Arabella Pov
Swimming. I vaguely remember swimming. Before my mother died there was a small creek that ran up the side of the rogue camp we lived at. Before my mother died I was usually out with Logan more than anything else, hiding from my father’s stern gaze and his judgment. He thought I was lax, he was embarrassed having me as his child. He was the type of father that assumed every baby should be born with a six-pack and a master of every weapon, otherwise, he was already disappointed. When I was around two or three he’d start trying to train me, leaving me a bleeding whining mess, but my mother fought him at every turn. Too young, she’d say, and he’d call her weak. I ran outside with Logan to avoid the battles, and I wished I had stayed. Maybe I would have understood more why she had
