How different is 'different' ?

Summary:
Written elsewhere as a fanfic for the Five Gods Universe of Lois McMaster Bujold. Amended and republished here by permission of the author.

The Five Gods are Father-Winter, Mother-Summer, Daughter-Spring and Son-Autumn. The Bastard deals with all the misfits. There are those who believe in Five Gods and the Quads who deny the Bastard. One aim of the Bastard is to help those who are 'different'. Sometimes even his priests fail. And how different is too much - abuse, cruelty, racism, transgender or other. Whispers on the breeze.

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Wilna was getting tired. She had been ‘The Woman who Listens’ for nearly fifteen years. She was old and getting older, tired and getting tireder, never feeling as if there was any energy, let alone energy to spare.

But when she could, she still took the time to listen. And, as ever, the majority of the people who came to her eventually told themselves what to do or what answer they needed.

“I have this problem with my brothers and sisters and my old father” wailed one middle aged matron, “…. My old father has had a fall and come to recover with me. I saw that he wasn’t doing well living on his own and offered my house and home to him. I never thought my brothers and sisters would react as they have. They say ‘You chose to have him. We were happy for him to stay at the old house. We’re happy with the arrangement. We didn’t see a need for change. You made the choice – you have to live with it.” When I say ‘That’s not fair’. They don’t even listen. What can I do?”

So Wilna continued to listen and, as often, eventually the woman found her answer. “Even though he is old, Dad can still decide for himself. His house is nicer than mine – I will ask him to swap and we will sell my house and share that money. If the others care less for him than for his money – he too can care less for them – not nothing maybe – but less.”

And another came and another. Men, women, boys, girls, couples, lovers, ex-lovers, families. In the morning, in the afternoon, in the evening, at mealtimes, when she was having a rest, even after midnight. Wilna recalled times she had been forced to climb from her bed or from the bathhouse.

“My mother drinks because my father died.” My son wants to be a farmer / builder / soldier but my husband says ‘no’.” “My husband never says he loves me.” “The foreman where I work is a bully and liar, but I need the job” Almost every day some questions where years of experience offered some guidance – but always with some difference, some twist in the relationship so that advice could never be given easily or casually. At times, Wilna thought that listening was the hardest job she had ever done.

And some of her visitors were hurting so much that Wilna wanted to do more, but somehow she knew that doing so would limit her in other directions. But one day, a young boy came.

“I don’t know what to do. My Dad wants me to work with him and my brother – but it feels wrong somehow. I try to listen. I try to follow what they do. He’s a builder and Bran’s a carpenter with him. But whatever I do, they have to correct. It’s not little things sometimes. I’d so much rather …” He paused.

“You’d rather do what, dear?” Wilna prompted as much as she ever did.

There was a lengthy silence while her client went pale then scarlet then pale again. The boy took a deep breath and began to speak. “I’d rather …” and stopped again.

“Well, that won’t get us or you very far. You’d rather, what, not work with your Dad and brother. You’d rather work with who, your mother, aunt, uncle, friend?” She watched carefully as she made each suggestion.

Another pause.

“I’d like working with my mother – but she’s very poorly. And the others wouldn’t understand. They really wouldn’t.”

“What does or did your mother do.”

“She used to work at the palace, making dresses and doing embroidery.”

“And ….. “ (Oh, Gods, another pause while this child bears his soul …… her? soul maybe.)

“And ….. you want to do the same? Have you helped her already? Do you enjoy it?”

“I love it. It’s so pretty when the whole thing comes together. ………………….” (yep, sudden stop. As soon as the ?boy began talking as the real girl)

“Dearie, does either of your parents know you’re a girl?” Wilna watched; knowing how often the face and especially the eyes are a doorway to the soul. This soul was bared.

"Things change, dear. Such changes are possible. Even for a boy like you who is, perhaps, also a girl.”

“How can I be also a girl? Don’t be stupid.”

“As I say, changes do happen. I do believe you feel there is nobody as you are and nobody thinking as you do.”

“Changes happen, huh. Not the sort of thing I need. I bet that sort of thing never happens. Nobody changes like that”

“Dear, how old are you? How far have you ever travelled in the wide, wide world. Do you know so surely what is and isn’t possible. It may shock you – but you’re not the first boy-who-is-a-girl that I have met. You’re not even the second or third. I have met those labelled as boys who are really girls as well as girls who are boys. I have met an old man, with children and grandchildren, who knew that the only way he could die with his life complete was to spend his last days as a woman. You’re not alone. Truly not. Any competent cleric should have been able to advise you. They know more than most about those who are different. It’s not just the god-touched, y’know.”

The child gasped, “There’s others! This has happened before! I’m not alone!!” and nearly fell in a faint. Then leapt up and ran as fast as possible through the courtyards of the bazaar and away. . And she runs like a girl, smiled Wilna. Almost dancing.

But the next day was not so good. The child returned. “I told my Mum. And then I told my Dad. He said this was beyond him. He wasn’t willing to listen – but later he said if you said that there were priests understood this sort of thing then I could go to them. Even if that meant he had to begin to believe more in the Bastard than he really wanted. In the morning, he told us that he did understand being different - and he told us of a friend who was driven from his village when his child was born having half his body covered in a birthmark. Will you come with me to the priests? You said that you’d known two others like me. How can I not have known?”

“Dear, how do the people in your part of town deal with ‘people who are different’. The foreigners, the short, the fat, the redheads, the deaf, dumb, blind, stupid? The boy with the lisp, the girl with the limp, the woman with the burnt arm and the others. And I never said there were only two like you.”

The boy-girl shrugged then winced as some hidden bruise snagged.

“Your father hit you?”

“No, it was my brother trying to stop me running to my room.”

“Huh, well-brought up sons shouldn’t do that. Especially not to their sisters.”

“He’s probably the one who understands least. But it seems to be turning out alright for now. Dad wasn’t so angry in the morning. But he did say, ‘go and talk to the priests’ and said ‘that was what he meant the night before’. He hadn’t meant ‘go and BE with the priests or stay with them’. He said ‘it’ll take a bit of getting used to – that I’m now a daughter of the Bastard.’ I think we’ll be alright. But I do need to go to the priests and understand more than I do now.”

Wilna and Danfo sat and talked for a while longer. After moving to a nearby kiosk for a glass of juice and a iced raisin bun, a local delicacy, Danfo took a deep breath and said, “I’m going home for now. I’ll try and talk to my dad and ask about going to the Temple. I’d rather he came with me, but it’s a busy time. If he won’t come, will you.

Wilna smiled and nodded. “Of course, I’ll come. I try not to get actually involved beyond my usual task of listening – but, yes, I’ll come.”

The girl nearly cried with the release of emotion triggered by Wilna’s agreement. Instead, the boy smiled, put back his camouflage and gave a little wave as he set off, slouching, stoop-shouldered, clumsy. Definitely she had learnt how to hide. No more dancing.

Wilna was really uncertain about how the situation would progress. She did know the child’s name but not where he lived other than ‘some way outside the walls’.

Nevertheless, the day but one after, when the market was clearing at the end of the afternoon, a child came up to her with a brief note. “My Dad asks if you can please take me to the Temple in three days time. Danfo-Fandir.”

On the appointed day, Wilna and the new-girl, as per the note calling herself Fandir rather than Danfo, set off to the temples.

Needless to say, their target of the five was the temple of the Bastard. The God of misfits, differences, oddities and even transformations.

The priest they began to talk to was young and rather dismissive. She told the pair ‘You can’t just say you’re a girl because you don’t fit with your father’s way of doing things.’. And she went on and on about what was between a person’s legs was the determining feature of their gender. She didn’t quite say that she disbelieved in the existence of mis-gendered people nor that she (quite) disapproved of partnership being other than a man and a woman.

It didn’t take long before Wilna took Fandir by the hand and started to lead her away.

A voice called to her to stop.

A louder voice called for them to stop and wait.

A third voice – this time stepping in front of the angry woman and the weeping girl. Wilna stepped to one side and brushed past the obstruction, pulling Fandir with her.

A fourth voice – then suddenly the gate was shutting and they were unable to get out.

A tall man with a trimmed beard suddenly stood before them. Crisp white gown with embroidery on the cuffs, lapels and shoulders. “Are your desires so limited, so temporary, so fragile that rude questions make you depart before getting any help?” His gaze was piercing – but not, at first glance, unfriendly or condemning.

Wilna nearly exploded. “That was help? That was unkindness writ large. That was ….., I barely have words to express how appalling that was. How rude. How wrong in every way I can think. Is there a reason to treat a child of the Bastard in such a fashion? Tell me why this was done in such an unkind and unseemly manner. Disgraceful.” Wilna paused for breath.

Fandir, half-hidden as if she could conceal herself from the man’s strong gaze, clutched Wilna’s sleeve, and rubbed the tears streaming down her face. She pulled hard as if hoping that they would somehow escape.

“It may have seemed unkind and cruel, but there was a purpose behind that brief test.”

“I can promise you, sir, that there was no ‘seeming’ about it. What we have just endured was actually unkind and cruel – and I would be staggered to be told that you consider there to be some virtue in your method. Do you treat every person who is different and in need of the Bastard in this way. I repeat, this child is a daughter of the Bastard. And if you are a true divine of the Bastard – which at this moment I am uncertain about – then you would welcome her and help her.”

The priest stepped back as if stunned by the accusation. “We‘ve had a problem recently with a Quadrene group who refuse to accept that daughters and sons of the Bastard exist. Their leader is a venomous type called Terf. We can, for now, never be sure whether Terf is sending a child to test us or to cause us a problem in some way. She has some harsh notions."

Wilna hesitated …. And then ripped at him. “And you consider that the pain you cause to one of the children of the Bastard, as Fandir here, is in some way insignificant compared with your ‘being tested’ or ‘being inconvenienced’. I am ashamed of you. Can you find no better way to hurt these children?”

The cleric then made a second mistake. He admitted he knew Wilna and of her reputation. “My lady Wilna, I know your reputation as a defender of right …..”

Wilna had to, she really had to, interrupt. “You knew me. You knew my reputation. And STILL you thought I was coming to you as some sort of manipulative, ugly test of ……. I said I was ashamed of you. And I repeat it. I will take this no further however.” She paused. “Provided that this ugliness is never repeated. Provided that you make renewed efforts to search out and cherish all children of the Bastard. AND provided that you arrange a meeting between yourself and this Terf which I will attend. It is flagrantly improper to deal as you have done and as this Terf intends. It shall stop.”

As the wind ruffled her hair, Wilna somehow knew that the words she heard were for her alone. 'I do not need you as a saint, but I applaud your kindness to one of mine. I shall do my best to bless this chance.’ She shuddered at being so close to a God.

The cleric’s eyes blazed as suddenly Wilna was aglow as if by a stream of sudden sunlight – whilst still standing in the shade. He knew that something special had happened, that Wilna had been, for a moment, God-touched in a way that had never happened to him or near him – but had known by hearsay only. Inwardly, he wept.

“My Lady, and your young friend, come with me into the temple so that we can talk privily. We have done badly. Somehow I know that we must make amends and speedily. We must talk and plan for your young friend. Fandir, you said her name was – we must do well for Fandir and those like her.”

They sat at a table in a sideroom by the main archway. Their table was quickly loaded with cool drinks, water and juice, as well as fruit, cheese and a variety of local pastries. Wilna loaded three plates with a modest amount while the priest distributed their chosen drinks.

Wilna began. “So how many children of the Bastard do you provide for at this moment – and how many would you say there should be? Based on your years of experience prior to this Terf and her attacks.”

“One daughter is with us now. And one boy who left to go farming a month ago. Ten years ago, when I arrived there were five daughters and three sons, staying their year or so at the temple. I would think the number over the years has gone up and down – but maybe six and four is typical until the last three years.”

“So, to be blunt, you have denied perhaps 30 children or likely more. How many died? You must be aware that children of the Bastard who are not helped too often give up and give in.” Wilna’s voice was harsh with restrained anger.

Again, the cleric paled as the truth of the temple’s failure became clear. “We never knew the outcome for all, but we heard rumours. I would have to guess that 1 in 3, erm, ……“ he paused waiting for her response.

Wilna lashed again. “One in three. Perhaps 10 or more of those who should have been protected by you. And you cannot even use the word ‘died’ as being, what?, too upsetting to you. These children were not just upset – they died. Perhaps by their own hand, perhaps sent to death by others. You have a god, your god supposedly, who is on behalf of those who are different – and you get to decide if they are different enough. Wrong. Ugly. It is shaming that you did nothing at the time. It is, not so much worse, as doubly vile, that you did nothing afterwards.”

Wilna paused. “I pray seldom. I have learnt by harsh lessons the outcome of misplaced prayer. I believe that a heartfelt wish can have the power of a prayer and, truly, I would not wish anyone I knew and loved to have the attention of a God placed on them. Like a beetle in a focussed shaft of bright sunlight, not what I would wish, indeed not. But I suspect that your God is aware of what has been happening – and, rather often, according to temple stories, such attention results in complicated outcomes. So I must wish you well for the future while being certain that your future has become more influenced than you ever expected. But in this present – what are your plans for Fandir and those like her? Now that you have been reminded of your duty.” Wilna’s tongue was a whip, a lash, a rebuke.

“I have not been in charge until recently. The Priest of the Children died around the time that Terf began these attacks.” The priest almost stammered with sudden emotion.

This response did not lessen Wilna’s anger. “Make no excuses to me – your God may be listening. If you took the appointment then you took on the responsibilities and the duties. What is the usual, what usually happens in this year that they stay with you?”

“We work with the children to teach them the habits and behaviours which will allow them or help them to be what they know they are. More than a few times, their feelings are a distortion of the truth – boys who feel attracted to boys and feel that they must be girls – we need to assess, and yes, test at times. We must know truly if their future is to live as women or as men who love men. At other times, we have had boys who feel the need to wear the costume of women and yet to maintain their masculinity. We must work to find each child’s truth. This takes time. And needs the child to look deeper into themselves than is normal at such an age. Growing up different or being treated as different can make some of our God’s children adults before their time.”

“For someone who has been so twisted by the ugly thoughts of a single person - your method seems to make more sense than I expected.”

Wilna turned to Fandir, who had been quiet beside her, listening to this heated exchange with only the occasional twitch as she realized that she was still the focus of the discussion – her and her kin.

“Fandir, how would you …., no, I’ll start again. I can’t ask you what you want for your future as at your age that has to be far outside your experience and beyond your powers of foretelling. I’ll put in in simpler terms. Do you think you could become a daughter in your father’s house? Could you work with your mother as a daughter, live with your brother as a sister, be known to your childhood friends as a Daughter? Everyone knows about being different. Everyone with an ounce of understanding knows that the Bastard, especially of all the Gods, treats all his children with care and love. It is humans only who deliver uncaring where there should be love. I’ll ask again because I kept talking – could you be a daughter in your father’s house?”

Fandir’s eyes filled with tears – and she slowly shook her heard from side to side. Her voice was a bare whisper. “I don’t think I could do that. In the house maybe, if everybody helped me; but outside – I think too many of the people there would not understand. And they’d be cruel and unkind.”

“But, dear, they already understand that you are not a typical boy. That you are not like many of the men and boys around you. A harder question has to be - are you defined by what people say about you or by what is in your heart.“

The priest interrupted. “One thing we do quite early is to ask around your neighbourhood as to what people said and thought about you. I can promise, from when I had to do such work some years back now, that a good number of you Daughters and Sons were well recognized as being, so to speak, ‘of the Bastard’ rather than any of the other Four. Although there were others who were less understanding. Those who believed ‘a good beating’ will make them learn their ways. Those who believed such a change was just not acceptable . That what Gods did was up to the Gods – but on earth, change of that sort was impossible. I won’t comment on their logic or their theology.”

Wilna hissed, “and with this hard-earned knowledge, this Terf persuaded you to become cruel and heartless. Shame again.”

“I promise on my name, Sardat, and my authority as a Divine of the Bastard, that I and my colleagues have done poorly and not been true to our calling to support all those who are different. I promise, for myself, and as much as I can for my colleagues, that this failure will stop. Where we have done less than excellently because of being misled – then as the leader I must move us to a better path.”

Sardat continued, “I believe that the Gods do make things happen in our world. That being different is part of the things we learn from our parents and from our families and sometimes that being different is a gift of the Gods. I could not be a Divine of the Bastard if I did not understand the power of being different. And the importance of having people who are different in every community. For myself, I believe if everyone was identical then the world would be a dull place. Although, to be fair, I like my life better when everyone agrees with me.” He chuckled and several in the crowd smiled too.

“We all know of families without love. When a child grows from such a root, will he learn love and if so from whom? If the first kindness a boy learns is from another boy or man – will that teach him that love comes only from men. Perhaps so, perhaps no. Only the Gods can say what causes a soul to be blown by the wind of life in a particular way. One day like a leaf in a storm, at others like a petal dropping to the ground. But today we do not speak of a child made to behave in a different way – but a child who is different and who is clearly, by that difference, a Daughter of my God.”

“We are taught that the outside skin is not the inside truth. Else sausages would be skin through and through rather than meat and spice. A man is not his skin-colour, nor his hair, nor his height, weight or any other outward attribute. People rarely go naked in the public eye – so who can tell what lies between an adult person’s legs. That is, unless the person tells us or shows us. The first determination of boyness or girlness is made by parents and attendants at their arrival into life. How many attributes are fully visible at that time? Of those I listed, skin-colour, number of arms, legs and so on are sure and definite. We know from our records that even genitals are not certain as to their final outcome at puberty. We know from how our God has given children into our care that changes beyond our understanding can and do happen. I needed to be reminded of my promises, of my oath, of my duty to be of service. ”

“I should have asked 'who is this Terf' to tell us that the moment of birth fixes one attribute, even if an important one, and fixes that one attribute forever. Can we tell, can anyone tell, at that moment, that the babe will have a violent temper, will drink to excess, will be a wonderful archer, an appalling cook, a graceful dancer, a caring person? No. Maybe the Gods have some hopes or wishes as to how that wriggling, shouting, shitting lump will grow – but even their plans are fragile. And this Terf tells us that she has more certainty than the Gods. Can I call this arrogance or stupidity? Without a great effort to understand why she feels this way and why she makes these accusations, we can never know. We are as blinkered about her reasons as the Gods are blinkered about her actions. She tells us that our lives are always driven by the needs and passions of men. That we live in an unbalanced patriarchal society. That men control. That men dominate. That men abuse. And she will hear no argument against her. She will not hear of the men who are driven by their wives. She will not hear of the mean who share, the generous who are sometimes greedy - those who are the 'sometimes' people. If any of her womenfolk behave badly, then they are behaving as men do. No possibility that they are badly-behaving women. Nor much willingness to hear about well-behaving men. A mind and a heart that calls black as white and white as black has gone beyond flexibility to stupidity. I should have listened to her more carefully – as no doubt this Lady who Listens could have suggested to me. If I had been listening. And I listened wrongly to the wrong person.”

“But I, Sardat, priest of the Bastard, stand here before the Temple of the Bastard to say that the Bastard is was and will forever be the God of those who are Different. We have not done well for some of our children. Recently and in particular, we have done unkindly for those Daughters and Sons of the Bastard who have souls and hearts at variance with one part of their bodies. We pledge to do better. We realize now that children died because of our failure. We do not blame Terf for arguing as she did – but we should not have let her divert us from our true duties. I call on any who have this particular difference or those who know of people who suffer thus – to come to the temple during the evening. We will listen. We will offer all the help we can and all the help we have failed to give.”

The priest seemed to not even know about the tears which fell from his eyes.

At these words, Fandir stood and went towards the shamed priest.

“I do not want to parade myself as a target for the unkindness of strangers – but I come as one of those you have recently shunned. I come in the hope that your promises are better than mere words.” Suddenly, Fandir spoke words that seemed to come from nowhere. Words that were beyond any thoughts she had had at any time in her life. The voice was louder, carried further, than for an ordinary teenage girl.

“It is good that you have realized you have made a mistake. You, perhaps more than the priests of the Four, need to always be aware that every person in this complicated world is able to be different in body, mind and spirit. That people are able to make mistakes, to misunderstand and to miscommunicate. When you realize that people are really, really far from perfect then they will disappoint you less. This is as true for the understanding of the Gods about us as it is about each of us understanding others. It also means that when people do good things or are kind without demand for repayment or are amazing in other ways – it just means a lot more.”

Fandir hesitated then turned towards the crowd (there’s almost always a crowd when something embarrassing happens – it’s a blood sport).

In that voice louder than Wilna expected, Fandir spoke clearly and confidently: “I am a Daughter of the Bastard. It’s not what I ever planned. It’s not what I ever expected. But I live in this body. I live with this soul. Every time I have tried to play the part of a boy – I have done it poorly and with no understanding. When I have had to play the part of a daughter – then I have known what to do, why and how. Like many others, I am barren, unable to give suck, I will never bleed as does half the world, but can I be a daughter? Yes. Can I be a wife? I agree there are limitations there. Can I be a mother? Yes. As I say – I am a Daughter of the Bastard. And perhaps it was what HE planned.”

Seeing her whole family towards the back of the crowd, she stepped off the low platform and went towards them. They came to her – and as one, embraced her and welcomed her. Even her brother offered his hug.

Fandir asked him, “do you understand better now.”

“Yes, I may not understand the why or the how, but that you are not and never were a boy, we saw that. But this ‘Daughter of the Bastard’ thing – it’s still hard to understand – but even though you’re a useless brother, I still love you and I’ll try to see you as my sister from now on.” He grinned, “And what’s for dinner, sis?”

In the background, it was clear that the priest and Wilna were now speaking forcefully, nearly arguing with a woman dressed in the Green of the Daughter. There was shouting and pushing. Then someone in the crowd said ‘That’s Terf.”

Terf had obviously been in the crowd and had heard what the priest, Sardat, had said. She spoke loudly, nearly shouting, “I am Quadrene. I am proud of being Quadrene. Therefore I deny the Bastard. I especially deny the aspects of these so-called Sons and Daughters of the Bastard. I have lived my life, I have watched how men (she almost spat the word) control almost every aspect of our lives. How even the Royina of Chalion-Ibra has to be partnered with a foreigner, a man. In order to rule with the approval of her male councillors.”

There was a murmur from the crowd. Of disapproval. Iselle may be the ruler of another country but she had a good reputation and was becoming known for well-considered decisions.

Terf amended the next remarks – “Of course I mean no disrespect to Her Majesty for has she not gained as well a much enlarged country for her daughter to rule with the marriage to Ibra and the possession of almost all of Roknar. In my group some of us have different reasons for disapproving, for even hating, these, er, thin…. “ she paused and corrected herself, “these people who claim to be Children of the Bastard. We see no reason for any person to be defined solely by what’s between their legs. But we disapprove even more strongly that the behaviour of so many is so strongly defined and constructed around what is there. None of us can argue that generally men are stronger than women – but why should strength be the main consideration. Why should the ability to physically overwhelm a smaller person be right and proper or even a worthwhile guide to their quality and character. Society here is built on the man being the ruler, man being the strength of the family. We can see from Iselle and Ista that in some places women are the equal of men – if not even superior. Why must we fight so hard for this to be accepted?”

Wilna listened – as was her wont. And later, she spoke with Terf. And, yet again, her skill came to the fore. Terf moaned, wailed, ranted, and lost all control. Eventually, some of the background became clear. The bullying abusive father and uncle, each with a weak dominated wife, the favoured eldest son in both families, and the procession of daughters before one last son. And that last son was treated worst of all. ‘You’ll never be like your brother – look at him – what a man he’ll be’. On and on until the son knew he was worthless. Terf hated, hated, hated. And sucking her hate to herself she listened. And learnt from her elders in their drunken ramblings. They were no different from their own parents or even their grandparents. They talked of a golden age many many years before when the mines were prosperous, when there was enough and to spare.

And still Wilna listened as this torrent of long-hidden hatred poured over her.

Terf hated the men. She hated the women who accepted their position. She hated. She continued to hate and she saw no way to stop. She hated the culture that accepted men being the brutal, abusive, domineering things. She knew nothing of sharing, kindness, decency. She began to hate the world that created this disparity. And the inability for change. And over time, she learnt new lessons – and taught herself new things to hate. And she realized, or thought she did, that it was the world that made men into things that subjugated women. And with no especial logic, one of the special targets of her disgust became those who, she felt, tried to deny the pattern by claiming that they wanted to change, to reveal themselves as Children of the Bastard.

Terf never said how she got away from the village – but clearly the effort had been hard and the journey had been worse. Once she arrived at the coast, she knew nothing, had no relevant skills except a willingness to do what she was told. She could contribute almost nothing. And, once more, she became a victim. Then she had met a bully who, just once, quailed before her attempt at anger. And this began to turn Terf into one who wanted change. Who wanted to demand and force and press and make others do her will.

And still Wilna listened. Wilna rarely prayed after the lessons of her life. But she did wonder whether Terf had done something to deserve how her life had turned out – and then whether it was time for a change. And how might things change for Sardat. Or for Fandir. Or for her family.

The wind ruffled her hair once more. “Sometimes, the choices made are beyond the Gods. Sometimes the cruelty of one person damages others for years into the future. A quiet comfortable life is never promised’. And somehow the transient breeze carried a feeling of incredible sadness and despair. A final flick of the breeze ‘but with love… ’ And the wind stilled.

And even though she listened as hard as ever she had, maybe it was only her heart that finished the sentence. She hoped she heard ‘…much is possible’.

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Notes:
Some real-life issues have to be converted or re-written to make them separate from my reality. At times, this will highlight in one direction and lessen in another. As regards aspects of this tale, I know I am different in some ways - especially in matters of dress. I am like many others - I feel bullied and abused at times. Equally, I am sure I have bullied and abused at times (I hope never deliberately). Especially, I have been told that I listen well. And I know for myself the power of being listened to - and how many of my issues I thereby understand better and can even improve.