Maren continued to squeeze her ear. It helped to ease her nerves. She stared off in the direction of Son without meeting his eyes with hers. As she did, she remained speechless.
Squinting, the boy asked, “What’s on your fingers, and around your lips?”
“Um, blackberries,” she answered, swallowing again.
“Blackberries?”
“From blackberry pie.”
“Where did you get blackberry pie?”
“In town,” she answered, wondering how Son could miss such an obvious deduction.
“But how did you get it?” the boy pressed. “You don’t have any money.”
“My friend Micah,” she answered with deliberate vagueness.
Son raised one eyebrow and cocked his head to the side. “Friend Micah? How do you know him?”
“I met him yesterday,” she answered, still wondering how Son could miss such conspicuous details.
“How old is Micah?” he continued to probe, obviously not ready to let the matter go.
Maren stood up, brushed the hay from her dress, and held her hand level just above her head. “He’s about this tall,” she explained. “He invited me to come back today for sweets and music.”
The boy furrowed his brow and took a deep breath. “Well, I don’t want you to go anywhere until your chores are done,” he said. “Get caught up the best you can, then you can clean up and go. And you must be home before dark,” he added. “No exceptions.”
Maren’s eyes betrayed that she was hiding a smile. She quickly grabbed Earl’s rope and made her way past Son, rushing toward the barn door. Before she could leave, her guardian gently put his hand on her shoulder and said, “I was very worried about you last night.”
Glancing back toward him, the girl said simply, “I know.” She then skipped out to the garden to catch up on her work.
As Son stood at his workbench in the barn, he was deep in thought about Maren’s story. When he’d discovered her alone on the road to Blackcloth more than two seasons ago, he knew it was the right thing to take her in and care for her. However, he himself hadn’t even reached adulthood yet, and he struggled daily to be patient with her. Even more so when it came to her graymind.
It’s like I am speaking a language she doesn’t understand, he thought to himself. And she is speaking a language I don’t understand. I only wish there was a way…
As his thoughts trailed off, he worked diligently at his bench to make toys to sell in Laor. He often brought his creations into the village to earn extra money. His favorite was the miniature trebuchet. He loved to see the looks on the children’s faces when he demonstrated it for them. Their eyes would light up when the device’s arm would swing around, flinging a pebble into the distance. They would laugh and run to their parents to beg them to purchase one for them. He sold more of the little hurlers than anything else.
He toiled the morning away shaping branches, twine, and stones. It was an activity he could easily lose himself in. When he came to a place in his work that required him to stop and search the barn for more materials, he came across Maren’s stash of adventure books. He picked one up and examined it. As he did, a nagging thought weighed on his mind.
Son had been going in to the village regularly ever since they moved onto Gale Hill Farm. He had sold many of his trinkets and gadgets and, in the process, had gotten to know the children in the area quite well. As their faces flashed through his mind, it occurred to him that he had never met a boy named Micah.
This troubled him, so he decided to go outside to ask Maren a few more questions. “Maren,” he called out, but there was no answer. “Maren!” he called out again. He walked out to the garden and noticed a large pile of rocks that the girl had pulled from the soil. There were also some seeds scattered about haphazardly. She had done her chores and rushed back into town with Earl.
When Maren and her donkey arrived at the village, the square was already full of revelers and partygoers. She looked around for Micah but couldn’t find him so she tied up Earl and made her way over to the sweets tables outside of the pub. Once again they were filled with decadent desserts of every kind. She slowly walked past the puddings and cakes and found that there was a fresh blackberry pie in the same place she had found one the day before.
She looked at the busy woman arranging the sweets and asked sheepishly as she licked her lips, “Excuse me. May I have a slice of pie, please?”
There was no answer from the harried worker, who continued to shift the desserts around and serve them up to other people.
Maren cleared her throat and spoke a little louder, “Excuse me. I need a slice of pie.”
The woman glanced over at her and smiled. “Oh hello. I didn’t see you there. What would you like?”
“Some pie, please,” the little girl said curtly, and her eyes grew bigger.
“Okay, can I see your ribbon please?” the helper asked.
Believing the woman was wishing to admire the thin strip of red cloth, Maren held out her wrist with a proud smile.
“That’s a red ribbon,” the helper said plainly. “Today you have to have a blue ribbon.”
The girl’s face fell, and she was confused about what the woman had just told her. Then she remembered how she saw the man in front of the inn and that he gave her the red ribbon when she gave him her name and where she lived. She could see the man at his table from across the square so she walked over to him with a quickness, though she didn’t want to appear to be running.
“May I have a blue ribbon please?” she asked as she approached the man. He was poring over
