* divinity / heresy.

Tension ripples through her body. She does not know this voice. Jolting upward, she only gets halfway before her body rejects the action. Exhaustion, and the pain in her head, both force her to lay back again, much as her instincts screamed to do the opposite.

“Whoa easy there miss,” the drawl of an accent accompanies those words, “suppose that’s natural. I ain’t out here to hurt ya, try to relax.”

She hears him but is still uncertain. Her eyes eventually wander to look at the sky as she weighs whether she can trust those words or not. It’s twilight, and stars beginning to peek out of the curtain of deep violet and blues. When did it become night? The day had been endless. It seemed to stretch on forever, heat beating down on her face, and shoulders, biting her skin with no mercy. She thought it would never end.

“Here,” the voice beckons her attention. Willow turns her head slightly, slowly, so as not to worsen the throb in her skull. Her gaze rested on an extended hand. Between metal fingers is a dried fruit, offered to eat. “Chew on this, should help open your throat a bit. I’ll give ya some water after.” There’s good humor in the way he speaks, friendly but with only a hint of caution, bidding trust but also distant.

She relents, dropping a little of her guard. Slowly reaching for his hand, she took the fruit before plopping it into her mouth and began chewing. It’s sweet on her tongue, a lingering taste of something like butterscotch in the back of her throat. That was the first thing with flavor she’d had in what felt like years. Her chest tightens with emotion like she could cry. It had been that long.

“This planet has a slow rotation,” she listens to the man muse aloud as her eyes return to watching the sky, “always loved this time a day, when the twilight is just between the wink of night and the last breath of day. Those little stars peekin’ out and you sit, watchin' ’em, start makin’ your own constellations.”

He speaks to her almost like a friend. Almost. They were pretty words with a little detachment to them. Friendly, but probing. She can’t trust pretty words no matter how kind. Every person had a price for their kindness, a silent exchange. A favor for food, rest for protection, a warm body for survival.

“Not much for talkin’, are ya?”

Willow shakes her head in silent response. She swallows, the last of the fruit only leaving a lingering flavor in her mouth. Some of the pain had lessened in her head, and, with less urgency than before, she sat up. Gritting her teeth at the effort it takes to rise, she finally manages to get into a sitting position, legs tucked underneath her partway.

“Easy, ain’t no rush.”

But there is. He’s unaware of it but the longer she stays down, the worse she feels. Survival meant being on the move, constantly, with minimal rest. Her body was spent, and look where it got her now. Passed out for who knows how long.

The crackle of a fire separates them. Willow finally lets her gaze rise a little to have a look at the man speaking to her. She makes out small details in the dark and the flickering of a flame. Dark cowboy hat shading some of his gaze and features. Black hair streaked with stark white. Metal, ah, a cyborg of some sort. Willow takes this in before she lowers her gaze again.

“I must have been left behind…” she finally speaks, her voice still raw. She doesn’t raise it over a struggled wheeze before she coughs. She feels his eyes on her, watching, taking in her mannerisms. Willow shifts uncomfortably, drawing her knees to her chest. Her tail wraps tightly around her feet as if it would create an invisible wall between them.

“Found ya passed out baking in what was left of the planet's day,” he responds. She hears him shift slightly, retrieving something out of a nearby pack. Another offered supply, “Here, drink it slowly. Guzzling down a buncha water ain’t gonna fix severe dehydration, but it’ll help your throat.”

It’s difficult for her to take something else from him. That’s three times over now: a life saved, food offered, and now water. How would she pay that back? Still, she accepts it, popping the cork from the canteen, and slowly, takes small sips. The water relieves the scratchiness of her throat. It’s a struggle to resist taking greedy gulps, but she manages.

“They pushed ya until ya were plum outta strength. Nobody can take all that work and no rest. When they realized they were losin’ another, they just went ahead. Pretty typical mentality out here. Good news is they ain’t gonna come looking for bodies. Probably figured you’d be chewed up by wild critters by now. Lucky for ya, seems they didn’t have much interest either.”

Willow took in this information slowly, unsure. In some things, he may be right. In others, he might be wrong. She wasn’t sure if anyone would come back looking for her, but she knew one thing: she had to get off this planet just in case.

“Either way, it’s just the two of us here now. They took off after the harvest, ya know how the economy goes. Headed to another planet to work their people to death. Rinse and repeat. Doubt they’ll be back here for about a year or so.”

Willow’s hand slowly starts stroking the braid that had fallen over her shoulder. She hated long hair, and tried to tie it back as much as she could. Tugging it taut, her gaze hardens as memories flicker before her eyes. The bastards in the IPC might have been gone now but scars remained deep and gnawing at her heart.

An unintended glare that does not go unnoticed.

“You’ve got a fire in ya, girl. Probably what kept ya alive when ya shoulda been at death's door. I won’t ask for details but I have my suspicions. Vidyadhara are rare sights even in this massive galaxy. Didn’t make a lick of sense to toss one of ya down here for hard labor.”

He’s perceptive and that makes her shift uncomfortably. The anger gnawing at her core was hers alone. She didn’t want him to see it, didn’t want to share it entirely.

“I was taken from my home,” she decides to part with smaller details, “not uncommon for the IPC, from stories some have shared.” Willow’s hand wraps around the braid, glaring down at it, her jaw set. They had no idea what they had done, left her planet to its doom. And her family? She had no idea if they, or anyone, had survived. “It’s been about four years. Sold into a life I did not want, and endured unimaginable cruelty. If I could show them the same, I would, but as it stands, there wasn’t much I could do. No one here had any fight left in them.” Letting the braid fall back over her shoulder, she sighs. “You know what it’s like to be considered a prize or a treasure?” she asks, but does not wait for an answer. “It can be a hell I wouldn’t wish on anyone. But no one likes it when that treasure fights back. They toss them away like a broken toy that will not obey.”

“I think I get the picture.” Maybe it’s uncomfortable for him, the implication she had placed between the two.

“No, I don’t think you do.” But she refuses detail. It wasn’t for him, not yet. Instead, Willow offers the canteen back to him, but her hand remains open after he takes it. His gaze flickers, quizzical, seeking an answer from her. “You got a knife?” she asks him.

“Depends on what ya plan on doin’ with it.”

Willow huffs, amusement in that sound. She understands his hesitance, especially after bidding understanding of what she endured. He’s indeed perceptive, watching, and careful but so is she. “I’m not going to hurt myself,” she answers with a glint of good humor in her voice, the smallest smile tugging at her lips, “or you. I don’t have the strength to be a problem right now. Besides, seems the fates want me alive given the one man left on this damn planet somehow managed to stumble on me. Dying would be a waste of a second chance.”

A breath, almost like a subdued laugh, leaves him. Maybe that was enough for him to trust her mental state. Cheating death didn’t happen every day, and she certainly didn’t want to dance with the reaper any time soon. She watches him retrieve his pack again, digging around in the contents. A pocket knife is produced and, without hesitation, placed in the palm of her hand.

Fingers curled around it. Willow flips the blade open. It was sharp, exactly what she needed. Her free hand comes to her braid, pulling it taut again. It was dirty, a mess, matted with the elements and sweat and the weight of the last four years. Without a beat of hesitation, she lets the blade glide through her hair, not once snagging with the action. Only then, when the braid was cut free, did she toss it in the fire and close the knife.

“There, see?” she offers the blade back, her other hand scratching the nape of her neck. Such a simple thing made her feel a little freer.

“Can’t say I expected that,” he responds as he takes the blade back onto his person, “feel better?”

“Lighter,” she responds with a shrug, “it’s a start.”

There’s a hum given in acknowledgment. Willow watches the flames dance, burning the strands of hair, sparks flying into the air with an occasional ‘pop’ of wood. She’s still angry, tired, but angry. But what could she do? The thought distressed her, that the same people who stole her from her world would do the same to others. Some would receive far worse fates than her own. She’d seen enough to truly know the exploitation and cruelty in the IPC.

It’s a whirl in her mind that makes her chest tighten. The first thing, getting off this planet…

“What’s your name?” Willow flinches at the broken silence, pulling her from her spiraling thoughts. So lost in them and the dancing flames, she almost forgot he was there. “And I don’t mean whatever name the IPC assigned to you here. I mean the name your mama gave ya before ya were stolen from your home - when all that anger didn’t rise in ya so easily.”

She blinks at him. It was true that some forgot their names. Others refused to use them for fear of punishment. Having no identity and no future made one easier to control. Squash their past, their homes, their life, every bit of them. With nothing to return to, some just gave up on the thought of who they were.

She’d never forgotten, but she realized it’d been a long time since she’d said it or given it to another. That is, among other things, a precious privilege. A name was a precious thing.

“It’s Willow…” Her name leaves her lips and tastes strange on her tongue. Relief spreads through her chest, her shoulders relaxing a bit. She had feared it might be foreign to her now, but no, it was the same as long before.

“Willow,” she hears him repeat it thoughtfully, “well, it suits ya. Names Boothill.”

“That’s not a name,” she’s quick to retort, almost bristling. Had she been played? “You asked me mine and I gave it, I-”

“It’s as good a name as any,” he responds with an amused chuckle, “thought ya didn’t have the strength to be trouble. It’s okay, I ain’t mindin’ it. Good to see some spirit still in ya.”

She opens her mouth to argue but slowly closes it. Well, he did have a point, didn’t he? “I think that’s a fair enough argument, but I’m not happy about it.”

A laugh echoes out of him, somewhat subdued, not terribly loud but still a joyous thing. It’s deep in his throat and somehow suits his nature and appearance perfectly. Willow’s taken aback, her eyebrows furrowing slightly. She realizes then she hasn’t heard laughter in a long time either. It was amazing to realize people still laughed. All over the galaxy, people laughed and cried and loved and lost.

How much had she missed in this time? The worlds kept moving, but hers had been virtually still. In some strange way, she felt momentum again. Things were changing.

“Well, happy or not, it’s what ya get. Chew on that for a bit.” He is good-humored. Even though she knew nothing of him, there was kindness in his actions, a warmth in his words, a critical eye willing her to live, to find her fire.

“Willow, I reckon yer not gonna wanna stay here so I’m retracting my original offer to ya.” When she looks at him, her nose crinkles, and she tenses again. She didn’t know what he meant by those words, but instincts kept her rigid. “Now don’t go lookin' at me like that, I ain’t no pig.” He spits that last word. She has to force herself to relax, almost feeling bad for the assumption. “I figured if ya couldn’t trust me, I could offer ya a pack to help ya survive out here for about a year. Least until they came back to the planet for another harvest, but…” he trails off, shrugging his shoulders lazily, “I feel ya got some personal feelings towards the people who kidnapped ya. The IPC, the slave drivers, and murderers. I might be able to help ya out there, provided ya help me out along the way. Before I go on, though, I need ta know. Anything else important ya gotta part with?”

She sighed, knowing that this was a possibility. If she could get off the planet, she’d go anywhere. The further distance placed between this rock and somewhere else out there in the galaxy, the better. “I have a sister,” she finally answers, noting a flicker of surprise on his features. Did he expect her sibling might be in the same situation? Willow prayed that wasn’t the case, but she waved off his concern with her hand. “She’s somewhere out there. I sent her off the planet when...Well, things weren’t going poorly. I don’t know how to explain it, but it was like the environment began attacking itself. Years of degradation had left a lush planet a husk of what it was before. I sent her off with the hope she could find help, somewhere out there, someone had to know what was happening. That was years ago now since I’d been taken.” She falls silent, the weight of it all crushing her shoulders. If it hadn’t been for the IPC showing up… “I doubt my world survived…” “A sister, then…” she hears Boothill clear his throat, maybe not expecting the weight of her brief story. Maybe he did, she couldn’t tell. “I have plenty of channels feeding info about people. Some are missing, and some are found. I can’t make ya any promises, but if she’s out there, we’ll be lookin’.” Willow raises her head a little again. So there were more out there like him. Freedom fighters? Vigilantes? He looked like a ranger… She nodded, taking in what she could instead of pondering on what he was doing. For all that’s happened, she hoped her sibling was safe. At least the galaxy was vast, with plenty of safe havens out there between the stars. “Good. Now, I want ya to think real hard,” he continues, a slight tilt of his head as he leans forward. Intent, needing to hear her, he’s looking for something important, “Think of any and every person you saw in the IPC. Their names, ranks, what they said, and who they spoke to. I want objectives, numbers, and descriptions of faces. Of the people who stole ya, sold ya, where any of’em were headed. Bases, locations, anything you might remember is a trove of treasure I need. And I promise ya, it won’t go unpaid. They’ll get theirs for the suffering they put ya and everyone else through.” 

Willow pauses, soaking in everything he asks. It’s a lot, a task that weighs on her. Four years were a blur of memories she’d rather forget. Faces of so many she’d rather forgot, of voices she never wanted to hear again. Of pain, of being robbed of her life.

A rage tightens in her chest again. Everything they did, they would pay for it.

She feels her gaze harden again, her jaw clenched. “I’ll tell you everything I know.”

For the first time, she witnesses his smile, a wicked and wily thing. Sharp teeth, a glint in his eye that seemed almost proud of the outcome. Or was he just proud of her? Proud that she was taking back all the agency stolen from her?

It had to be something that filled him with glee.

“Now that’s the forkin' spirit. Glad to have ya on board, partner.”