Alone and afraid, although she would never have admitted it to anyone, including herself, Red sneaked into Bravery’s only tavern, a shuddering place that cast lengthy shadows into the void created in the rafters below.

However, Red refused to be dominated by darkness, and she stepped into the flickering lamplight of the room. Contrary to her expectations, not a single one of the old veterans noticed her entry, so absorbed were they in relaying on their battle stories. Courage and confidence flooding through her veins, Red strode towards the bar stools at the front and leaned herself against the side.

“I’ll take a beer,” she announced to the barista.

He turned, ready to serve, but he only shook his head when he saw her. “Ha! Get lost, kid, before I boot you out of here,” he replied, before turning back to the display case filled with wine, beer, and other forms of frothing liquor.

Sighing, Red resorted to begging. “Please? I don’t have a mama.” Sure, she shouldn’t play the mama card so casually, but she could not stand being ignored.

“None of us have our mamas anymore,” the tender responded, but sure enough, his face softened, and he filled up a filthy glass about a quarter of the way with something golden at the tap. Red’s face lit up, surprised the trick had worked. Her delight did not fade, even after he filled the rest with yellow water, swirling it around until the two mixed into one diluted drink.

“Mighty thankful, sir!” she cried as he handed it across the counter. In turn, Red proffered the coin she had found buried in the mud of the dandelion valley, but he shook his head.

“Keep that and buy yourself something nice to put your hair back with. A young lady such as yourself shouldn’t be wandering around in taverns,” he said, a trace of kindness fighting its way through the harsh curvature of his face. However, as if embarrassed by this display, he turned away, motioning for her to run along.

Red grinned, taking the glass and heading towards the rambling men who shouted at the shadows which cavorted above their heads. In their voices, she could hear the sounds of battle, and she watched the enraptured eyes of men who had fought against mighty beings of myth.

Tonight, all the men laughed and played Grimoire, perking up their ears as a veteran held up his copper arm and described a world, the likes of which Red had never heard before.

However, from where she stood in the middle of the room, Red could not hear hardly any bit of the story, and she huffed in frustration. The only logical approach now would be to approach the storyteller and plop herself down beside the others listening. For a moment, she wondered what her lovely mother, Heaven bound to the World Above Worlds, would have to say about her actions, but inside her heart, she thought her mama would agree.

From what the others in Bravery had told her, her mama had also been a story-collector. Without another moment of hesitation, Red pranced over to the table and plopped herself beside the man with the copper arm.

The others abruptly cut off their conversation, studying the girl who had emerged among them. When none of them said anything, Red took a sip of her beer, and announced to the table, “What are all you bozos staring at?”

That only made them stare more, and she rolled her eyes dramatically before turning back to the one-armed man. “Well, are you going to continue the story?”

“Didn’t your mama teach you any manners?” he retorted, raising an eyebrow.

“Do ya think I’d be sitting here if I had a mama?” Red asked. The others’ eyes never left her, so she just fixed her gaze on the man with the copper arm.

“Aww, lay off her case, Tinker,” a younger guy on the other side of the table piped up. “What’s your name, little lady?”

“You can call me Red,” she replied, doing her best to sound mysterious.

“I can see why,” he laughed, reaching across the table to tug one of her red curls. “How old are you?”

The others had all stopped their game, watching her and waiting for her answer. A quick peek back at the bartender revealed that he too stood and stared, his expression the epitome of hopelessness.

“I’m twelve,” she announced proudly. “How old are you?”

He laughed, and the others joined in. Unsure if they were laughing at her or with her, she smirked, raising her glass to her lips again.

“I like her,” the younger guy said. “I’m thirty-eight. Tell me, have you ever played Grimoire before?”

Red shook her head, leaning forward to study the layout of the card game.

Murry, as he later introduced himself, showed her how to play, asking his comrades for a single round with an open hand for her benefit. The next round, he dealt her in, and she proceeded to make it to the seventh hand before striking out.

The others around the table also seemed to warm up to her presence, gradually settling back into their patterns of storytelling, gambling, and drinking. Soon, the men were drunk enough that they didn’t even bother to censor themselves in front of the child.

“He was the biggest man I ever saw in my life!” Richie exclaimed. “As tall as a giant, and so big around that everyone at this table could hold hands and still not reach around his waist!”

Red, drink long gone, marveled at the tale.

“The sight was enough to make any man wet his pants. But I stood strong in the face of the impossible. I lifted my bayonet, and I ran forward, screaming like a madman, and the monster heard my feral roar, and ran away, frightened that he be taken out by a simple man. I laughed, maddened by adrenaline and half-crazed with insanity, and I rushed him, jabbing my bayonet into his back, and bleeding his guts out all across that frozen ground.” Richie enunciated each word, and Red felt him drive them home the same way he had forced his bayonet through those mounds of flesh.

She listened, eyes wide, as he described the gore that had covered him to his toes, stinking to high heaven.

When he had finished, he bowed, and Red clapped wildly. The others had all grown tired of hearing and telling the same tales again and again, yet in the face of an interested child, they competed vigorously to be the one to fill her ears with bravado and splendor next.

She commended each for the bravery, and it was only after Landon finished his tale that she spoke her mind. “I want to be a soldier too,” she declared.

Tinker—the man with one arm—glanced up suddenly, and the others all paused what they had been doing for a moment.

“A woman soldier?” someone laughed. “Keep dreaming, girl. You’re better off finding yourself a husband and taking care of the family. You’re a bright kid; go find love and happiness rather than waste your time with doddering old fools like ourselves.”

She knew he meant well, but Red still felt the sharp pain of rejection linger in her chest. “Women can be heroes too!” she proclaimed, face heating up. “I’ll prove it. Just you wait and see.”

Richie opened his mouth to correct her again, but Murry gave him a swift kick under the table. Even though the veteran was drunk, he got the point and dropped the subject.

Tinker however, had leaned forward, meeting Red’s bright green eyes. “What did you say?” he asked in a low voice.

“I said I’ll prove that women can be heroes. Wait and see,” she repeated.

Tinker threw a roll of coins onto the table to pay for the drinks. “You remind me of someone,” he drunkenly whispered to the girl, before he turned and stumbled out the door and away from the tavern.

Red shrugged, glancing back at her Grimoire cards, where a pair of Merchants rested behind her blurry eyes. With a decent bluff, she might be able to pull out a win.

“Hey, where do you live, Little Red?” Murry asked her.

“Oh, just with my uncle,” she said. Glancing up, she noticed Murry’s concern. The others were all too drunk to care, and even the barista had disappeared somewhere behind the counter. “Don’t worry, I’ll head home after this game.”

He nodded, satisfied, and Red slipped her second card facedown across the table and onto the draw pile. “I call seven,” she cried.

Murry laughed, and called her on it, laying a Knight on the table beside her. Red sighed as she flipped over the card to reveal the Merchant.

“Let me offer you a word of advice,” Murry said. “When you are bluffing, start off small and work your way up. If you tell a lie, include just enough truth that people don’t think it is a lie at all.”

Red nodded, storing the information away for later and laying her other card faceup on top of the table. “Thank you for the good evening, sir. Gents,” she added, acknowledging the others in the group.

Then, she left, slinking through the darkened shadows of the midnight bar, head buzzing with new stories.

One by one, Red added them to her collection: The Courage of Bravery.