The broken beta - healed by innocence

Fear of mirrors

*Briony*

I wake to the scent of strong coffee permeating the air, suspecting it will be as thick as molasses on a winter's day. Grimacing slightly, I roll off the cot, feeling every muscle, every bone protest my movements.

Standing, I press my fists into the small of my back and stretch backward. I ponder whether it might be better to walk part of the day, considering how sitting in a jostling wagon is hard on the body.

I use the remaining water from last night to quickly wash my face, then separate the strands of my braid, brush my hair, and sweep it into a coil. Glancing at my clothing, I wish I had taken the time to wash it while we were near a creek, wondering if we'll have water every night.

I carefully place all my belongings into my carpetbag, fold the blankets that had covered the cot, and put out the flame in the lantern. It's childish, really, to sleep with a flame burning beside me.

Cautiously, not sure what I'll find beyond the tent this morning, I slip my fingers between the tent opening and peer through the small slit.

I see Wade crouched before a boulder, a razor in his hand. He has set a jagged mirror no larger than my palm on the rock so it rests against the tree. He tilts his head slightly and slides the razor up his throat, scraping away the shaving lather and his morning beard.

I turn away from the opening, and with excitement thrumming through my veins, I snap open my bag and reach inside. I withdraw my mirror, a large hand mirror that had belonged to my mother.

I rush out of the tent, filled with gratitude for a chance to thank him for everything he's done for me: the tent, the fire, the meals, the warm water. "Beta Moonshadow!" I call out.

He turns, his brow creasing with a furrow.

"You can use my mirror," I say ecstatically, thrusting it toward him.

He waves his hand through the air and jumps back as if I've offered him a snake. "Almighty Goddess, get that away from me!"

I hug the mirror against my chest. "But it's so much larger than yours. I thought it would make shaving easier."

"I don't even know why I bother to shave," he mumbles, picking up the small mirror and dropping it into a box with the rest of his shaving gear. "Do whatever it is you need to do to be ready. Coffee and biscuits are by the fire. We'll be leaving right after breakfast."

Tears fill my eyes as I watch him rush out of the camp as though his life depends on it. I press the mirror closer to my chest, wondering if he uses the smaller mirror to avoid seeing all of his face at once, if in small pieces, he can pretend he isn't disfigured.

He'd only been fifteen when he was wounded. I try to imagine how devastating it would have been for a fifteen-year-old boy to awake from battle to find that a portion of his face had been ravaged by enemy fire. An older man might have adjusted, but a young man not yet courted or married might have withdrawn from the world.

Every conversation we've had, except one, started with my questions. I had thought he considered me a burden, but now I wonder if he's just inexperienced at socializing. He always looks like he's searching for something… could he possibly be searching for something to say?

I hold out my mirror and study my reflection. I'm not prone to vanity, but I can't imagine avoiding the sight of my face. I think of him tugging his hat brim down, leaning against walls, standing in shadows. I have a feeling Wade Moonshadow carries other scars that are visible only to the heart.