Kensa
The young woman's arrival in Beqanna was inauspicious. She came because she desired to and there was no other explanation of value. One day she was somewhere else and the next she was here, in a field occupied in part by strangers who were new arrivals themselves. Other occupants, those who seemed less lost, she assumed were residents of the surrounding area come to collect (or at least take their amusement from) the aliens. There had been a place like this in the country in which she had grown up, though she had never been there. These places set aside for the homeless (either magically or by general decree) were usually rather unsavory and not appropriate venues for young single females--unless they were looking for trouble. She was old enough to 'look for trouble' these days but it was winter, and most people were keeping their trousers on.
There were likely better times to come to Beqanna than in the dead of winter. Kensa found everything to be stark and ugly, the snow graying and no longer fresh beneath her hooves though it began to fall in fat reluctant flakes as the afternoon wore on. Winter was aging out and the second half of the season always grew insipid and ugly before finally giving up the ghost to spring.
Kensa came to the central part of the field and paused there to take in the panorama of scenery and the other persons in it. She understood the way this worked. Someone would come along and try to bring her home with them. Whoever that was would likely be interesting in one way or another, everyone had something interesting to show her--or to hide from her. Until now her life had been particularly uneventful, underwhelming even. Her book was blank and she had pages to fill with all manner of joy, pain, goodness, and debauchery.
The bold set of her head and her watchful eyes invited approach, her complexion like molten-chocolate in the broken sunlight. For a moment her confidence wavered--she was a newcomer here, another unknown among a dozen other unknowns. Why should anyone notice her? She could stand here until she turns to dust without anyone every learning the two syllables of her name.
She squashes the thought shaking it out of her head like she would flick a fly from her ear. Life would wash her in its glow or she would crawl into it's den and drag it out with her teeth.
give me something to believe in
