Flowers on the Path

Chapter I

"You should pack something warm," Rysa said, her voice bright with enthusiasm-a stark contrast to Dalia's somber mood. The noise of her rummaging through stacks of trunks and boxes filled the small room, and her slight frame nearly vanished behind the mountain of clothes and linens she unearthed from the nooks of their shared space.

"Something warm?" Dalia replied calmly, her gaze fixed on the gleam of polished metal in her hands.

"Yes, I heard winters there are unforgiving," Rysa said, emerging from a large chest with a worn scarf in hand. "This isn't exactly elegant, is it?"

Dalia glanced up at the scarf.

"It'll have to do," she said with a faint smile. "I don't have the luxury of being picky."

Rysa let out a theatrical sigh and tossed the scarf onto the growing pile of belongings on the bed.

"Do you have any dresses?" she asked, her voice laced with hope as she moved to rummage through another chest. "You should look the part when you travel-you're supposed to be a lady!"

"Do you have any dresses?" Dalia shot back, raising an eyebrow. Rysa's frantic search had already transformed their modest room into chaos, fabric scraps, old books, and trinkets strewn about like relics of a storm.

"No, but I'll probably stay here forever," Rysa sighed dramatically, sweeping her arm in a wide arc toward the window overlooking the convent garden. "But you-you're escaping this place. You'll feast on wonderful food, meet new people!"

"I'd rather stay," Dalia said, polishing the last spoon and trying to ignore the whirlwind that Rysa had stirred up. Her thoughts were already far away, lost in the journey she could not avoid. Inside, a mix of anxiety and sadness brewed.

Rysa paused, casting her a look filled with quiet concern.

"But you know what?" Dalia finally said, turning to her with a soft smile. "Once I arrive, I'll buy you the finest gloves-just like the ones we saw at the market yesterday."

Rysa's lower lip trembled.

"I'll miss you," she said, rushing forward to hug Dalia and press a kiss to the back of her head.

Dalia chuckled warmly, brushing a few stray curls from Rysa's hair. As a novice, her hair was still long and tightly braided, though unruly curls always managed to escape their ribbon prison, no matter how meticulously Dalia had woven them earlier.

"You'll need to cut it soon," Dalia murmured, almost absently. Her hair reminded Dalia so much of Mariella's.

"It gets in the way," Rysa sighed, leaning her head back. "I used to think that when I took my vows, I'd cut it and sell it, and we'd spend the coins at the market. They should let us out more often."

Her long hair tickled Dalia's nose.

"Sister Laura keeps you inside because she knows if I'm not here, no one would come looking for you," Dalia laughed, giving her a playful pat on the shoulder. "Can you take this to the kitchen?" she added, handing over a neatly packed box of cutlery.

Rysa rolled her eyes, irritated by the dismissal.

"Yes..." she sighed, resigned, taking the box. Tears shimmered in her eyes, though a small smile lingered at the corners of her mouth. She was trying to be brave, but the thought of parting with Dalia hurt. "I'll pray for your safe journey, I swear," she said with determination as she stepped out the door.

As the door closed behind her with a soft thud, Dalia let herself sink back into her thoughts. To Rysa, this journey was an adventure-a way out of the convent she longed to escape. Dalia felt guilty that she herself had no such yearning. The convent was home, the only one she had ever known.