A Gypsy Tale - Prologue

A little girl, no older than seven and knee high to a quarter horse, stumbled down the mountain path, towards the town illuminated with hanging lanterns. She moved shakily, her legs weak and her skin deathly pale, her face and arms smudged with dirt. Her clothes, tattered and filthy, hung quite baggily from her malnourished frame. Her bare feet, blistered and bloody, trudged along the dirt path, making her way closer to town. Her stomach clenched, long past the point of growling for sustenance. It was very late at night and, therefore, there wasn’t a soul still out on the road.
Snow swirled around her feet, turning her extremities a pale shade of blue as she stepped into the town. It was a decently large fishing town, situated between the Karadak River and the Galbin Coast. The scent of smoked fish caught her attention and she turned towards it, shuffling forward. She passed windows that lead to families eating a grand meal. She didn’t look in most of them, knowing that the sight of such succulent food would only make her crave it even more.
She passed building after building before, eventually, stumbling across a smoke house. She hurried, sliding on the ice before making it to the door. It was locked. She looked around, found a sufficiently sturdy rock, and busted the lock. She hurried inside and found rack upon rack of drying fish. She searched for the driest of the fish and snatched it from the hook. Settling down, she tore into it. The fish was mostly flavorless but she didn’t care. It was food and, to her stomach, it was tastier than the finest of banquets. She picked the fish clean in minutes, eating around the bones but devouring every piece of meat. Finished, she grabbed two more and tore into them.
Halfway into eating the third fish, though, she looked up and saw a boy watching her from the doorway. He was small and lanky, with warm brown eyes and a head of spiky brown hair.  The little girl froze, crouched by the wall, the fish still in her greasy hands. They watched each other for a long time before the little boy ran off. She hopped up to her feet and started for the door, leaving behind what was left of the third fish.
Before she made it to the door, though, an older man stepped to the frame, the little boy at his side. He looked at her with soft eyes, much the same color as the boy’s, and knelt, so that the girl could look him in the eye. “Are you hungry?” He asked softly.
The girl looked between him and the boy before nodding hesitantly.
A kind smile lit up his face. “Would you like to come eat some better food?”
She hesitated a bit before nodding again.
“My name is Alistair, and this is my son, Rhett.” He introduced, indicating the scrawny boy behind him.
She looked between them both, her pale blue eyes still wide with fear. “I’m…Sarah Grace.” She said, her voice horse and almost inaudible.
“Well, Sarah Grace, would you like to come with us? You won’t have to steal or be hungry anymore.” He offered, standing up and offering his hand. Sarah Grace looked at it for a long time before taking a step forward and reaching out, letting his large, calloused hand engulf her own.