Ruby had shed all the items that Jack had given her other than the simple blue dress she wore, leaving socks and shoes and gloves and mantle in her wake. She wanted to be beholden to Jack as little as possible. In her hands, she held a piece of an orange fruit she hadn't noticed she was holding when she left. Her stomach grumbled. The grass under her feet was cold and damp, but soft and familiar at the same time. When she'd first left Jack's house, she'd set off without a destination in mind. Then the woman, Acacia, had come to her mind. The ancient well <Yeah, I doubt it's a well, but whatever, maybe a statue?> to the east <actually not east, come up with a cute set of directions based on the geography and describe her figuring them out.>
In time, she saw a soft golden glow rising over a hill, gentler than the harsh light that flooded the underrealm. The light emanated from a globe. The globe was on top of a structure. It was made of wood that had been stained and corroded with time. Some of the planks had corroded at the knotholes to make openings large enough to see through. They leaned this way and that. A child, a girl perhaps, was inside, trying to raise the lid of the well within.
“Let me,” Ruby said. The cover was heavy. A block of oak that seemed <I know I used seemed too much> to have lain there for centuries. Straining and grunting, Ruby slid it off. The fresh smell of good water emanated from the well. There was a cup on a peg. She filled it and gave it to the child, who drained it and handed it back, panting. She filled it once again. This time the child merely sipped at it.
The child had blonde-brown hair that clung in scraggly tendrils to her face. Her small hand was thin. Ruby could almost see the bones through her skin. Her face was drawn tightly over fine cheekbones and a jutting chin. She eyed Ruby warily. She sat on the wide stone bench that formed the lip of the well, one foot on the floor. She was small in stature, but it was hard to assess her age. Her eyes carried the weight of long years, not unlike Ruby's own.
“Thanks,” the girl said. Her voice was high and still childish. She passed the cup back to Ruby, who took her own draught. She felt the fruit pulling down her pocket. She hesitated. She was tired of going hungry and she didn't know when she'd next find a comfortable place. But she gave it to the girl, who took it with a shy smile.
They sat in silence for a time. Ruby trailed her hand through the water, feeling it rustle around her. She played with the droplets, watching them fall from her fingers. The girl devoured the fruit.
“Thanks,” she said again. “I'm Cora.”
“I'm Ruby. Is anyone taking care of you?”
The girl tucked her feet underneath herself. She wasn't wearing shoes either and her feet were raw and purple. Ruby remembered when hers looked the same, toward the start of her journey. The first days weren't the worst. Worst was continuing on with blisters that burst and oozed. “It's just me.” Cora started crying, not the frustrated wailing of a tantrum, but tears of loss that shook the body.
Without thinking, Ruby sat next to the child, wrapped an arm around her, and tried to share what warmth and comfort she could.
Cora stiffened initially, then relaxed, turning into Ruby to sob on her chest. She was so young and fragile. Ruby pulled her onto her lap and stroked her back. Cora's tears intensified, but when Ruby tried to give her space, the girl just pulled her back. She sang a lullaby from the depths of her own childhood, a soft murmur to soothe the lost child. It was a song she'd known all her life, although she couldn't remember anyone singing it to her.
The girl's crying <stopped suddenly> broke off. She'd fallen asleep, exhausted. Her face was smeared with tears, but it was peaceful. Ruby kept singing.
The door opened, catching against the rough floor. A figure stepped through. Ruby tensed.