"You like me?" Mayra repeated his words carefully, rephrasing slightly. There was much to analyze in them. Friends liked each other.
Their hands were still against the tree trunk, almost touching, as they faced each other.
Mayra almost pulled hers back to herself, but Peter tilted his head curiously, distracting her.
"Why does that surprise you?" He asked.
She supposed it shouldn't. He'd admitted to being jealous before. One wasn't usually jealous without some level of liking.
"I'm not sure," She replied honestly. "I guess it's hard for me to think about. I don't like dwelling on it."
"Why?" He looked down at her with openness, obviously prepared to accept whatever answer she could come up with.
"I hate change," She blurted suddenly. "It's fine if you like me. It's… when it becomes more than liking, things will change. They've already changed, some. And I don't like it."
"What do you mean, you hate change?" Peter asked incredulously. "You're the QUEEN of change! Adventure and new marvels every day! Sea-swimming, octopus-cooking, moving halfway across the world on a whim, why even today you've entirely changed your fashion to wear this attire!"
"I thought you said you liked it?" She tugged at the skirt with her free hand, spreading the light fabric so that the entrancing pattern was more visible.
"I do like it. Quite a bit, actually," He said, "but that's not the point. How can you possibly claim to hate change?"
"I can control all that!" Mayra was becoming a little angry at his probing, and stepped a little closer as she began to rant. "I can change my dress, and where I live, and learn new things, and travel and see new people! Because I choose to! But the kind of change that happens without my consent, I don't like it one bit! It's terrible! My life could be turned inside-out and upside down without a word of permission from me!"
"You're angry that I might care for you more than you've consented to?" He seemed perplexed, yet slightly amused.
"Yes! You've said we can go on like always, but can we? Are you going to make me care for you more than I'm willing to? Don't I get a say in that?" She continued her verbal barrage, her pitch rising in anger.
"You're mad… because you think I'm going to force you to fall in love with me?" Peter asked slowly.
"Well when you phrase it like that I sound like a lunatic, don't I?" She threw up her hands in exasperation, but Peter caught them. "What are you doing?" Her voice suddenly squeaked out.
He stepped closer, placing her hands up around his neck. Her head suddenly felt flooded, and her thoughts turned far less coherent.
"I want to know," He said, "if you really think that's possible."
"What?" She barely managed to get the word out. After placing her hands around his neck, he traced his fingers lightly back up both her arms, leaving tracks of fire that rivaled the embers that had burned her skirt a while earlier.
"Is it within my capability," He said, running one hand over her shoulder to rest at the small of her back, as in a dance position, "to force you," his other hand ran up her neck to cup her cheek gently, sending shivers down her spine, "to fall in love with me," he paused here, looking into her eyes.
"Or are you upset because I'm not forcing anything, and you're far more willing than you wished you were?" He finished.
Mayra had no reply to the question. He'd called her out so precisely that it was almost infuriating. She wanted to be infuriated. Only, with his thumb gently stroking her cheekbone she found that fury was somehow beyond her reach.
"Peter," She asked after a moment, "are you sure about this?"
It could ruin everything. They had a wonderful, if tumultuous, friendship. If he kissed her now, he could alter that forever. Surely he wouldn't like her anymore. She was deeply flawed.
Could he love her, truly?
Gwen's words from the dream came back to her in a flood. 'You are seen, and known, and loved for who you are', she'd said. Mayra pushed back the emotion that choked her throat and searched Peter's eyes. Was he able to love her for who she was?
"I am sure," Peter responded, "but I'm willing to wait until you are."
He began to pull back gently from the embrace, but Mayra used the leverage of her hands around his neck to pull him down suddenly into a tight hug.
"I don't deserve you," She whispered, mostly to herself.
"Don't talk like that," He chastised, holding her. "You know better."
"Do I?" She sighed.
He pulled back a little to look into her face.
"You're the smartest person I know, you should know better." He said.
"That can't be true," She rolled her eyes.
"It is true. You're clever and kindhearted and beautiful and adventurous–"
"You'll give me a big head," She interjected.
"--And a bit nosy sometimes, and you lack caution, and could stand to–"
"All right! All right! I get it." Mayra frowned at him. "What exactly is your goal here? To puff up my pride or cut it down?"
"Neither," Peter smiled. "I see your triumphs and your faults, and without them, you wouldn't be you."
Mayra's frown deepened, but she didn't respond right away.
"We'd better go see Quilina instead of wasting the day here," She said at length.
Peter stared at her for a silent moment and let her go a little reluctantly. As she turned away towards the cottage where Quilina lived, Peter resumed walking by her side.
No more words were exchanged until they arrived at the strangely quiet cottage. It was the middle of the day; perhaps they were out gathering fruit or working on harvesting a field or vegetable patch.
Peter knocked at the door, and after a few moments it slowly opened.
"Jacqueline!" Mayra cried in alarm. The woman had dark circles under her eyes, and looked as if she hadn't slept in ages.
"Oh, hello…" Quilina's mother was clearly struggling to remember Mayra's name.
"Mayra. Are you all right? Is Quilina doing ok?" The young woman wanted to push inside and see for herself, but that would be beyond the pale of rudeness to someone she hardly knew.
"She's… you'd better come in, I think," Jacqueline turned away without opening the door further, causing Peter to look at Mayra with an expression that urged caution. She pushed the door open and followed anyway.
"Quilina, love, that girl Mayra has come to see you," The girl's mother went to a small cot where the child sat, huddled into a corner where the light streamed in from the window, as if trying to stay contained within the square of brightness it made on the blanket.
"Hello, sweet girl," Mayra sat down beside the child, careful not to block the light she seemed to crave. "I brought you the new doll we talked about."
She pulled it from her satchel and offered it to Quilina.
The girl blinked a few times, then reached out for it.
"What's her name?" She asked.
"I thought we could name her together, if you'd like." Mayra smiled gently. She could hear Peter and Jacqueline's whispered conversation behind her.
"Won't sleep-–terrible dreams-–so scared of the dark" Jacqueline's mother was whispering to him.
"What sorts of names do you think would suit her?" Mayra went on as Quilina examined the doll.
"I don't know." Quilina frowned. "What would you call her?"
The woman thought for a moment as she took in the dark, frightened appearance of the little girl. "I've always liked the name Lucy. It means light, I think."
"Lucy?" Quilina squinted, and Mayra wondered if she'd said the wrong thing. Perhaps she needed to be way more subtle with trying to cheer the girl up.
"It's up to you, of course," She smiled as brightly as she could, "but I know she'll love being with you, no matter what you decide to call her,"
"I love Lucy," Quilina looked down at the doll, stroking her hair. "She's pretty."
"And brave," Mayra added. "I picked the bravest doll they had."
"Good," The little girl nodded. "Mama, can I take Lucy outside to play for a little while?"
"Of course, dear." Jacqueline wore a relieved smile, and the little girl slowly got up and left. "That's the first time she's wanted to play in days."
"She's been having bad dreams?" Mayra asked with concern.
"She says Tamas is mean to her now, since she stopped playing follow the leader. She screams…" The woman swallowed. "I don't know what to do."
"Peter, what time is that boat leaving for Klain today?" The young woman asked.
"This afternoon, I believe." He replied.
"Jacqueline, I think you should be on it, you and Quilina. I'm sure you have two dozen questions, but the best hope of getting your daughter well is probably there."
The mother's mouth firmed into a flat line as her eyes cut over to the door where her daughter had just left.
"How long do I have to pack?"