Anuð barked out a short laugh. "I already knew about that one. Not good manners to look at a man's tattoos and all that, I know, but common courtesy never had any hold on me anyway." He chuckled ruefully. "The School accepts anyone with Magic, Outcast or not. Fishook told me so when I asked him about it. Nowhere else will let you in with those tattoos you have, and the girl has to learn Magic somehow or she will be caught and ripped apart for any gold she has in her. Im sure you would be too if anyone was brave enough, which I doubt anyone is, but men are certainly desperate enough. The School is where you should go. Where you must go."
As if on cue, a young looking Dwarv woman came plodding down the line of caravans, weaving in between them. She had no great beard, so instead she wove little red pins in to her dark brown locks. It looked strangely threatening, and he suspected she would be delighted to hear him say this. "Pati," she shouted from a distance, "Inuin en urud dakka. Fenj yoneg etet." Her voice was aggressive, and she kept darting looks at Bastard that were half malice half fear. "Good Bastard. Would you be so kind as to go with my daughter." Anuð said softly. "Fenj has called you, and you should not keep the mayor waiting." He looked between the two of them, at the angry distance and decided something was up. Some animosity. He stepped down from the caravan quietly, muttered a quick thanks to Anuð that was responded with a half hearted nod, and walked to the younger Dwarv who scrambled to maintain a sizeable gap between them. She had to jog to keep the distance given the difference in their paces as she lead him up the line. Occasionally she would look back and scowl, and he guessed she was part of the pack that was in support of leaving him to die. He liked her less than her father already. At least she was leading him to see the girl, he supposed. Clouds, silver linings and all. Her clothes had some similarities to his, in their stitching and the cuts of the sleeves, they dangled a bit below the wrist so it covered half way down the thumb. Anuð probably made her clothes too, he reasoned. He was good at it, they were probably better than Bastards, but his proportions were unusual, and he would find no better clothes even in the markets of Moyo.
They had exchanged no words in the walk, she had lead him like a particularly dangerous prisoner whom she had been warned to stay far away from. Bastard was used to social isolation and hatred, but he found himself humiliated. She was disgusted by him. His jaw clenched in anger, and he felt his teeth scraping against each other. He had done nothing but avenge his mother, and now he was a monster in everyones eyes. What would she have done, he wondered, if she had been in his position. The power to get retribution, and he should have... what? Ignored it? Left the gold in the greygrass? No. He had done it, he would do it again. As far as he could see Jakob was the only casualty of his actions, his flame, none of the ones he burned he counted as human. She stopped at a caravan that was perhaps a little larger than the rest, and smacked the wood. A raspy voice shouted something in dwarvish from inside, and the Dwarvish girl jerked her head to the flaps. "Go in."
Bastard glared at her and she glared back.
"Fecking freak." He heard her mutter under her breath, and he flinched.
That was it. He was done. He thought he could deal with it, but he couldn't. The hatred was too much, it was eating at him and he would be hollow and dead if he did nothing, even if the something he was about to do was stupid and petty, and very possibly a death sentence. He strode over and she tried to step back, tripping over a rock and falling arse first onto the ground. He laughed and the sharp bark made her jump. He bent down to stare at her form that was quivering on the ground, and found her small and scared. None of the bravado from before. None of the hatred. Just a small, scared girl. Probably no more than 20, though ages might have worked differently with Dwarves.
No difference to him, she had hurt him regardless. He cupped her head gently and pulled her close to his other hand. His right hand. And made it burn like a bonfire. She struggled madly, but he held her, close enough to feel it's heat and smell it's fury. She stopped struggling suddenly and he dropped her heavily. Unconscious; the fear had gotten to her. The bridge of her nose was red with the heat, and he lifted her to drop her onto the front of the caravan. This is Anuð's daughter, he thought and all of a sudden he was guilty and hollow again. He hadn't even shown a little restraint or respect at all. What a way to repay his kindness. By traumatising his daughter. The Dwarv in the caravan next to them looked grimly at him. "Freak." He muttered. Bastard nodded, agreeing with him, and walked backwards to get in the caravan with his head hung.
He awkwardly clambered inside to see two people sat on opposite sides of the wagon. On the left was a sickly looking Dwarv, clad in many layers of blankets and what was visible of his left side was heavily scarred, clearly recently as the skin was still red and raw with an unhealthy sheen to it. Away from him was the girl, and now that she was clean it was far more obvious that she was, in fact the girl. She was clothed in the same things as before, however, her clothes were still matted and held together by dirt and loose twigs. She had obviously refused to change her clothes. In her hand she held the pocket watch-knife guise tightly, currently hidden in its watch form, though Bastard had no doubt she would be very willing to use it for means other than telling time.
"I trust," rasped the scarred Dwarv who Bastard could only assume was the one called Fenj, "You have not harmed Kiola in the safety of her own home."
Kiola. Must be Anuð's daughter, he thought, and shook his head. "She'll be fine, I just scared her.", Bastard said, trying to sound more certain than he was. "I was told you wished to see me?"