of lighthearted breeze

(Continuation of story that started on June 28th.)

Part VIII

The patterns on the curtain seemed to swivel with the wind. It was summer. Summer meant soft meadows and muddy feet and Evelyn.

Evelyn was six, like me. Mum said that Evelyn was not going to come to Aedyl anymore.  She had moved to Erasia. The people here called it floating island. Peter said it wasn’t a real place.

“Is that why you hit him?” Mum looked more concerned than angry.

“Peter said Evelyn was not real.” I mumbled. “He said she wasn’t human.”

“Well then, what did he say she was, kitten?”

“The people at the market said she was a Dead. Then I said to him ‘Evelyn’s not like your mum! Evelyn’s not a dead! She a-live!’ and then he tried to punch me.”

“And you hit him…” Mum’s voice was always gentle. Strong, yet gentle. She placed her hand on my shoulder and tilted her head like she did when she was going to say something beautiful. I wish I understood her better.

“Kitten, sometimes, you let people keep secrets. Peter didn’t want his other friends to know about his mum. They might not understand as well as you do. Sometimes, you let people stay quiet and give them time. That’s when they know that they can trust you more than ever.”

I looked up at her. It did not make sense to me. If someone was a human, they were a human, and if they were not, then why should they be treated any different? Mum only smiled and ruffled my hair.

“Your father had green eyes…” her eyes always lit up when she thought about my dad. She laughed softly, “Don’t you ever grow up, kitten, don’t you ever lose yourself.”

There was a sharp knock on the door. Mum tensed. “Wait here.” she whispered, picking up a silver hunting knife from the table on her way out of the room.

The knife, passing though the golden sunbeams only for a second, glowed an unexpected dark purple, then faded quickly back to silver.

T. E. Pyrus

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