Disguise

Ketti: Let's see if you can guess Sandru's secret! I've got to harass JuJu to help me write chapter two since I have what will probably be chapter three partially written. Pretty much the whole reason in started this story was the scene I have for later, haha. But with all the stories I'm planning to post/update half finished chapters... well, you never know. Maybe JuJu will beat me into submission and have me update this soon. maybe not. This was started a year ago, and only finished a few minutes ago, so it's a bit short. Sorry.

"Hoy! Sandru! Git your lazy arse out of that hay loft and 'elp us get these beasts ready for 'is Lordship's jaunt to town!"

Sandru Victoria woke with a start, nearly falling out of the loft as he peeked over the edge and grinned sheepishly down at the other two lads waiting on him. "Be right down!" He called cheerily before vanishing back into the depths of the loft to retrieve his day clothes.

Sandru wiggled out of the overlarge sleep shirt, revealing a bandage wrapped chest, and he tugged lightly on the wrappings before splashing his face with water from his tiny basin, wiping the droplets away with his sleep shirt before wriggling into the baggy work clothes, tying the rope belt tightly to keep his breeches from falling down.

"Look out below!" Sandru bellowed playfully as he charged barefoot from the loft, leaping into thin air only to catch himself on the rope dangling from the ceiling, swinging down to the ground with a cat-soft landing, beaming at his fellow stable lads. "Hoy!" He greeted, laughing in turn at their disgruntled looks.

"Show off," Alex tackled him, getting the blond in a head lock to distribute a well deserved noogie, Sandru yelped and squirmed, rolling them over to pin the taller brunette instead. "Ha! That'll show ya," Sandru teased before leaping back to his feet and running down the line of stall doors to the intimidating black stallion that lead the Lord's carriage line. The other boys were too afraid of the stud's nasty temper, and Sandru liked to lord it over them that the horse liked him best.

"Hullo Terror," Sandru hummed to the horse as he stradled the gate, "Ready to go for a ride?" Terror the black stallion whickered, tossing his head in agreement and Sandru chuckled as he hopped down into the stall, hauling the heavy tack out of the corner and inspecting it carefully before fitting each piece into place on the Lord's prized steed. His Lordship took monthly trips to the nearby village, and, unlike the farmers that needed hardy draft horses (and the occasional nag) his Lordship preferred to show off his wealth with his extravagant carriage and thoroughbred beauties. So it was up to his stable lads to ensure the beasts looked their best and stayed in shape to pull the heavy gilt edged box on wheels.

Finishing his task by checking Terror's hooves for any nicks or cracks, Sandru led him out to the front of the stable, hitching his reins to the post so that he could help Alex and Thom with Terror's mares.

Yes, his Lordship's stable was one large harem for his black stallion, and that's the way the stud liked it.

Peeking in at the lovely dove grey female named Feather – his Lordship's daughter named her – Sandru pulled an apple from the bag hanging outside her door and crooned praises to the pregnant dam.

"C'mon Sandru!" Thom complained as he wrestled the spitfire Ariel into her tack, and the blond chuckled good naturedly as he hurried over to help. In no time at all the three stable lads had their charges trussed in their gear and with a bit of help from the carriage driver, got all six of them in the right order so his Lordship could be ready to leave as soon as he stepped out his great manor's double doors.

…Speak of the Devil, and he shall appear. The doors creaked open and servants poured out of the estate in a flurry of matching skirts and coats, and in the hubbub Sandru disappeared back into the barn. Returning to Feather's stall, he patted her again, running his fingers down her muzzle, before clambering up into the loft. It had been three months and experience had taught him that he needed to move on lest his curse be discovered.

Grabbing his rucksack he shoved his few belongings inside and grabbed an apple for the road as he snuck away out the back, following the fence of the pasture before escaping into the woods.

"I'll miss it here," Sandru mused as he walked next to the path, making sure to keep it in sight while staying hidden himself. "Ah, well, I'm sure they'll find someone to handle Terror." He chuckled a bit wickedly, tossing the apple in the air, "Or not."

Sandru walked at an easy pace, knowing he had at least a day's journey to the west to reach the next town, and even then he'd only stop for some supplies, helping any that would offer a penny or a bit of bread. Always, always move at least three towns away before settling for the next three moon cycles, he reminded himself silently.

The first time he had stayed for a whole half year, and everything had been going great… until the stable master, who had a taste for diddling little boys, had torn off his shirt one night after supper. It took all his strength to knock the man unconscious and put an empty bottle in his hands for when he woke later. Sandru'd left that very night.

His next job had been as a farmer's lad, helping with the crops, which had gone great for harvest, and he'd left right after, staring the three month trend. Ever after if Sandru stayed past three full moons something inevitably happened and he had to flee.

The nineteen year old, who masqueraded as a fifteen year old lad, thought longingly of the village he grew up in before the Sickness struck. All the adults and half the children had died, including his parents. Fortunately he was already knowledgeable enough to care for himself at thirteen and knew that if he didn't want to end up like the others he had to think smart. Thus, Sandru Victoria became a wanderer, orphaned peasant who would do any job for a bit of coin or food.

There was a rustle in the leaves that wasn't from the wind, the lad froze warily before scanning the trees and finishing the last bite of his apple with a muffled crunch, ditching the core in the bushes for a lucky animal to find. Glancing quickly down at his shirt, he looked up only to jump back in surprise to see a leering face grinning at him from over the bush he'd discarded his apple core in. The man's face was haggard, bits of leaves and twigs protruded from his unkempt beard, the ripe smell of sweat and alcohol hung around the stranger like a rank perfume, and Sandru saw his teeth had rotted away to black stumps. "Allo gov'na, got a bit'o spare change on ye?"

Sandru frowned at him, brows furrowing, "Does it look like I've got any spare nibs?"

The forest man licked his chapped lips and pushed the leaves aside, "Ye look mighty pretty fo' a lad. Fancy a tumble in the weeds?"

Sandru couldn't hide the horrified expression on his face as all the color drained from his cheeks. A tumble in the weeds with that man? Lord's sake, no!

"I'd rather not. Here, mate, I've an apple extra. What say I give you this, and you go on your way, yeah?"

The older man glared at him, but then his stomach growled, "Alroight, just hand it ovah."

Sandru dug into his bag and backed up a few paces, throwing the apple before turning and running. He was fast, he had to be to live the way he did, and he tore across the leaf strewn ground, dodging tree trunks and upraised roots until he made it to the path where he continued his frantic pace until he could no longer hear the shouted profanity behind him.

Well, that little run had sped his time up a bit, he might very well make it to the next village before dark at this rate. Keeping to the path for now, he set a steady jogging pace until he heard horses approaching and he walked along the side of the road in the deepest part of the shade, head bowed to hide his features.

The jingle of harnesses and the clip clopping of hooves passed him by, and he kept walking. Nothing unusual here, just a normal lad returning home from an outing in the woods.

The carriage didn't stop abruptly, nobody shouted anything at him, and he kept going, bare feet kicking up small dust clouds as he went.

Hours passed and the sun was setting low on the horizon when Sandru made it to the edge of the town, shading his eyes against the harsh red light glaring into his face. He looked so small, like a lost child in his too large clothing and the small rucksack swung over his shoulder.

"Hoy, lad, you alright?" A motherly voice called from a garden patch attached to the hut nearest him. "You look a little lost."

Sandru laughed sheepishly and flashed his pearly white teeth as he approached the fence. "I'm fine missus! Thank ye kindly for th' concern. Would y' like some help weedin'?" The matronly figure scrutinized him closely before nodding, "Aye, a bit of supper be your price?" At Sandru's nod, the woman laughed and gestured for him to join her in weeding. Sandru stepped carefully over the fragile shoots of new growth and joined his temporary employer in tending her garden. He learned her name was Miss Elsa, a kindly spinster who enjoyed feeding her neighbor's children in exchange for help with the chores. He also learned that the inn was full up, and that the stable lads disliked sharing their loft space, so with a promise of chore work, he wrangled an overnight stay with a blanket by the hearth.

He slept, but it was an uneasy fitful rest full of awakenings at any odd noise, which lead him to gathering the freshly laid eggs at sunrise from sleepy hens and carting them back into the house carefully in a broad straw lined basket. Miss Elsa met him at the door, looking a bit surprised. "Well, thankee lad, would you help an old woman with breakfast then?"

Sandru agreed readily enough, enjoying the familiar chores and the satisfaction of a well earned meal. When he finished he rubbed his stomach, feeling a little queasy.

"Goodness!" Miss Elsa exclaimed, "You're looking a bit green in the face there, Drew. Not getting sick I hope?"

Sandru gave her a reassuring smile, fingers clenching in the baggy shirt. "Tis nothin' mum, I didn't sleep much, makes me a lil green in the gills sometimes tis all. Twill pass in a minute."

Miss Elsa graced him with a skeptical once over before shaking her skirts out. "See that it does, lad. I would hate t'be repaid for my kindness with the Sickness." The spinster bustled out to her room, presumably to start a laundry and Sandru collapsed flat on his back, curling into a ball to rub at the tops of his thighs, moaning under his breath. "Damned moon."

As promised, the queasy feeling passed, though his muscles burned and he walked stiffly as he made his way to the privy. He helped to gather wood for the marm's fire after. She was wearing a kerchief over her face as she tipped him a penny, sending him on his way with a crust of day old bread. He thanked her gratefully before taking her not so subtle hints to scram before she called attention to his presence.

The blond waif made his way to the public well to fill his pathetic little water skin, taking a dipper for himself in the process, before escaping into the market. His few pennies went to road rations stuffed into his much abused sack. So equipped, the enchanting barefoot youth made his way to the other end of the pleasant town to continue down the main road.

His skin prickled with the sensation of being watched, but he refused to quicken his pace in acknowledgment until he rounded a bend in the road and high tailed it into the trees quick as a flash. There was a low hanging branch at the just right height for him to clamber up and out of sight where he rested a few feet up in a comfortable fork to listen carefully for his pursuers.

He heard nothing, and for a moment Sandru second guessed himself, perhaps he was getting a little paranoid in his old age. But still, something nagged at the back of his mind, insisting that someone was there, someone he definitely didn't want to meet.

A fist clenched in his guts and he bit his lip to stifle a whimper of agony. Gods, not now, he pleaded silently. If there were dogs… Sandru reached out cautiously and carefully plucked a few of the fragrant leaves, shredding their delicate skin to release the pungent tang of sap. Nothing unusual here, move along.

His ears strained for any sound as he became increasingly aware of the moon's ghostly presence in the bright blue sky above him.

Then as suddenly as it had come the feeling of being stalked vanished, leaving the boy feeling a bit winded. He curled into a ball, rubbing deeply at his thighs and praying the ache away.

Again it passed, but he felt strained, like a rope ready to snap. He fell out of the tree in a graceless heap when his foot caught on a twig from the lowest branch. He couldn't breath for a long moment before his air came back to him in a gasp. The poor boy staggered to his feet and limped through the trees at a snail's pace.A very small pinprick of red dots stippled his path.

"Got to find a river. Keep out of sight. Got to keep moving, never stop for long. Just keep moving."