The morning sun rose lazily over the village, casting a soft, golden hue across the cobblestone streets. The air was cool, carrying the faint smell of freshly baked bread and roasting coffee beans. Villagers bustled about, setting up their market stalls, calling out to customers in hopes of starting their day with a sale.
Elara gingerly stepped out from the small cottage on the outskirts of the village, her movements slow and deliberate. Her body was still sore from the previous day's assault, each bruise and cut a reminder of the cruelty she'd endured.
Her ribs ached with each breath, her legs felt like they were weighed down by stones. But Elara was determined. She wouldn't let her injuries stop her from earning her keep.
She pulled the hood of her cloak over her head, hiding the faint bruises on her face. The temple had always been kind to her, providing shelter and food when needed, but Elara didn't want to be seen as a burden.
She had her own pride, even if she was battered. So, despite the pain, she made her way to the village square, where she worked odd jobs for the local shop owners to make ends meet.
The village Market was already alive with activities when Elara arrived. She passed by colorful stalls overflowing with food, vegetables, trinkets, and fabrics. The shopkeepers called out to customers, advertising the freshness of their produce or beauty of their wares.
Elara's destination was a small bakery near the edge of the square. The aroma of freshly baked bread and sweet pastries filled the air, instantly lifting her spirits. The bakery belonged to Old Man Grett, a rotund, jolly man with bushy beard and a laugh that could shake the walls.
As Elara entered the shop, she was greeted by the familiar clang of the bell above the door. Old Man Grett stood behind the counter, wiping his flour-dusted hands on his apron. He looked up as Elara entered, a broad smile spreading across his face.
"Well , if it isn't my favorite little helper!" he boomed, his voice full of warmth. "Come to save the day again, have you?"
Elara smiled, though it was a little weak. "Good morning, Mr. Grett."
The old man's smile faltered for a moment as he noticed the bruises peeking out from under her hood. His brow furrowed with concern. "What happened to you, lass? You look like you've been through a scrap with a wild boar."
Elara waved him off, trying to appear nonchalant. "It's nothing, really. Just some… girls from the village. I'll be fine."
Mr. Grett's face turned red with indignation. "Those brats! I ought to give their parents a piece of my mind! How dare they touch a sweet girl like you!"
Elara chuckled softly, though the movement made her ribs ache. "There's no need for that, Mr. Grett. They're just being…. Jealous I suppose."
"Jealous, eh? Jealous of what? That you've got the heart of a lion and they've got the brains of a goat?" Mr. Grett harrumphed, shaking his head. "Bah! Don't let those little devils get to you, lass. You're better than all of 'em."
Elara's smile brightened a little at the man's words. Mr. Grett always had a way of making her feel like she was more than just an orphan girl with no place in the world.
"well, " Mr. Grett said, rubbing his hands together, "you know the drill. The flour bags need stacking, and I could use a hand with the dough. But if you're hurt, lass, you don't have to push yourself."
"I'm fine, really," Elara insisted, already rolling up her sleeves. "I'm not going to let a few bruises stop me from working."
Mr. Grett watched her for a moment, his eyes softening. He nodded, though a bit reluctantly, and motioned for her to come behind the counter. "Alright, but if I see you wincing, I'm sending you home with a loaf of bread and stern word, understood?"
Elara laughed lightly, though the sound was strained. "Understood."