The rain beat on the thatch, hammered against the shutters, and trickled under the door. A Flit patiently mopped it up with a wad of rags, wringing them out into a bucket. Gusts rattled the perch, shaking it on the branch, and the tree creaked. The commons were dark, lit by a few tapers and the cook fire. Everyone was muffled in layers against the chill, except me.
'At least the hail's stopped.'
I sat cross-legged on the floor, hands held out at shoulder's width while a grey-haired Flit, Ricca, looped yarn around them. My shoulder, smeared with pungent herbal paste, ached as Heath prodded it and subsided only a little when he relented, draping the blanket back over my bare torso.
"It's not broken, but it's bruised to the bone," Heath said.
"It's sore." I shifted to rest my elbow on my knee, but had to adjust the other to keep the yarn tension consistent. "But not too bad. I can head out to check the Out Posts as soon as the storm dies."
Ricca cackled and unraveled more of the shabby sweater in her lap.
"Storm's likely to run 3 days." Heath stared at the shutters as if he could see through them. "It'll let up for half a day - maybe through late afternoon. Then the baby'll be along."
"Baby?" I frowned; I hadn't noticed any of the Flits were expecting, and that didn't quite fit the context, either.
"The second storm. Smaller, louder. Over faster, at least. But best not to be caught out in it, still."
"How do you know?" 'We don't have anything to forecast the weather here, do we? Not like the satellites over Eritrea's spaceport.'
"It's early, but they do this every year." Heath shrugged as if it were nothing. "A third storm might follow, but it'll be a gentle rain if it does. Cold and unpleasant, but not deadly if you're prepared."
"So I'm stuck?" I gnawed at my lip, picking at the rough scab. 'Sorcha's out in this with no one to help.' A whisper of doubt traced through my mind; five years was a long time without contact. 'Maybe she's…'
"You'll have a chance to heal a bit, young Guardian." Ricca added more loops to my waiting hands. "And make yourself useful, too."
The rain quieted, and a rustle of damp paper drew my attention to my pack. Seti had it open with the clothes hung to dry as best they could in the humidity. Now she held the package Erebus sent for Sorcha, and the twine tying it closed was half unwound.
"Hey!" I tried to keep my voice even, but I drew all eyes just the same. "That's not for you. Leave it."
"It's wet." Seti didn't stop "Have to get it dry or it will mold."
Before I could find the words to stop her or drop the yarn to take the package away, it opened, spilling fat rolls across the floor. Bright red, yellow, and orange, the yarn skeins caught the light with a metallic glitter. Around the commons, motion stilled as even the children, who'd been running circles around the room's edge, gathered to marvel at the colorful yarn.
Heath bent over with an audible creak and collected the three skeins. His face was troubled, and the rain beat against the shutters, picking up again. He motioned to another Flit, and he hurried over with a clean, dry rag. They wrapped the skeins quickly, but carefully, and set them at my side.
"That wasn't yours to open, Seti." Heath's words were hard to hear over the storm raging outside.
"But—" Seti bit back her words and rose, rushing away to a quieter corner of the commons.
My heart twinged in sympathy — it was hard to live, even briefly, without privacy. There was a reason the Training Post kept isolated perches for most of us Flits when communal dorms would have been simpler in so many ways. But my anger countered the sympathy, and I acknowledged it had the same root. Seti now wanted the same courtesy she'd stripped from me.
"That's for Sorcha, isn't it?" Ricca resumed unraveling and rewinding the sweater's yarn. "She's always loved it." Brow creased, the Flit glanced at Heath when he sat heavily next to her, but continued speaking. "She spent the whole winter spinning the year Yorn found that stray ewe."
"I thought she'd been gone for five years?" My head tipped while I tried to recall the tidbits they'd let slip.
"Oh, this was before that… um…" Ricca glanced at Heath again.
"Seven years ago," he supplied. "After her first season as Out Poster, she recalled for the winter." The as it should be went unspoken.
"That's right." Ricca nodded as if Heath's words jogged her memory. "All that wool, collecting dust from early summer. And she got it all prettied up and smooth as can be." She held up the sweater. "This was some of it, now that I think about it. Too bad the ewe didn't survive the winter."
Heath grunted, his eyes resting on the wrapped yarn.
"The next year, she didn't come in. Can you imagine?" She gestured at the walls that rattled with a boom of thunder that made me jump. "Storms like this, in a tiny Out Post? I couldn't do it, not even if I were twenty years younger."
"But she did?" I shifted, trying to ease the discomfort in my shoulder and hips. My bruises were stiffening nicely, and I hadn't let Heath smear paste on all of them.
"Oh yes. She returned the next fall - Yorn went to fetch her." Ricca glanced at her age-gnarled hands. "I… don't know what words they spoke before they arrived, but it was… Neither were happy when they came home."'
"She wintered here anyway?" The pieces were there, but I had to pry them out. I didn't blame the Flits, but a sense of urgency beat at my bones; if I couldn't go look for Sorcha now, then I needed to learn everything I could.
"She stayed three nights. Here in the commons, not in Yorn's perch." Heath sighed. "She borrowed every scrap of yarn anyone would lend her and crocheted it all into a blanket. All patchy and muddled. That took the first two nights and days. We thought—" Heath shook his head. "I thought she finally slept the third night." He swallowed.
"All the bits of yarn — they were returned in the morning," Ricca said, her voice barely audible over the rain. "She must have spent the whole night unraveling and winding." Her fingers sank into the sweater. "But she was gone, and not even the sentries could say when she'd left."
The silence between us was filled with chatter, childish giggles, and pounding rain; it wasn't silence at all. But none of us spoke as the yarn transformed from an old discard to the seeds of something new.
♫♪♫♪
The rains continued through the night and morning, just as Heath predicted. My bruises stiffened further, leaving every motion an agony. I forced my body through some gentle stretches, but when Heath suggested I tell the children some stories about Guari, I didn't demur. As I talked myself hoarse, though continual cups of tea helped, I couldn't help but notice the grown Flits hung on my words as tightly as the children.
'Except Sati.' I glanced to where she bent over a small loom when I inevitably had to slip off to the curtained chamber-pot area. 'If she's spoken since yesterday, it wasn't where you could hear.' I'd asked Heath, but he said she was like this and she'd open up when it suited her. This struck me as the wrong approach, and as the children settled in to nap, I eased closer to Seti, hoping to catch her eye when she glanced up from the loom.
Her fingers were deft, weaving lumpy yarn through the weft and packing the warp tightly. When she didn't acknowledge me, I sank to the floor beside her and got lost in the flashing shuttle. Between the rhythmic motions and the steady rain, I was half-asleep before Seti spoke.
"What do you want?"
I jerked, drawing a deep breath, and resisted the urge to stretch.
"Just… checking." I fidgeted. "We may have gotten off on the wrong foot."
Seti snorted, and the shuttle flew faster.
"What does it matter? You're a Guardian, here to save the day. Then you'll flit back to Guari, or Kalibrum, or wherever, and tell everyone how you helped poor, backwater Ismene." The thump thump as she packed the yarn tight grew loud enough to be heard over the rain. "No thank you, Guardian. The others might have fallen in line with your grand plans, but leave me out."
'And you thought you'd made a connection yesterday.' I chewed my lip, remembering the surprise and gratitude that had swirled through her eyes after I'd shifted her back. I shook my head. 'Then everyone fell all over you, moaning over your bruises and making sure you were warm enough. When Seti tried to help, she got yelled at about the yarn.' I wanted to beat my head against the wall. 'You are such an idiot.'
"It doesn't have to be like that. I don't want it to be like that."
Seti looked up, her eyes glittering in the taper-light.
"What did Heath tell you?" Her breath was heavy, as if she'd just landed from a challenging message run.
"Nothing!"
When her glare intensified, I looked away.
"He told me about the last Guardian, Monat. And Erebus, and Lila." I refocused on Seti. "But why do you think I'm here to 'save' you, then leave?"
"What else is here for you? A bit of glory, and you'll be gone with the snow." Seti's lips curled into a sneer, and she leaned over the loom.
"Maybe I'll be recalled — I can't plan on that not happening." I bent over, trying to meet her eyes again. "But isn't it better to save yourself?"
"What?" That had Seti looking up, and the tear tracks down her face caught the light. "I'm not like you."
"What do you mean?" With a shrug, I chuckled, then winced. 'Oww. Note to self, fledgling — don't do that until the bruises heal.' "You're a Flit. I'm a Flit. When the feathers are in the wind—"
"I ran!" The shuttle hit the floor and Seti leapt to her feet. "I didn't swoop in and save anybody. I ran." The last word broke into a sob as Seti whirled, fleeing to the only place with a modicum of privacy.
'Hope nobody needs to pee for a bit.' I chewed my lip, tracing the weft's pattern on the loom. 'When did she run? Not yesterday — she went to shut the perches just like I did.' My eyes lingered on the newest weaving; a jumbled, lumpy mess with uneven tension and loops hanging off the ends. Shock widened my eyes. 'Not yesterday. Fifteen years ago — the rabbit attack. She's the only one who lived. Because she ran.'