Every Glistening Night

Chapter Twenty-Four

Mother's words ring in my ears as I resume my quest. I'm far more familiar with the ways of sunlight, both from the stories and experience. I rack my head for some sort of story regarding the moonbeams, but none comes to mind.

I return to camp feeling defeated that evening. By noon, I gave up on scavenging for moonbeams. The sun probably shines too brightly to properly see the beams, anyway. Instead, I spent the afternoon gathering flowers and weaving the moonlight I got yesterday. Three new sections weigh against my back when I enter the dimming clearing. A fire outshines the vestiges of sunlight, and the cooks have the third meal set out.

"Oh, there you are Celisae," Jeayma m'ke exclaims when she spots me.

My dash to my cave halts. Apprehension prickles my skin. The moonlight feels extra cool in my bag, and the loom I borrowed bears down on my shoulders.

"We were worried about you," Jeayma m'ke says, though I think it's a purely perfunctory statement. If I were to bet, she probably forgot I was gone.

"Here are the flowers," I say. I shove the basket into her arms a touch too eagerly.

Surprise widens her eyes. "Thank you." She takes the handle. "Do you want some food? I'm sure you're hungry after being gone all day."

"I'll get some in a moment," I say. "Just want to put my stuff down."

Jeayma m'ke nods. Fortunately, she doesn't question what other 'stuff' I may be referring to.

It only takes a few minutes to free myself of the raeriel, loom, and moonlight. I hurry into one of two lines, the one furthest away from Ulane m'ke. She seems preoccupied with dolling out stew and doesn't catch my eye. Still, I shrink behind the tall warriors in front of me.

I make it to the end of the line before her eyes land on me. They narrow almost on instinct, and her jaw ticks. I scamper away as quickly as I can, hiding myself in the bowl-shaped rock I always sit on. Steam rises from the stew, a murky mixture of orange, brown, and dark green. The first bite warms me from the inside out. I shiver, not realizing how chilly it is. My hands press into the sides of my bowl until comfort turns to a searing bite. I release the sides, holding the rock closer to the top, where the heat is less potent.

A group of children follow Ellna through the clearing. Their laughter chimes over the buzz of conversation.

"Alright, children, gather round, gather round," Ellna says, her voice frail with age. She sits down not too far from me, and the children form a circle around her.

"What is today's story?" a girl cries.

"I hope it's a good one," another says.

"They're always good!" a third exclaims, unnecessarily offended.

"Shh," a few others chorus.

"Settle down, settle down," Ellna says. Though she sounds tired, the twinkle in her eyes tells a different, more mischievous story. "Now eat your stew, and I'll begin."

The children obey, beginning to take large bites of the thick, moist substance. Ellna tells stories during meals every so often, especially when rations are low and the food is less appetizing.

"Long ago, there were villages at the mountain bases. Countless of these miniature civilizations formed, separated by the highest mountain peaks. Few dared to traverse the mountains, for at the time, people feared the snow or the prospect of getting lost. Besides, they believed they had all they needed to live happy, comfortable lives. Thus, they lived in solitude, isolated from any other communities. In fact, they didn't even know that others existed.