it would be satisfying.

But still she just stood there, momentarily ripped down to a childlike fear. She turned to face her [i]friends[/i]. They seemed so far away now, and she felt so naked and stripped bare. How dare he speak of being whipped with a leash when he had just torn her to shreds. One thing was always the same. Aeryn knew her place in this world, it was down below in the shadows. In the confined walls of caves. Out of sight of anyone else. 

She handed over her blade, not particularly attached to this one. It wasn't hers. She didn't need a sword in the dark anyway.

The things that her companions said didn't make her feel any better. She didn't really listen, she was too busy trapped inside her own head, telling herself vicious things and plotting several violent scenarios in a desperate attempt to pull herself around from the verbal spraying she had received.

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As they headed into the village, she kept her distance as much as she could from the group. She was sure that they were ready to sling her from their party. [i]Dirty little Dorcha[/i] were the words that she imagined them tossing her way. She clenched her fists tight. Fingernails digging into the wounds and re-opening them until the blood seeped out of her balled hands. She eyed over the inn she was being led to, old habits dying hard as she quickly scanned for where each window led out, putting together before she entered which room would be the easiest to leave and arouse the least suspicion. It was the central room. It had a bay window above the door. She'd be able to climb out of the window, land on the thatched roof of the entrance, and be off once night fell. 

She knew she would be the last on her companion's list to be 'chosen' for a room. She had played that game before. It wasn't fun. What she could take control of however, was choosing the room. She didn't want to have to listen to each member blurt out their petty excuse for not wanting to share a room with the [i]dirty little Dorcha[/i], so she headed upstairs and made her way to the central room with the window before any of them could even utter a word about it. Whomever drew the short straw to have to share with her, well, pity for them.