gathering_blue_novel-2

weed, or even tend the domestic beasts the way other girls her age do. She drags
that dead leg around like a useless burden. She is slow,'" he continued, and then
Kira saw a hint of a smile as he concluded, "'and she eats a lot.'"
The man stood silent for a moment. Then he said, "As defender, I am going to
concede some of these points. It is clear that she cannot dig or plant or weed or
tend domestic beasts. I believe, however, that she has found a way to contribute.
Am I correct, Kira, that you work at the weaving shed?"
Kira nodded, surprised. How did he know? Men paid no attention to the work
of women.
"Yes," she said, her voice soft from nervousness. "I help there. Not with the
actual weaving. But I clean up the scraps and help prepare the looms. It is work I
can do with my hands and arms. And I am strong."
She wondered if she should mention her skill with the threads, her hope that
perhaps she could use it as a way of making a living. But she couldn't think of a
way to say it without sounding vain, so she kept still.
"Kira," he said, looking toward her, "demonstrate your flaw for the Council of
Guardians. Let us see you walk. Go to the door and back."
It was cruel of him, she thought. They all knew about her twisted leg. Why did
she have to do this in front of them, to submit to their humiliating stares? For a
moment she was tempted to refuse, or at least to argue. But the stakes were too
high. This was not a tykes' game, where arguing and fighting were expected. This
was what would determine her future, or whether she had a future. Kira sighed
and turned. She leaned on her stick and walked slowly to the door. Biting her lip,
she dragged her aching leg step by step, and felt Vandara's contemptuous eyes
on her back.
At the door Kira turned and came slowly back to her place. Pain started in her
foot and seared through her twisted leg. She longed to sit.
"She does drag her leg, and she is slow," Jamison pointed out needlessly. "I
concede those points.
"Yet her work at the weaving shed is competent. She goes each day for
regular hours, and she is never late. The women there value her help.
"Does she eat a lot?" he asked, and chuckled. "I think not. Look how thin she
is. Her weight refutes that accusation.