The first thing Kryssa heard that morning was her sister arguing with a bird. The creature had settled upon the wooden railing outside their bedroom window and seemed entirely untroubled by the accusations being directed toward it. Whenever Shaya spoke, it answered with a short, cheerful whistle, which only appeared to deepen whatever offense she believed it had committed. Kryssa listened from beneath her blanket for several moments, trying to determine whether the bird had actually done something wrong or whether her sister had simply decided that the morning required an argument.
"You're not listening!" Shaya declared, leaning toward the open window with both hands upon the sill. The bird tilted its head, regarded her with apparent curiosity, and gave another whistle. "Well, fine! I didn't want to talk to you anyway."
Kryssa pulled the blanket over her head, hoping that the darkness beneath it might somehow convince the rest of the world to remain asleep. The previous evening, she had stayed awake much longer than she should have, attempting to finish a small weaving project their mother had given her. She had nearly succeeded before Shaya discovered what she was doing and insisted upon helping, which had resulted in several tangled lengths of thread and very little progress.
"Shaya," Kryssa mumbled, "it's too early."
"No, it isn't." Her sister's answer came immediately, accompanied by the sound of footsteps moving away from the window. "Father's already awake."
"Father wakes up before the sun," Kryssa replied, pressing her face farther into her pillow. "That doesn't mean everyone else has to."
"Mother's awake too."
"Mother wakes up because Father makes too much noise."
Shaya considered this explanation with the seriousness she usually reserved for important matters, such as deciding which of them deserved the larger portion of dessert. Kryssa could hear her shifting around the room, occasionally muttering something to herself, and knew from experience that silence would only encourage her sister to find another means of attracting attention. She was therefore unsurprised when the bedframe creaked beneath an additional weight and a pair of small hands began tugging at her blanket.
"Well, I'm awake," Shaya announced, apparently believing this settled the matter.
"Yes, I've noticed." Kryssa opened one eye and found her younger sister kneeling beside her pillow, wearing the same loose sleeping clothes she had worn to bed. Her hair was hopelessly tangled, and the little crystal pendant she kept around her neck had somehow become caught in a particularly impressive knot near her shoulder. Kryssa wondered how anyone could make such a mess of themselves while sleeping, although she suspected that Shaya might have found a way to do it deliberately.
"That means you should be awake," Shaya continued, reaching for the blanket again. When Kryssa refused to surrender it, her sister leaned closer and narrowed her eyes. "You're being very difficult this morning."
Kryssa finally lowered the blanket and studied her with an expression of exaggerated concern. "Your hair looks like a bird's nest."
Shaya gasped and immediately reached toward her head, finding several knots that only seemed to confirm the accusation. "It does not!"
"It does. Maybe that's why the bird was talking to you." Kryssa smiled with the satisfaction of having discovered a sufficiently irritating explanation. "Perhaps it thought you were building a home for it."
For a moment, Shaya appeared genuinely horrified by the possibility. Then she noticed her sister's expression, seized the corner of the blanket, and pulled with all the strength she could muster. Kryssa held on, determined not to surrender her comfortable position simply because Shaya had decided that everyone should be awake. Unfortunately, neither girl had considered how close they were to the edge of the bed, and their struggle ended when both tumbled onto the woven mat below in a thoroughly undignified heap.
Their mother appeared in the doorway shortly afterward, carrying a small wooden bowl and looking remarkably unsurprised by what she found. She stood watching them for a moment, her gaze passing from the overturned blanket to Kryssa's indignant expression and finally to Shaya, who was still gripping a corner of the fabric as though unwilling to concede defeat.
"I see you've decided to begin the day by fighting over the floor," she observed, stepping around the scattered bedding.
"She pushed me!" Shaya protested, attempting to disentangle herself from her sister's arm. Kryssa immediately objected, insisting that Shaya had been the one pulling at the blanket, which only encouraged the younger girl to repeat her accusation with greater enthusiasm.
Their mother listened patiently until both had finished, although Kryssa could see the beginnings of a smile forming at the corners of her mouth. "Well," she said at last, "whoever started it can help me prepare the herbs this morning."
Both girls immediately pointed at each other.
"Wonderful," their mother replied, her smile finally escaping. "I could use two helpers."
Kryssa opened her mouth to protest, then thought better of it. Their mother had an extraordinary talent for turning arguments into chores, and experience had taught her that further complaints usually resulted in additional work. Shaya, however, appeared quite pleased with the arrangement now that it involved spending the morning with their mother. She scrambled to her feet, retrieved her pendant from the tangle of her hair, and hurried toward the doorway without bothering to straighten the bedding.
Kryssa watched her go with a mixture of irritation and affection. At ten years old, she considered the three years separating her from Shaya a rather significant advantage in wisdom and experience, although her seven-year-old sister seemed determined to challenge that belief at every opportunity. There were mornings when Kryssa wondered what life might be like if she could spend even a little time without Shaya following her from one room to another. Yet when her sister disappeared around the corner, already calling for their mother to wait, Kryssa found herself getting up more quickly than she had intended.
Their home stood near the edge of a small settlement nestled among the forests of Altamira, where the trees grew close enough that their branches occasionally brushed against the roof during heavy winds. It was a modest house, built of timber, woven reeds, and clay, with a covered porch overlooking a narrow footpath that wound between the neighboring homes. Bundles of drying herbs hung from the rafters, and the familiar smells of woodsmoke, crushed leaves, and freshly prepared food lingered in the rooms long after the hearth had been extinguished.
Beyond the house, the village was already stirring. The sound of an axe striking wood carried from somewhere along the path, accompanied by the distant complaints of a neighbor who considered such work unnecessarily loud before breakfast. Cooking fires sent thin trails of smoke into the morning air, while people moved between their gardens, workshops, and homes with the easy familiarity of those who had known one another for years. A pair of older children hurried past the porch carrying woven baskets, their laughter following them along the trail toward the gathering grounds.
Kryssa knew nearly every corner of the settlement. She knew which steps creaked beneath her feet, which neighbors kept sweets for visiting children, and which paths became slippery after rain. She knew where the largest flowers grew during the warmer months and which hollow trees attracted the most insects when evening approached. Some of these things she had learned from her parents, but many she had discovered with Shaya during their countless adventures around the village.
To Kryssa, there was nothing especially remarkable about this knowledge. She had never known a home where people did not greet one another in passing or where children could not recognize the familiar sounds of their neighbors beginning the day. The forest, the houses, and the people who lived among them were as much a part of her understanding of the world as her own family.
When she entered the main room, her father had already returned from checking the snares along one of the nearby forest paths. His bow rested against the wall beside the doorway, and a pair of damp boots sat beneath the porch bench. He was examining a length of cord at the family table, turning it between his fingers while their mother prepared breakfast over the hearth.
"Good morning, my little hunters," he greeted them, setting the cord aside as Shaya ran toward him. He lifted her into his lap and opened his other arm for Kryssa, who approached at a more dignified pace but accepted his embrace just as eagerly. His clothing smelled faintly of damp earth and the cool morning air, a familiar scent that Kryssa had always associated with his return from the forest.
"Mother says we have to help with the herbs," Kryssa informed him once she had settled beside his chair. She considered mentioning that the entire situation was Shaya's fault, although her sister seemed equally determined to present her own account of what had happened.
"Because Kryssa pushed me off the bed!" Shaya announced before her sister could continue.
Their father glanced toward their mother, who was stirring something over the hearth. "An eventful morning, then."
"Very," she answered without turning around. "And apparently neither of them is responsible for any of it."
"A remarkable mystery." He nodded thoughtfully, wearing the solemn expression he sometimes adopted when pretending to consider an important problem. Kryssa knew perfectly well that he was teasing them, but she still rolled her eyes when he reached over and gave her nose a playful tap.
He returned his attention to the cord for a moment before looking toward the doorway. "Perhaps you can both help me afterward. I was planning to walk down to the stream and check the eastern path."
Kryssa immediately straightened. She enjoyed accompanying her father into the forest, especially when he allowed her to practice the things he had been teaching her. Although she was still young, she had already begun taking considerable pride in her ability to recognize tracks, follow trails, and move quietly through the undergrowth.
"To hunt?" she asked, trying not to sound too eager.
"Not today. I need to see what the rain has done to the trail." He looked at her thoughtfully. "You may bring your bow, provided you can carry it without complaining."
"I never complain."
Shaya made a loud, disbelieving noise from his lap, earning herself an offended look from her older sister. Their father laughed and gently lowered her to the floor, explaining that they could both accompany him if their mother agreed.
"Mother!" Shaya called, running toward the hearth.
"I heard," their mother replied, turning just enough to look at them. Her expression softened when she saw how eagerly both girls were waiting for an answer. "You may go if you finish helping me first, and if your father keeps you from falling into the stream again."
"That only happened once," Kryssa insisted.
"Twice," her father corrected, raising two fingers for emphasis.
"The second time was Shaya!" Kryssa protested, although she remembered the incident rather differently from her sister, who immediately began explaining that she had only been trying to help.
Their mother set down her spoon and looked between the three of them. "I have been blessed with three helpers," she announced, "and not one of them has managed to stay dry near that stream."
Kryssa would have liked to argue, but the laughter that followed made it difficult to maintain her indignation. Even her father appeared willing to accept the accusation, although she suspected he had only done so because it spared him from admitting that he had been the first person to slip during their previous visit.
The morning's work began with the herbs hanging near the hearth. Their mother had gathered several bundles over the previous days, and many had dried sufficiently to be cleaned, sorted, and placed into storage. Others required more attention, particularly the roots that needed to be carefully washed before they could be cut. Kryssa enjoyed helping with these preparations, especially when she was trusted to identify a plant or measure a portion herself. She had spent enough time watching her mother work to recognize many of the familiar scents that filled their home, and each new lesson made her feel a little more capable.
Shaya approached the task with considerably less patience. She was not particularly interested in memorizing the names of plants, but she enjoyed grinding dried leaves with the mortar and pestle, a responsibility she pursued with such enthusiasm that much of the resulting powder escaped the bowl. By the time their mother noticed, a fine green dust had settled across the table, and Shaya was examining her work with evident satisfaction.
"Slowly, sweetheart," their mother reminded her, reaching over to steady the mortar. "You needn't strike it quite so hard."
"I am being slow," Shaya insisted. She looked down at the powder scattered around the bowl and frowned, apparently surprised by how much of it had escaped.
"You've covered half the table," Kryssa observed, leaning closer to inspect the mess. She could not resist adding that Shaya had managed to make considerably more powder than she had the previous day.
"Thank you!" Shaya replied brightly.
Kryssa stared at her. "That wasn't a compliment."
"Oh." Shaya considered this for a moment, then resumed grinding with slightly less enthusiasm.
Their mother laughed softly and placed a small bundle of leaves before Kryssa. "Tell me what these are."
Kryssa turned one over between her fingers, examining the pale veins that ran toward its pointed tip. The leaves were narrow and slightly brittle, and when she rubbed one gently between her fingers, it released a familiar bitter scent. She remembered seeing her mother prepare them for an older villager whose joints had become swollen after a long day's work.
"These are the ones you use for swollen joints," she answered, pleased that the memory had come to her so quickly.
"Very good. And what must we remember before preparing them?"
"Not too much," Kryssa replied after a moment's thought. "And they have to be dried properly."
Their mother nodded approvingly, but Shaya had already leaned across the table with an expression of renewed curiosity. "What happens if you use too much?"
"It can make someone ill," their mother explained, gathering the scattered powder into a small pile. "The same plant that helps someone when prepared carefully may harm them when used without enough thought."
Shaya frowned at the leaves. "Then why do we keep them?"
"Because being useful doesn't mean something is harmless." Their mother gently took the leaf from Kryssa's fingers and placed it with the others. "We learn how to use these plants so that we can help people, but we must also learn when not to use them."
Kryssa repeated the explanation quietly to herself, committing it to memory. She wanted to remember every lesson her mother gave her, not merely because she enjoyed being praised, but because the work seemed important in a way that many of her other chores did not. People came to their house when they were injured, frightened, or uncertain, and her mother always seemed to know how to make their burdens a little easier to carry.
"You needn't remember every word," her mother told her, noticing her concentration. "Understanding why is more important."
"I know," Kryssa answered, although she continued examining the leaves as though the proper answer might somehow be hidden among their veins.
Their mother smiled and returned to her work. Before long, a neighbor arrived carrying a small basket and a length of cloth wrapped around one wrist. The woman apologized for interrupting their morning, but Kryssa's mother welcomed her inside without hesitation, clearing a place near the hearth and asking the girls to bring warm water and clean linen.
Kryssa watched as her mother carefully unwrapped the injured wrist and examined the swelling beneath. She spoke calmly, asking how the injury had happened and whether the woman had been able to rest it, but she also listened while their visitor described the work waiting for her at home. Rather than scolding her, their mother helped her decide what could be postponed and offered to prepare something that might ease the discomfort.
Kryssa was fascinated by the ease with which her mother managed the conversation. The injury required attention, but so did the person carrying it, and her mother seemed to understand that helping someone involved more than simply identifying what hurt. When the woman finally departed, she was smiling despite the bandage around her wrist, and Kryssa wondered whether she might someday learn to make people feel as comfortable as her mother did.
Their father returned from the porch shortly afterward, having finished repairing the cord he had been examining. He found the girls carefully arranging the remaining herbs into their proper bundles, although Shaya had grown distracted by a small insect wandering along the windowsill. When their mother declared the work finished, he collected a walking staff from beside the doorway and prepared to leave.
Shaya immediately reached for it. "Can I carry that?"
"You're a little small for this one," he replied, holding the staff upright beside her.
"I'm not that small."
"Then why does it stand taller than you?"
Shaya examined the staff from top to bottom, apparently searching for a convincing explanation. "Because you made it too big."
Kryssa burst into laughter, delighted by the expression of solemn defeat that crossed their father's face. He acknowledged the argument with a small bow of his head before handing the staff to his older daughter instead.
"Here. You can carry this."
Shaya's mouth fell open. "That's not fair!"
"She's older," their father explained, although Kryssa suspected that he was enjoying the dispute far more than he should have.
"That's always your excuse!" Shaya folded her arms, looking between the two of them with the indignation of someone who had been personally wronged.
Kryssa rested the staff against her shoulder and gave her sister a smug smile. "Perhaps when you're older."
"When I'm older, I'm going to be taller than both of you," Shaya declared.
Their father leaned toward Kryssa and lowered his voice. "Then we had better enjoy our remaining years."
Kryssa laughed, but she noticed the small frown that remained on Shaya's face. Being the older sister had its advantages, although she had begun to understand that those advantages often came with expectations. Her father trusted her to carry things, remember instructions, and watch where her sister wandered. Sometimes she enjoyed that responsibility, especially when it meant being treated as someone capable rather than as a small child. At other times, she wished she could simply run ahead without having to look over her shoulder.
When they finally set out, she held the staff in one hand and offered the other to Shaya. Her sister regarded it suspiciously for a moment, still annoyed about the unfairness of being younger, but eventually took it.
The path through the forest was damp from the previous evening's rain. Sunlight filtered through the branches in broad, shifting patches, illuminating moss-covered stones and the dark soil beneath the trees. Water still clung to the leaves overhead, and occasionally a heavy droplet fell onto the path with a soft splash. The air smelled of wet bark, rich earth, and flowers whose fragrance seemed strongest after rainfall, while the distant sound of running water grew gradually clearer as they moved away from the settlement.
Kryssa walked beside her father, trying to match the careful placement of his feet. She had been practicing for several weeks, watching the way he moved through the forest without disturbing the branches or scattering loose stones beneath his boots. He made it appear effortless, although she knew from experience that walking quietly required more attention than simply placing one foot before the other. Whenever she grew impatient, she found herself stepping too heavily or brushing against a low branch, and her father would remind her that there was little benefit in moving quickly if everything nearby could hear her coming.
Shaya, meanwhile, seemed determined to step upon every dry twig she encountered.
"Shaya," Kryssa whispered, glancing over her shoulder, "you're being loud."
"I'm walking," her sister replied, apparently finding this explanation more than sufficient.
"You're supposed to walk quietly."
"Why?"
"Because Father said so."
Their father glanced back at them, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. "I said that quiet footsteps help you hear what's happening around you. If you're making too much noise yourself, you might miss something worth noticing."
Shaya considered this instruction and immediately began walking upon her toes. For several steps she managed to move with impressive care, keeping her arms extended for balance and watching the ground with such concentration that Kryssa almost felt proud of her. Unfortunately, her attention was so firmly fixed upon her feet that she failed to notice a raised root directly ahead. She stumbled, and Kryssa caught her by the arm before she could fall.
"See?" Kryssa said, helping her regain her balance. "You have to watch where you're going."
"That root wasn't there before," Shaya insisted, examining the offending obstacle with considerable suspicion.
Their father stopped beside a patch of soft earth where the trail narrowed between two large trees. He crouched near the edge of the path and beckoned for both girls to join him, drawing their attention to several impressions left in the mud. Some were distinct enough to reveal their shape, while others had been softened by the rain.
"What do you see?" he asked.
Kryssa knelt beside him and studied the marks. She had seen similar tracks before, although she could not immediately remember where, and she was reluctant to offer an answer until she felt reasonably certain. The impressions were narrow and slightly pointed, pressed deeply into the softer ground, with small ridges where the mud had shifted beneath the creature's weight.
"Tracks," she answered at last.
"Very good. Whose?"
Kryssa leaned closer. "A deer?"
"Perhaps," her father replied, giving her nothing more than an encouraging smile.
"A goat," Shaya announced from the other side of the trail.
Kryssa frowned. "That's what I was going to say."
"No, you said deer."
"I said perhaps a deer."
"You said deer," Shaya repeated, looking entirely satisfied with herself.
Their father raised one hand before the argument could continue. "Then let's see what else we can learn. Look beyond the footprints."
He pointed toward a cluster of flattened grass beside the trail, where several stems had been bent in the same direction. Kryssa followed their line with her eyes and noticed that they led toward a narrower path descending through the trees.
"Something went toward the stream," she said, feeling more confident now that she could see how the signs connected.
"That's a reasonable possibility. And why might it have gone there?"
"To drink?"
"Perhaps." He looked toward Shaya, who had been examining the ground with growing interest. "What do you think?"
"Maybe it was thirsty," she replied.
Kryssa sighed. "That's what I just said."
Their father laughed quietly, although he did not dismiss the answer. Instead, he asked them to consider which parts of their explanation they had actually seen and which they were merely guessing. Kryssa found this distinction rather frustrating. She wanted to know what had passed through the forest, not spend the entire morning discussing whether they could be certain about it.
"We know something walked here," she said after some thought. "And it probably went toward the stream."
"Good. What else?"
Shaya leaned forward, studying the impressions with renewed determination. "And it has feet."
Their father turned toward her with an approving nod. "An excellent observation."
"Father!" Kryssa protested. "That doesn't help!"
"It does if you remember that even the simplest observation is worth something." He rose and brushed the damp earth from his hands. "A hunter who decides too quickly what he's looking at may miss the truth standing directly before him."
Kryssa considered his words as they continued along the trail. She liked discovering the answers to things, but she had never been particularly fond of waiting for them, especially when she believed she already understood the problem. Her father, by contrast, seemed capable of spending an entire morning examining a trail without once becoming impatient. She wondered whether that was something she would eventually learn or whether patience was simply easier for people who had already grown up.
Shaya walked beside her for a while, occasionally glancing back toward the tracks.
"I still think it was a goat," she whispered.
Kryssa looked down at her sister. "Why?"
"Because deer are too clever to leave footprints for us to find."
For several moments, Kryssa could do nothing but stare. Then she began laughing so hard that their father turned around to find out what had happened. Shaya joined in without fully understanding why her answer was amusing, and the sound of their laughter carried through the trees until their father reminded them that they were supposed to be practicing their quiet footsteps.
Kryssa tried to obey, but every time she glanced at Shaya, she remembered the explanation about clever deer and had to fight back another smile.
By midday, the forest began to open around them, revealing a narrow stream that wound between mossy banks and clusters of smooth stones. The water was clear enough to see the pale pebbles beneath its surface, and in the shallower places it moved quickly around exposed roots and fallen branches. Ferns grew thickly along the banks, their leaves bending toward the water, while small flowers opened among the grasses wherever sunlight reached the ground.
Their mother settled near a shaded section of the bank to gather the plants she needed, carefully examining each before removing it. Kryssa had often watched her work in the forest and knew that she never gathered more than she intended to use. Sometimes she left a patch untouched even when its plants were particularly useful, explaining that the forest needed time to replenish what its people took from it.
Their father moved a little farther upstream to inspect the trail, leaving the girls with instructions to remain close enough that their mother could see them. Kryssa promised they would behave, although Shaya immediately asked whether they could explore the stones along the water's edge. Their mother agreed, provided they stayed within sight and avoided the deeper pools.
For a while, they did exactly as they had been told.
Kryssa discovered a fallen tree trunk lying beside the stream and decided to practice balancing along its length. The trunk was not especially high above the ground, but she enjoyed imagining that she was crossing a deep ravine while dangerous creatures waited below. She held her arms away from her sides and moved carefully from one end to the other, taking considerable satisfaction in the fact that she reached the far side without stumbling.
Shaya watched from below with growing determination.
"I can do that," she announced.
Kryssa looked down at her. "No, you can't."
"Yes, I can."
"You're too little."
"I'm not little!" Shaya insisted, planting both hands upon the trunk as though preparing to prove her sister wrong.
Kryssa hesitated. She enjoyed being the first to accomplish something, particularly when her sister was watching, but she also knew that Shaya would keep trying until someone allowed her to participate. Rather than argue further, she returned to the nearer end and offered her hand.
"Fine. Try."
Shaya climbed onto the trunk and began walking, placing each foot carefully before the other. For three steps, she managed remarkably well, and Kryssa was almost ready to admit that she had underestimated her. Then Shaya shifted her weight too quickly, lost her balance, and tipped toward the ground.
Kryssa caught her hand before she fell.
The sudden movement startled her more than she expected. Although the trunk was low enough that a fall would probably have caused little more than a scraped knee, she felt a brief, unpleasant tightening in her chest as she imagined her sister striking the stones nearby. She held on until Shaya had steadied herself, then quickly adopted the stern expression she had seen their father use whenever one of them behaved carelessly.
"I told you," she said.
"I almost did it," Shaya replied, looking more disappointed than frightened.
"You almost fell."
"But I didn't."
"Because I caught you."
Shaya considered this and stuck out her tongue. Kryssa responded in kind, relieved to discover that whatever embarrassment her sister felt had already passed. She did not particularly enjoy being responsible for Shaya all the time, but she liked even less the thought of her getting hurt.
They abandoned the trunk shortly afterward and wandered toward a cluster of stones that formed a rough crossing over the shallower part of the stream. Kryssa studied them with interest. The distance between each stone was not especially great, and she was reasonably certain that she could reach the opposite bank without difficulty.
Shaya followed her gaze and immediately grew suspicious.
"Mother said we shouldn't get wet," she reminded her.
"We won't," Kryssa replied, testing the nearest stone with the end of her walking staff.
"She said that last time too."
Kryssa turned toward her sister. "That was different."
"How?"
"I know what I'm doing now."
Shaya narrowed her eyes. "That's what you said last time."
Kryssa decided that this observation did not deserve an answer. She stepped onto the first stone, carefully placing her weight near its center before reaching toward the second. Both held firm beneath her feet, and she felt a small surge of satisfaction as she approached the middle of the stream. The third stone was slightly farther away, but she could see a flat section near its edge that appeared suitable for landing.
Unfortunately, she had not noticed the thin layer of wet moss covering its surface.
Her foot slipped the moment she transferred her weight. She threw out her arms in a desperate attempt to recover her balance, but the walking staff only made the movement more awkward, and within an instant she found herself sitting in the shallow water with her clothes thoroughly soaked.
For several moments, Kryssa remained where she had landed, staring at the stone that had betrayed her. The water was cold enough to make her gasp, although she was far more concerned with the possibility that someone had witnessed the accident. She slowly turned toward the bank and discovered Shaya standing with both hands pressed over her mouth.
Her sister tried very hard not to laugh.
She failed.
Shaya's laughter burst from her with such force that she had to sit down on the grass. Every attempt to speak only made matters worse, and soon she was laughing so hard that tears had gathered at the corners of her eyes.
"It's not funny," Kryssa insisted, pushing herself upright and trying unsuccessfully to wring the water from the hem of her clothing.
"You said you knew what you were doing!" Shaya managed between bursts of laughter.
"I slipped!"
"You fell!"
"I know!"
Their mother looked up from the plants she had been gathering, alerted by the sound of her daughters shouting. Kryssa closed her eyes when she heard her name, already recognizing the amusement in her mother's voice.
"Kryssa? Are you in the stream?"
"Yes, Mother," she answered reluctantly, wishing that the earth might open beneath the water and spare her from the conversation.
"Did you fall?"
Kryssa glanced toward Shaya, who was still struggling to breathe between bursts of laughter. "Yes."
Their mother sighed, although the sound was quickly followed by laughter of her own. She made her way toward the girls, checking that Kryssa had not struck her head or injured herself before helping her toward the bank. Shaya continued giggling as she scrambled to her feet and offered her hand, apparently determined to contribute to the rescue.
Kryssa accepted it despite her embarrassment. Her sister was much too small to pull her from the water by herself, and she knew perfectly well that trying would probably send them both tumbling into the stream. Nevertheless, Shaya held on with great determination until Kryssa was safely standing beside her.
"There," Shaya announced proudly. "I saved you."
Kryssa stared at her. "You laughed at me."
"I can do both."
Their mother laughed again, and Kryssa finally surrendered to the absurdity of the situation. She was still cold, uncomfortable, and thoroughly embarrassed, but Shaya's delighted expression made it difficult to remain angry. Besides, she suspected that if their positions had been reversed, she would have laughed just as hard.
They returned to the village later that afternoon, following the familiar path beneath a canopy that had grown quieter in the warmth of the day. Kryssa's clothes had mostly dried by the time they reached home, although her shoes still made an unpleasant squelching sound whenever she stepped upon a particularly firm section of ground. She had spent much of the journey attempting to persuade Shaya that the incident at the stream was not worth discussing with anyone else.
Shaya had apparently reached a different conclusion.
By the time they passed the first houses, Kryssa had already heard three increasingly elaborate versions of what had happened. In the latest account, the stream had become a dangerous river, the stones had been impossibly slippery, and Shaya had rescued her older sister from certain disaster through extraordinary courage and quick thinking.
"That's not what happened," Kryssa protested when Shaya began telling the story to a neighbor who had stopped to greet them.
Shaya looked offended by the accusation. "I was there!"
"So was I!"
Their father rested a hand upon Kryssa's shoulder, his expression suggesting that he found the entire dispute thoroughly entertaining. "And I suspect we'll be hearing about it for some time."
Kryssa gave him a wounded look. She had expected at least one of her parents to defend her dignity, but her father appeared entirely content to let Shaya enjoy her moment of triumph. Their mother offered little assistance beyond reminding Shaya that her sister had not actually been in danger, which the younger girl accepted without allowing it to diminish the excitement of her story.
Inside their home, the familiar warmth of the hearth offered a welcome contrast to Kryssa's damp clothing. Their mother hung the freshly gathered plants near the ceiling, where the air moved freely around the bundles, and began preparing the evening meal. Kryssa changed into dry clothes before returning to help, while Shaya joined them carrying a small wooden bowl that she insisted was essential to the process.
Their father settled near the doorway to repair a section of his bowstring, occasionally answering questions from the girls as they worked. Kryssa enjoyed watching him perform these quiet tasks. His hands moved with the same deliberate care he used when examining tracks or preparing an arrow, and she had begun to understand that much of his skill depended upon patience rather than strength. He rarely hurried his work, even when there was plenty waiting to be done.
The house gradually filled with the smell of cooking roots, fresh herbs, and the savory broth their mother had been preparing since morning. Outside, the sounds of the village changed as people began returning from their day's work. Conversations drifted along the paths, accompanied by the creaking of baskets and the occasional call of someone greeting a neighbor. From somewhere nearby came the familiar rhythm of a hammer striking wood, followed by the laughter of several children whose games had evidently carried them into the evening.
Kryssa settled beside her father with the little wooden flute he had given her some time before. She had been practicing whenever she could, although she had yet to become particularly skilled at producing anything resembling a proper melody. Her father had carved the instrument himself, carefully smoothing the wood until it felt comfortable beneath her fingers, and she was determined to learn how to play it well enough that he would be proud of the gift he had made.
Her first attempt produced a shrill, uneven sound that caused Shaya to wince dramatically.
"That was awful," her sister announced, looking up from the wooden bowl she had been carrying.
Kryssa lowered the flute and frowned. "It was not."
"It sounded like a dying bird."
Their father pressed his lips together, clearly attempting to suppress a laugh. Kryssa turned toward him with an expression that demanded an honest assessment, although she was no longer entirely certain she wanted one.
"Well?"
He cleared his throat and considered the flute. "I think the bird would appreciate another attempt."
Shaya dissolved into laughter, delighted that their father had apparently agreed with her. Kryssa huffed and raised the instrument again, determined to prove that she was capable of producing something more pleasant.
This time she took greater care with her breathing, remembering the instructions her father had given her when he first placed the flute in her hands. The opening note was softer, followed by another that held its pitch more steadily. As the melody began to take shape, their mother started humming quietly beside the hearth, following the familiar tune and gently guiding Kryssa whenever she hesitated.
Kryssa recognized the song immediately. Her mother had sung it for as long as she could remember, sometimes while preparing meals, sometimes while tending to the herbs, and most often in the evenings when the girls were settling into bed. Its melody was simple enough for Kryssa to follow, although she still struggled to move smoothly between certain notes.
When she finally lowered the flute, the room had grown unexpectedly quiet.
Shaya was sitting beside her, leaning against her shoulder with an expression of thoughtful concentration. She had stopped playing with the wooden bowl, and for once she seemed content simply to listen.
"That one was nice," she said.
Kryssa glanced at her suspiciously. "Really?"
Shaya nodded. "Can you play it again?"
Kryssa considered refusing. After all, her sister had spent the entire afternoon telling everyone about the stream, and she had shown remarkably little sympathy for the embarrassment she had caused. Yet there was something about Shaya's expression that softened her irritation. The request was sincere, and Kryssa could not help feeling pleased that her sister wanted to hear her play.
"Fine," she said, raising the flute again. "But you have to be quiet."
"I will."
"And no laughing."
"I won't," Shaya promised, although her smile suggested that she considered this an unusually difficult condition.
Kryssa hesitated before adding one final requirement. "And tomorrow, you're not telling anyone else about what happened at the stream."
Shaya looked away for a moment, visibly considering the sacrifice being demanded of her. "All right," she agreed at last, moving closer so that she could watch Kryssa's fingers upon the flute.
Satisfied, Kryssa began playing.
She had barely reached the third note when Shaya leaned toward her and whispered, "Can I try after?"
Kryssa lowered the flute with a weary sigh, wondering whether her sister possessed some extraordinary talent for making silence impossible. Their father laughed from his place near the doorway, and their mother shook her head with an affectionate smile as she continued stirring the evening meal.
Kryssa looked at Shaya for several moments, then surrendered the instrument with a warning that she was not to blow too hard. Her sister accepted it with delight, holding it carefully in both hands before attempting to imitate what she had seen.
The sound that followed was even worse than Kryssa's first attempt.
For one astonished moment, both girls stared at the flute.
Then Kryssa began laughing.
Shaya looked offended, but the expression lasted only until their father remarked that the birds outside might soon begin answering them. Their mother joined in the laughter, and before long Shaya was laughing too, despite insisting that her first attempt had been considerably better than Kryssa's.
Kryssa suspected that the argument would continue well into the evening. She also suspected that she would eventually give her sister another turn with the flute, provided Shaya stopped trying to convince everyone that she had invented an entirely new kind of music.
That evening, after supper, the family gathered near the open doorway to enjoy the cooler air. The forest had grown quiet beneath the deepening shadows, although insects continued calling from the undergrowth and the distant stream could still be heard moving over its familiar stones. Small lights appeared between the neighboring houses as families lit their lamps, and the last conversations of the day drifted along the paths before gradually fading into the night.
Kryssa sat beside her father, watching as he worked upon a small piece of wood he had begun carving. She could not yet tell what it was meant to become, and every time she asked, he replied that she would have to be patient. She had already suggested several possibilities, including a small animal, a decorative charm, and a new handle for one of his tools, but he refused to confirm any of them.
Shaya rested against their mother, growing increasingly drowsy as the evening progressed. Her crystal pendant rested against the fabric of her clothing, catching the light whenever she moved, and she occasionally reached up to touch it without seeming particularly aware that she was doing so. Kryssa had grown accustomed to seeing the little ornament around her sister's neck, just as she had grown accustomed to Shaya's habit of playing with it whenever she was tired or thinking about something.
Their mother began singing softly, allowing the familiar lullaby to settle over the room. Kryssa knew the melody so well that she could follow it without thinking, remembering the words even when her mother hummed rather than sang. It was a song about wandering and returning, about familiar places and the people waiting within them, and she had always found something comforting in its gentle rhythm.
When Kryssa was younger, she had believed the song existed entirely for her benefit. It was only as she grew older that she began noticing how often her mother sang it while working, even when neither of her daughters was nearby. Sometimes her father joined her, quietly following the melody as he repaired his equipment or prepared something for the following day. The song belonged to their family in a way that few other things did, and Kryssa liked the thought that each of them carried a part of it.
As the melody continued, Shaya shifted closer and reached for her sister's hand.
Kryssa pretended not to notice at first. She was occupied with watching their father's carving, and she had spent much of the day being followed, questioned, interrupted, and occasionally embarrassed by her younger sister. Surely she was entitled to a little peace before bedtime.
Shaya tugged gently at her fingers.
Kryssa looked down. "What?"
Her sister said nothing. She simply held out her hand, her eyes already heavy with sleep.
Kryssa rolled her eyes, but she took it.
Shaya settled comfortably against their mother again, apparently satisfied, and the familiar warmth of her small hand gradually made Kryssa forget that she had intended to be annoyed. She liked these quiet moments with her family, although she rarely thought to describe them that way. The house was warm, her parents were nearby, and there was nothing she particularly needed to do beyond listening to the song and watching the firelight move across the walls.
Their father continued carving, occasionally brushing small curls of wood from his lap. Their mother finished the lullaby and leaned back against the wall, allowing the comfortable silence to remain for a while.
Eventually, Shaya lifted her head.
"Kryssa?"
"Hm?" Kryssa answered, still watching their father's hands.
"When I'm older, can we go farther into the forest?"
Kryssa turned toward her sister, surprised that she had remained awake long enough to begin planning another adventure. Shaya was looking toward the dark line of trees beyond the village, where the familiar trails gradually disappeared into places neither of them had yet been permitted to explore.
"How far?" Kryssa asked.
"Past the big trees."
"That's where Father says the paths get difficult."
"Then we'll learn them," Shaya replied confidently, as though the matter required no further discussion.
Kryssa smiled a little. She knew that Shaya often underestimated how difficult things could be, but she also admired how quickly her sister believed they could overcome whatever stood in their way. Where Kryssa preferred to understand something before attempting it, Shaya was often content to begin and discover the difficulties afterward.
"I suppose," Kryssa agreed.
"And we can take food," Shaya continued, warming to the idea.
"Of course."
"And blankets."
"If we're staying overnight," Kryssa replied, trying to imagine what their parents would say about such an expedition. She suspected their father might eventually agree to accompany them, although their mother would undoubtedly insist upon knowing exactly where they intended to go.
"And your flute."
Kryssa looked at her sister. "Why?"
Shaya smiled. "So you can make the birds angry."
Their father laughed so suddenly that he nearly dropped his carving. Kryssa stared at Shaya in disbelief before pulling her hand away and declaring that she was absolutely terrible. Her sister squealed when Kryssa reached over to tickle her, and within moments the two of them had collapsed against their mother in a tangle of arms, laughter, and half-hearted protests.
"Girls!" their mother exclaimed, although she was laughing too. She attempted to separate them while their father set his carving aside and came to help, shaking his head at the commotion they had managed to create so close to bedtime.
By the time the house finally grew quiet again, Shaya had fallen asleep against Kryssa's shoulder.
Kryssa carefully shifted to make her sister more comfortable, mindful of the small head resting against her arm. It was strange how quickly Shaya could pass from being the most energetic person in the house to sleeping so soundly that even the continued conversation of their parents failed to disturb her. Kryssa studied her sister's peaceful expression, noticing that the knots in her hair had begun returning despite their mother's efforts to untangle them earlier in the day.
"Mother?" she asked quietly.
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Do you think she'll always follow me everywhere?"
Their mother looked at the sleeping girl before turning her attention to Kryssa. There was affection in her expression, but also a familiar amusement, as though she understood far more about the question than Kryssa had intended to reveal.
"Perhaps not everywhere," she answered. "She's growing up, just as you are. There may come a time when she wants to discover a few things for herself."
Kryssa considered this possibility. She had often wished that Shaya would give her a little more room, particularly when she wanted to practice her flute or accompany their father without being interrupted. Yet imagining her sister wandering off on adventures without her was unexpectedly uncomfortable. She liked being the one Shaya came to with questions, even when she didn't know the answers, and she enjoyed the pride that came with being trusted to show her younger sister something new.
"Good," Kryssa said at last, attempting to sound indifferent.
Her mother smiled. "Would you miss her?"
Kryssa looked down at Shaya, whose fingers were still curled loosely around her own. She thought of their morning argument, the tracks they had examined along the forest path, and the sound of her sister laughing so hard beside the stream that she could barely speak. There were certainly times when Shaya was irritating, and Kryssa could think of several things she would have liked to do without being followed. Even so, she found it difficult to imagine those adventures without someone beside her to argue with.
"Maybe a little," she admitted.
Her mother leaned over and kissed the top of her head. "I thought so."
Kryssa settled back against the wall, carefully adjusting her arm so that Shaya could continue sleeping comfortably. Her father resumed his carving, and her mother began gathering the few things that still needed to be put away before bed. Outside, the village had grown quiet, with only the occasional distant voice and the steady sounds of the forest drifting through the open doorway.
There would be chores waiting for her in the morning, and her father had promised to show her how to recognize another kind of track the next time they went walking. She still had her weaving project to finish, and she was determined to improve her flute playing before Shaya found another opportunity to compare it to the cries of distressed birds. Perhaps, if she was particularly fortunate, she might even manage to convince her sister to remain asleep until breakfast.
For now, however, Shaya was warm against her shoulder, her parents were nearby, and the familiar sounds of home surrounded them.
Kryssa could think of nowhere else she would rather be.