Wordweaver

Chapter Five

The next morning, I wake before dawn and lie in the darkness, listening to Mjera's quiet breathing at my shoulder. It should be a peaceful moment, but my stomach twists in restless knots, and after a few minutes I get up and stir the coals before adding more wood to the flames.

"Ynria?"

I look over my shoulder at Mjera, who lifts her head and blinks blearily at me.

"I'm sorry for waking you," I whisper, brushing bark off my hands.

She rubs her eyes and stifles a yawn. "Is it time?"

It is for me. It will be a while before her family wakes, but I can't stand the thought of waiting any longer. "I'm going to go," I say in a low voice. "Tell your mother I'm sorry for leaving without saying goodbye."

"She won't mind," she says. "I'll be along as soon as I can."

I leave the comfortable glow of the fire and pad across the room to pull on my boots and jacket. As silently as possible, I open the door and ease out into the cold, filling my lungs with the clear, cold air. I pause, taking in the stillness of the morning. This is all I wished for two days ago, when Bronhold came to walk me to town. It feels like a lifetime ago now.

Wrapped in gray light and pre-dawn chill, I hurry across the field to the meeting place Mjera and I set during our planning in the barn. Her family's lands run parallel to the road leading into Vallegat, but I follow the thin, iced-over creek to avoid anyone making their way to town. Before long, the silhouette of the tiny hut appears against the snow, and I jog the rest of the way to burn some of my restless energy. I use the shovel leaning against the wall to dig away the snow blocking the door, trying to take my time so I don't end up with nothing to do while I wait. The work warms me, and by the time I finish, I feel a little more settled.

"Fire," I say, pushing a burst of energy into the lantern hanging inside the hut. Pale light filters through the room, illuminating the bare bunk and small table taking up most of the space. The building has stood empty for more than a year, unused since Mjera's father died. Before that, it served as a place to sleep while his herd was at pasture in the summer. It's a snug little hut, built of fieldstone and packed tight with turf for insulation, but there's no place to start a fire.

That's fine—I won't be here long.

I leave the door open to let in more of the light and drop my bag on the table, digging out a pair of Aze's old trousers and one of the two wool shirts I took from his trunk. He outgrew them ages ago, and I've spent the last several months telling him he should give them to Arun. Bless his procrastination.

I don the trousers, rolling up the cuffs to fit my shorter legs, then pull my dress over my head and yank on the shirt. Thank Ieldran this is happening in the winter, when no one will question baggy clothes and multiple layers. My chest is small enough that I shouldn't have to worry about binding it to stay concealed, but having a coat to hide under makes me feel even better.

I'm stuffing the extra fabric at the end of each leg into my boots when Mjera arrives. "Sorry!" she pants, heaving her own bag onto the table. "Mama made me eat before I could get away. I brought some for you, though."

She holds out a chunk of oat bread, which I am far too nervous to eat. "Did everything go well?" I ask.

"I told them the tenant didn't want anyone as young as Arun," Mjera says. "Mama was too grateful to question it. She also agreed to let Tomsu help out at your house while Aze is gone."

"And you're sure Arun will be able to handle your herd on his own?" I ask.

She nods. "He won't have to do it long. Sovlin will help him once we're married."