Moving wasn't as difficult as I had imagined.
Master Heele borrowed a wagon for us to use, so we were able to take everything in one trip. We didn't bring Mother's loom, because there was a better one at Auntie's house. We had no furniture and only a single trunk of clothing and bedding. It was just a matter of moving our winter food stores from the cellar of the hut.
I frowned thoughtfully as I walked next to the wagon, tapping the wheel spokes with a stick. It was strange to realize that one's entire life could be packed up and hauled away. We had lived in our little hut ever since I was four years old. The only reason I remembered Aunt Theophana so well was because of my unusually long memory. If I'd been any other child, the hut would've been the only home I'd known.
I knew that a life was more than just the tangible things you could carry with you, but that thought was even more alarming. How much of our life were we leaving behind?
I didn't bring up any of my concerns with Mother. She'd already grown weary of reassuring me that we wouldn't be staying at Auntie's house forever.
I knew that the forest wouldn't disappear. There would still be trees, doves, rivers, and beehives when we came back. Our home would go through its natural changes whether we were there to watch it or not.
Besides, didn't I dislike winter? Didn't I grow bored of the quiet? Maybe it would be more fun to have a change for the season.
We arrived at Auntie's house before long. It was a beautiful cottage with two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen, and an attached washroom. It also had a small loft above the living room and a cellar under the kitchen. I knew that there were fancier houses in the village, but this one seemed to be the best in the whole world.
Much of the house was just as I remembered it. The furniture had been left, as had all the little trinkets that Auntie had treasured. (We hadn't been allowed to take anything with us, other than what we had been wearing.) Everything was covered in dust, but we'd have it cleaned up in little time.
I found myself walking around the cottage, studying everything with enhanced interest. Each tool and decoration appeared to be vivid with the energy that I'd always associated with my great-great-aunt.
Aunt Theophana had been an eccentric woman. She'd chosen to never marry, which, in this village, was shocking unto itself. She'd spent her youth traveling, disappearing for months at a time before returning to visit her family. Then in her middle years, she'd settled down just outside the village, selling unusual medicinal remedies and teaching skills to anyone who wanted to learn. Unfortunately, her reputation made her something of an outcast, so she never had many customers or students.
Her wealthy family supported her financially, even though they were terribly embarrassed by her. Auntie had once said that she had no qualms about taking their money because she provided them with endless things to gossip and complain about. She swore that they'd be bored to death without her.
I stopped at the fireplace, looking at the series of small portraits on the mantle. Aunt Theophana had been a skilled artist (although, she'd never said where she learned to draw). She only drew portraits, and she only drew the people she liked. She'd told me that it was too much of a waste to spend time looking at the faces of people who irritated her.
I remembered the names of each of the faces. Auntie had taught them to me, making sure that someone would always remember them. Most of them would forever be strangers to me, but I knew their names.
Two portraits stood out to me. They sat next to each other in matching silver frames. The first was of me, as a toddler. I'd always loved that picture because it was done in black and white. I looked like a normal human child in that portrait. Auntie had tried to color it, but I'd had a tantrum until she agreed to leave it. My neatly curled hair and prim little dress had been specially prepared for the portrait, even though I'd never tolerated it otherwise. It was like a window into what could've been.
The second portrait was of Auntie, Mother, and me as a baby. It was done on my naming day, when I was five days old. That one was fully colored, so my yellow skin was visible. However, I was small, so it was easier to ignore. It was the only self-portrait that Auntie had ever done, though. I had loved it back when she was alive, and I loved it even more after she had died.
Aunt Theophana said that it was hardest to draw yourself because you couldn't see your own beauty the way you can see others'. I used to think she was talking about physical features, so I'd said that all you need is a mirror.
True, she had replied, but the mirror is never an object.
That had been too deep for my four-year-old mind. Honestly, it was too deep for my eleven-year-old mind, as well. I didn't appreciate my aunt's wisdom until much later.
Master Heele had sent Tsuki to help us with the move. He transferred all of our worldly goods into the cottage, not looking even slightly winded by the effort. From there he chopped firewood and stacked it in a corner of the kitchen, then checked all of the doors and windows to make sure they were secure. Mother and I focused on cleaning, even though I grumbled about it the whole time.
Although there were two bedrooms, Mother and I agreed to share one. Neither of us liked sleeping alone, as we had always been together. I was excited to have a proper bed, though. It seemed extremely luxurious.
Tsuki left with the wagon, while we finished the cleaning. By the time the sun had set, our new (old) home was in order.
"Let's go see Auntie," I urged, tugging on Mother's sleeve.
She shook her head. "We'll go in the morning when the sun has risen."
I watched as my mother bolted the doors and closed the curtains. She looked nervous, even though we had permission to be there.
"She's just behind the garden," I pointed out.
"I know," Mother answered shortly.
I heaved a dramatic sigh, but I let it go. I was tired, anyway. An early bedtime would be good for me.
"Here," she said, handing me some bread with honey on it. "Let's not cook tonight."
I nodded. Mother was probably more tired than I was, so a cold supper made sense. After eating, we washed up and went to bed.
The next morning, as she promised, Mother took me to visit Aunt Theophana's grave. There weren't many flowers left, but I made a pretty little bouquet out of colorful leaves. I told her all about our adventure to find the alpine clusters, and Budding's promise to teach me. I told her about Tsuki and yoso, about my grandfather trying to become village chief, and everything else I could think of that had happened since our last visit. Mother let me chatter on as long as I wanted. Auntie had always listened to my long stories, so Mother said she'd probably like hearing them now.
Mother sat quietly, clearing away weeds and cleaning the memorial stone. When that was done, she used a stick to draw a pretty pattern in the dirt mound. It was like she was helping Auntie to get all dressed up.
"…And," I went on, "Stormy finally stopped fighting with Daisy, and now they're friends. I think they will be neighbors again."
I was talking about our doves. Auntie had loved all types of birds.
Mother stood up and brushed off her hands. "All right, my darling. I think we should head back to the house. We need to eat, and then begin on the winter sewing."
I made a face. "No!"
She tapped the top of my head with her fingertips. "Yes."
"But I haven't told her about last year's chicks," I persisted.
Mother was unmoved. "You can tell her another time. We'll be here for a while, so you can talk to her whenever you wish."
I groaned, lying flat on the dead grass. "Save me, Auntie," I pled jokingly. "Mother is determined to torture me!"
"For your information," Mother answered tartly, "your Aunt Theophana was an excellent seamstress."
"She didn't like it, though," I muttered.
Mother started walking back to the cottage, not deigning to answer. I continued to grumble as I followed. It was such a beautiful day, and it seemed a pity to spend it sewing.
***
I had been born in the deep of winter. As the daughter of a tiernan, I'd always thought it would've made more sense to be born in the spring, but that was not the case.
My mother's pregnancy had been shocking and shameful to the Westerly family, but my grandmother had insisted that they could work through the circumstances. I assume that the plan had been to pretend that I was a younger sister to my mother, rather than her daughter.
However, my tiernan features revealed the last of the secrets my mother had been keeping from her parents. My grandfather had flown into a rage at the sight of me. He dragged my mother from her birthing bed and threw her out into the snow. I probably would've been thrown as well, had my mother not been holding me tightly. She had gone to Aunt Theophana's house to escape the cold, and there we stayed.
When I was very young, Auntie would bake a sweet bun for me on my birthday. After she died, we didn't have the means for such luxuries. So, Mother had begun a different tradition to celebrate.
On the morning of my twelfth birthday, I bound out of bed to look out the window.
"There's snow," I sang. "Fresh snow! My birthday wish came true!"
Mother, who was still waking up, attempted to sound excited. "Oh, good."
"What are we going to make this year?" I asked.
She sat up and began braiding her hair. "Let's see," she mused. "Twelve, twelve… What is associated with twelve?"
I immediately started singing and dancing in a circle.
One fair maid, bright and young
Two strong men, far from home
Three tall trees, reach the sky
Four long hours until we fly
Five sad songs for us to sing
Six long months before the spring
Seven quick wolves that sprint ahead
Eight sleek fish within the riverbed
Nine red flowers yet to bloom
Ten round heads on the brown mushroom
Eleven gray deer, tall and proud
Twelve blackbirds among the clouds
Mother cut me off before I could continue with the second half of the song. "Twelve birds would be easy enough to do," she agreed. "Much better than last year's eleven palaces."
"The palaces were beautiful," I protested.
"It took all day," Mother retorted.
I put my fists on my hips. "It was from your favorite story."
She nodded with pretend sorrow. "Yes, I am to blame."
I rushed to get dressed, chirping to myself, "Birds, birds, birds!"
Mother grabbed my arm before I could run off. "Breakfast first, my darling."
I pouted but obeyed. We ate some of the bread Mother had made the day before, topping it with butter and fruit preserves (since it was a special occasion). She even fried the last of our eggs to go with it.
I gave her a tight hug to show my appreciation. She smiled and smoothed my hair, planting a kiss on the top of my head.
I enjoyed my breakfast, but I was on my feet the moment I had taken my last bite. "Hurry," I commanded as I ran to put on my cloak.
I bolted outside, laughing with delight as the sparkling snow met my eyes. I ran over to Aunt Theophana's grave. The memorial stone was buried under a mound of stone, but I still knew exactly where it was.
"We're going to make birthday birds, Auntie," I declared as I began to gather snow up into a wide pedestal. "But first, they need a place to sit."
Mother was slow to join me, as she'd had to clean up after our meal without my help. She didn't scold me, nor did I think she would. Normal rules didn't apply to me on my birthday.
"I made a place to put them," I explained, gesturing to the flat surface I'd shaped.
"Good job," she approved. "Should I get started on the first one?"
"No, I'll make the first one," I insisted. "You make the second one."
We spent the morning creating birds with snow, making each one unique. One had a hat, one had comically thick legs, one had its wings extended, and so forth. Mother's birds were much better than mine, but I knew that mine were more entertaining.
"This last one is for Auntie," I decided, carrying it over to her memorial stone. "It will sing songs for her."
Mother smiled. "I'm sure she loves it."
I looked over the results of our efforts and I sighed with satisfaction. "This must be our best year yet."
She chuckled. "You say that every year."
"And it's always true," I declared as I skipped in a circle around a nearby shrub.
My mother caught me in her arms, stopping me from frolicking. "Let's go inside now, Tiff. We'll have a warm drink and then we'll read a story together."
I broke free from her embrace, cheering as I ran back to the cottage. I'm sure she tried to reprimand me, but I wasn't listening. I didn't care if I slipped or fell, I didn't care if I got snow all over my face. Everything was fun and beautiful on that day.
What made my mood even better was seeing Tsuki walking toward our home. He spotted me and raised his hand to wave.
"Happy birthday," he called once he got closer.
"Thank you!" I answered. "Is today the day? Are you going to let me build a snow monster on your mask?"
He rolled his eyes at me. "I already told you it won't work. It will just get snow all over my face."
"Boring," I accused, leading him to the cottage.
"I brought you a present," he murmured, not looking me in the eye.
I frowned. "But I didn't get you one."
I'd learned that Tsuki's birthday was also in the winter, just a few weeks before mine. He had turned thirteen and had celebrated away from the village with his family.
He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. This gift isn't special."
Mother was waiting for us with warm drinks and a sweet smile. She liked that I finally had a friend.
Tsuki handed me a drawstring bag, then pretended to be preoccupied with his cup while I opened it.
It was a leather yoso board, with pretty designs etched into the borders. The wooden tokens had been painted, but instead of black and white they were purple and yellow. Each of the element symbols had been painted as well as carved.
"It's beautiful," I exclaimed. "Did you make it?"
Tsuki nodded, still refusing to look at me.
"Let's play a game," I suggested. "Will you let me win since it's my birthday?"
He laughed, finally turning his gaze to me. "Never."
I snatched one of the smaller drawstring bags. "I'll be yellow, like the sun. You be purple, like a boring blob of slime."
His eyes looked skeptical. "I've never seen purple slime."
"Slime," I repeated, tossing his bag of tokens at him.
Mother took up her mending basket and sat down to watch us play. The banter was more lively than the game (I still wasn't very good at playing), and the cottage rang with frequent laughter.
I had many fond birthday memories, but that one was easily the best.