New Endings

Brynn watched as newly fallen snowflakes melted against the remaining warmth from her mother's dark lifeless hand. The sturdy, demanding posture her mother had, even while resting against the caravan, was now reduced to a limp husk. The woman she had looked up to was now gazed down upon, unable to stand up for herself. Brynn's breath was slow-paced but heavy. She was trying to remain calm. Her brain and balled-up fists protested otherwise as her nails cut deep into the softness of her palms. She was unable to feel the heat of her blood rushing down her own hands.
A voice echoed in the background. She couldn't hear it.
It grew louder.
"Brynn." A familiar firm hand grasped her shoulder. "Brynn, do you hear me?"
She pulled through her muffled senses and gazed at her Dad. Her eyes were empty.
"Hey..." His voice cracked as he forced words out of his throat. His expression was empathetic as he attempted to appear stable to his daughter, disregarding the tear stains. "These things... They just kind of... Happen." He struggled to justify the loss of his love. "We-we can't control when or why-"
Brynn brushed away her father's grasp. She understood he was trying to help, but it wasn't helping. Instead, she bent down to pick up her mother's flask beside the liquor-stained snow. Her thumb traced over the metal flower decal. She brought the spout to her nose, breathing in the last drink that passed her mother's lips.
Moments later, Brynn moved the canister away and scowled. The aroma didn't match what she usually found her mother drinking. "Dad..." she reached the flask out to her father. "Something's wrong."
Her father retrieved the flask, weary of his daughter's freshly smudged blood painted across it. He would've addressed it if there weren't more pressing issues upon them. "What's the issue, dear?"
Brynn stood up, straightening out her clothes. "It doesn't smell like her stuff." Her problem-solving was merely a momentary diversion to mask her feelings. She brushed a silver strand of hair behind her ear.
Her Dad took a whiff of the flask and proceeded to frown. "Shit." He pinched his temple. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!" His daughter's amber eyes widened at his language. Cursing wasn't his forte. Her father pinched his temple, welling up again. And then he sighed.
"Your mother... Had... Quite the history."
"What do you mean?" The half-drow daughter tilted her head.
Her human father bit his knuckle as his eyes bounced around in panic. "Your mom is-.. Was bold. She did the best for everyone regardless of their upbringing. She got along with a lot of people but," he shook his head. "There were some folks she didn't mesh with."
"What's wrong with her drink, Dad?"
He stared longingly at the flask. "The one time your mother lets her guard down." Brynn watched him tentatively. He shook his head and dropped the tainted relic to the snow. "She was poisoned."
Brynn gasped. "Poisoned?! Who-who would do that to her?! Who hated her so much that they wanted her dead, who-"
"Brynn." Her father's voice was hushed. "We don't know who did this. We don't know who's out there. We can talk about this more later, I promise."
"But Dad I-"
"Brynn. Please." He pleaded with his daughter.
She bit her lip and nodded. Then turned to face her mother. This journey, this move, was supposed to be a new beginning. A new life. A positive change.
But with this new beginning came a loss of life. She once again crouched to the snow to grab her mother's flask, praying that this wasn't what their life at Mythrite would be.
Her Dad stared at the adventurer that once was. Her death was a contradiction to every bit about her. The image was sickening, so he turned away. "I'm going to go get... Some help with her so we can bury her while we still can." Some passengers didn't receive the privilege of being buried. They were castaways left to the road.
Brynn was left alone with her drow mother. Her brain was buzzing with whys. Why would someone kill her? What could she have done? What sort of person could she have been? Did she know her mother? Could this have been the product of an unresolved dispute, or just a simple yet hateful act to drows? 
Would knowing even matter?
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People around town began to whisper their theories about the sudden death of the widely loved Mrs. Carter. The caravan took the time to lay her down, burying her in an unmarked grave that was far from both Neverwinter and Mythrite. Despite the tragedy, the people had to keep moving. The new family of two was met with prayers and pity. Some people offered help, food, and money in an attempt to ease the pain.
It was sweet, but it did not help.
The bandwagon she was immigrating with swore they never saw the young half-drow grieve after the first day. Several people were confused as to how she was able to persevere through such trauma. She was still able to smile, talk, and work as if nothing had happened.
Her Dad, on the other hand, knew his daughter was just baring a brave face to the crowd. It pained him to see her dismiss the pain, and he longed for someone to grieve with. She assumed that her mother wouldn't want her to appear weak. She also desired the same for herself. Anytime Mr. Carter brought their loss up, she changed the subject. She remained deeply curious about the cause of conflict but kept to herself. The only visible example of her grief pierced her pointed ears, where her mother's golden earrings hung.
Along the rest of the ride, Brynn refused to look in the direction behind them. She didn't want to look back towards her mother, abandoned and alone in the cold ground of some unknown location. Her mother was not just dead; she was gone.