Page 79 of Moon Chosen

“That was a mean thing to say.” Sora stared into her stew, biting her lip.

Mari lifted a shoulder, surprised that Sora’s comment made her feel uncomfortable. “I was being honest, not mean. I’m—I’m not used to spending this much time with anyone but Mama. Maybe you should stop being so sensitive.”

“Doyouwant to change the way you are?” Sora asked.

“No. Why should I?”

“I won’t go into that because it would be a really long conversation. I’ll just leave it at this—you don’t want to change. I don’t want to change. So instead of trying to change each other, why don’t we just accept who we are and make the best out of our arrangement?”

“I guess that makes sense.”

“So, is it a deal?” Sora said.

“It is,” Mari agreed.

They finished the stew in silence and with at least the pretense of camaraderie together they cleaned the dishes. It was during the aftermath of dinner that Sora started rubbing her arms, reminding Mari poignantly of Leda.

Mari opened their window to the sky to see that dusk had, indeed, fallen. She drew a deep breath and turned to Sora. “All right, time for lesson number one. Do you know about earth writing?”

Sora was sitting on the pallet, working a wooden comb carefully through her long, thick hair. “No. I’ve never heard of it.”

Mari sighed. “Did Mama teach you nothing?”

“Why don’t you just assume that I know nothing about drawing down the moon, because like I told you earlier,I know nothing about drawing down the moon.” Sora paused and studied Mari before adding, “Why isn’t your skin crawling? It’s after dusk.”

“I’m not like you. Sunset doesn’t affect me,” Mari said.

“Not at all? Your skin doesn’t feel terrible?”

“No,” Mari said.

“You have no pain whether or not you go out in the moonlight?” Sora was watching Mari with big, shocked eyes.

“The setting of the sun doesn’t affect me. Neither does the rising of the moon,” Mari said. “Now, about earth writing.”

“Wait, are you sure you have the power to draw down the moon? I mean, how can you if you can’t feel it in under your skin?”

“This is silly. Showing you is easier than telling you.” Mari hesitated, and then she entered what had been her mother’s room, but was now hers. She went to Leda’s neat stack of cloths and took her cloak. She allowed herself a brief moment to hug the multicolored cloth close to her and breathed deeply of her mother’s scent of rosemary and rose water. She put the cloak around her shoulders, tying it carefully into place before taking two thick clumps of dried sage, held together with brightly colored strips of cloth from Leda’s basket of supplies, and then rejoined Sora in the main room of the burrow.

Mari paused to carefully brush a live coal from the hearth fire into a small tinderbox, and while she was bent to the hearth, Sora reached out and gently brushed her fingers down the sleeve of Leda’s cloak.

“This is so beautiful.”

Mari jerked in surprise, causing Rigel to lift his head and skewer Sora with his amber gaze.

“You don’t need to be so shocked, especially when it makeshimgive me that look. I liked Leda. Plus, I’ve always envied her this cloak. The dyeing is lovely, as is the embroidery of flowers all around the edges of it.”

“Thank you. I made this for Mama.”

“If that’s true you should try making some clothing for yourself. You really don’t have to wear things that are so drab and dirty-looking. I can help you with your hair, too.” Sora paused, studying Mari. “Well, I think I can help you.”

“Sora, I’m tired. I’m sad. And I’m out of patience. Now follow me and try not to talk for a little while.” Mari walked to the door, opened it, and handed Sora her old walking stick. “You’re going to start by holding aside your own bramble branches. And remember—it’s night. We’re hidden here, but be mindful of what you say and how loud you say it. With Mama gone I have no idea where the Clan, or more specifically, the Clansmenare at night.”

“I know where they are. They’re surrounding my lovely little burrow that is now all in ruins,” Sora said in a broken voice. “I barely got out of there.” She picked up her own cloak, grimacing at the dirt and stains that covered it. “Goddess, not having all of my tunics and cloaks and dresses is almost unbearable.”

“Sora, focus. You’re supposed to be my apprentice, and that means you should be thinking about attempting to draw down the moon—not your missing clothes.”

“My clothes aren’t missing. They’re being held hostage,” Sora muttered as she awkwardly brandished the walking stick. Just outside the door, she paused to gently touch the image of the Great Goddess.