Shattered Sands (Stories on a Theme “Weak”)

Dany looked at the shattered pieces of pot on the floor and smiled. 

The Sand Pot that had dictated her movements her whole life lay in pieces on the floor. 

“You little-” her mother started, lashing out with a slap. 

Davy patted it away lazily. The benefits of being taught how to fight meant that her parents didn’t scare her anymore. 

“I’m not going to be ruled by some sand,” Dany hissed, rubbing the sand into the Reed mat with the sole of her sandle, “my life is mine-” 

“It is Fanvel’s!” her father, “you dare snub the God of Life?” 

“I didn’t chose this life” Dany retorted, swiping up a piece of the pot and hurling at her father, “you did!”

Her mother started crying. She always did when the row escalated. 

I’m not your slave anymore, Dany thought.

Her father stared at her, at the sand at her feet.

“You will feel his wrath,” her father warned, “Fanvel does not take pity on traitors.”

“Then I’ll be ready for him,” Dany said, “and I’ll be waiting for him. Then he’ll see who he’s messing with that.”

Dany turned, grabbing her bag from the sofa, and walked out to her mother’s wails. Her father said nothing, he always said nothing.

I’m free, Dany thought, as she walked out of the front door onto the bustling street of City Traney, I’m finally free.

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