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Joxim sat, huddled on her cot, dreading the moment that the dawn, inevitably, would break and she would be hauled from the meager warmth of her bed, to the tasks that lay ahead through the freezing morning hours to blindingly hot afternoons.

Tugging her small fingers through her mass of short, tangly dark curls, she blinked open her tilty purple eyes, and viewed the light tiptoeing over the horizon. With the light came a few dark specks in the sky, but Joxim dismissed those as passing dragons. She lowered her eyelashes, shedding long, feathery-delicate purple shadows across her lightly tanned skin. Joxim stood, and tugged on her leggings and soft boots, and an old, worn-out tunic. She tore at her stubborn tangles with a comb until tufts of the snarl-balls covered the floor, and her hair was still in knots. Joxim sighed, and sagged her shoulders, then shuffled out into the daylight, feigning sleepiness. A sturdy man overlooked the drudges like her, the runaways who had come to escape their tiresome daily chores in the Keeps, and met harsh tasks in the Cathair instead.
Joxim stumbled, and the crack-whistle of a whip, hurtling through the air, could be heard, as well as a slight, muffled cry of pain. Joxim bit her lip against her cry, and although a few tears gathered in her chest, thick and seething, she kept her salty ocean inside. -I wil not cry, not in front of them- she thought fiercely, though fresh blood stained her tunic and the welt was a painful one.
Joxim touched her bruised cheek lightly; the other day, while carrying her sweepings to the trash, she had tripped, losing the ashes all over a Lord. That had been a beating she should remember for sometime.
-If only I weren't so clumsy! Then I wouldn't get so beaten so often-
Carrying a tray of food into the mess hall, she spilled upon another lord, or someone of the same or higher rank.
-Why is it I always seem to miss the ones of my own stature, and never the important ones?-
The thought was quickly silenced by a few hard slaps, and she was sent sprawling against the wall, amidst shouts and laughter.

Retiring to the paard stalls, she patted one fondly. "You're the only ones who don't yell at me. And yet, one of you, while I brushed him, stepped on my foot! I believe there must be some sort of conspiracy against me here..I hobbled around for a week! No rations because I was too slow to get my tasks done before mealtime."
The paard nuzzled Joxim's face, and a few salty tears rolled onto its soft fur. Joxim finished brushing and feeding and cleaning up after the runners, and was about to leave the stalls, when a small 'mew' stopped her. Looking down, she saw a small, plain little brown kitten. It rubbed against her legs and purred, and Joxim could almost fancy it was grinning. She knelt and stroked the cat.
"Why are you showing me any kindness? Don't you know I'm a misfit, an outcast? The kind of person you throw in the mud, the cold rain, not the kind you purr about!"
The kitten took no notice, and Joxim felt its rough tongue against her hand. For the second time that day, tears came to her eyes. The cat was thin, perhaps in need of friendship.
"You're like me then, m'lass. We're both in the same boat. A rough time we be havin', eh?"
Joxim lifted the kitten into her arms, and placed it in her pouch, then continued on her way. The kitten's funny little face poked out of the bag, as if it were enjoying the scenery.

"I didn't steal the roast fowl, I swear it on my dead mother's grave!"
"Another lash, then, for lying, you little wench!"
A strong man lifted Joxim by her hair, 'til she screamed hoarsely. Satisfied, he dropped her after admonishing a few rough slaps. He then walked away, laughing rudely. Joxim glared after him and stuck out her tongue, rubbing a bruished shoulder. The cat, who she named 'Misfit', hissed and spat after the brute.
"Tis alright, Missy. I had to scream; otherwise, sometimes they never let you go. They ain't satisfied with no meager squeak, they aren't."
Joxim stood, sorely, and dusted off her clothing. "Frankly, I'm disgusted with this place. It's in my right mind to run away, again. If only I was more 'n a common drudge.."
Joxim grinned, and lifted her bag from its hiding place. Inside was the roast fowl of the argument. Hastening back to her room, she stuffed it under her cot. Wouldn't do for someone to find it..

"Who're you? What do ye want?"
Joxim stood, defiant, hands on her hips at her door. A young man, muddy, with an unpleasant grin on his face, stood across from her. He reached out and pinched her cheek.
"I just came for a bite to eat. Surely you wouldn't discourage a passing Journeyman that."
"Maybe I would. You don't know. I've scarce little to eat, ye know, as well."
"Well, if you won't share it openly, I guess I'll have to take something else of yours."
The crude man fingered her curls, and touched her skin, now lily-white, drained of all color, a little fear and anger in Joxim's eyes.
"What do you mean, both by your words and your touch? Be gone, afore I call the watchhund on you!"
The man bared his teeth in a grin/grimace.
"That wouldn't be polite. 'Sides, I don't think you'd have much say over what I mean.."
The man jumped her, kicking the door shut and muffling her screams.
'You ba-" Joxim tried to scream, but his hand went over her mouth. She bit and scratched and kicked, and Misfit tore at his clothing and face until flung against the wall. The man forced himself on her, until he was satisfied, then left, slamming the door behind him. Joxim lay, bruised, weeping softly, clothing torn; and her soul torn as well. -No one cares what happens to a lowly drudge- she thought, as Misfit came to and limped to where Joxim lay.

*Sweep, sweep, sweep, sweep* "Phew. Oh, Mis..it's so hot here!" Joxim waved a kerchief around, mopping at her sweat. Her short hair was bound with a indigo bandana, patterned with stars. She sat on the steps, tired from the days work. It was midday, and the heat was overpowering. Overlooking the Keep she had been sent to, for extra work due to impertinence, she saw that many a drudge had collapsed. Standing again at a glare from a 'higher' drudge, she began again her monotonous work.
Since the encounter with the 'Journeyman', Joxim had been training to fight; hand fighting, kick boxing, sword fighting, throwing daggers, shooting arrows. "It's important to be able to defend myself, Misfit.." Joxim said, one day, and so she applied to be taught by some of the talented fighters in the Cathair, which had cost a pretty penny, and some ugly ones, too.