Darvan, as usual, tried to trip up everyone and making it look like it was never him. Sahra had learned early to stay out of his reach. For some reason, this only made him madder and more and more set on getting her hurt.
Stupid Duvi.
She got the babies tucked up and crawled in with them. They might smell, but Darvan wouldn’t dare come after her to hurt her if she was in tight with them.
But Duvi had another plan. “Mamaaaaaa! Sahra’s takin’ the babies’ pants off!”
“Sahra Jonston!”
Rats, bats and cats, he was clever, sometimes. Sahra wriggled out and started with a clear, “Was not!”
But Duvi had already struck.
Really struck. With his hand on the back of her head. “Crosswired spongebrain,” he whispered, and swung again.
Sahra ducked, wishing she had a tiny eye in the back of her head like the Masters did. She bet no master ever had to deal with some sib swiping at the back of their head.
“Duvi lied,” called Karl.
Sahra rubbed the back of her stinging head and stopped a grown-up pace away from Mama and Seventh-Papa. They stood together, arms in knots on their chests. Looking down on the two of them.
“Sahra, I have no idea what you keep doing to Darvan to make him do these things.”
“Dint do nuffint,” Sahra mumbled.
“She’s on me alla time, Mama. She don’t do nothing but callin’ me ‘Duvi’ an’ you know it means rude stuff in master talk.”
“Darvan, half this family calls you 'Duvi’ and you don’t flinch,” said Seventh-Papa. “What’s so special about Sahra - who rarely talks at all - that has earned your special attention?”
“She’s stupid. She don’t deserve nuthin’. She aughta get throwed out for anyone’d want her. We don’t need her.”
“Sahra, put your hand down,” said Mama.
Leyna gasped. “Oh God and his Angels…”
Sahra looked at her hand. It was red with blood.
Who’s reading this already?
