Why the Change of Mind (More a Change of Heart)

Somewhere Down This Road I Know Someone's Waiting

Lincoln entered his village with a clean sword and empty hands—exactly the opposite of what he'd been hoping for when he left for the hunt. It was midday, which meant the place was bustling with gatherers struggling to balance baskets as they hurried into their huts; vendors offering dented plates and armor; bands of small children fighting with sticks while their older counterparts sparred with dull swords or fists. He slid between the crowds to reach his own home and slipped inside, wanting nothing more than to just lie down.

"Lincoln, you're back," his little sister said, standing from where she had been sketching in the corner. Sometimes Lincoln wondered if she ever left her little crook, at least when it was light outside.

He nodded. "You're getting better with the language."

She raised an eyebrow. "You're saying that to me? I taught you half of what you know."

"Sure, sure, Clair, whatever makes you feel good," he said, ruffling her hair just to tease her. She hated when he did that—"it makes me feel like I'm six again," she kept telling him. Secretly, Lincoln wished she was six again. She was easier to manage back then, not to mention she possessed much less sass.

"I'm assuming you didn't catch anything, unless you've got some bugs stowed in a pocket," Clair said after batting him away.

Lincoln shrugged playfully. "None I meant to bring along."

"Well, if you find a tarantula, scrape off the hair before you eat it, otherwise it tastes like—" Clair cut off abruptly, just as Lincoln heard the swoosh of someone entering the hut. He turned and saw, to his great surprise, the leader of their tribe standing in her full armor and paint. "Heya, Anya," he said carefully in Trigedasleng, knowing Anya's detestation of English.

"Linkon," she said curtly. "Osir ste gon we." We're leaving. Lincoln gave a questioning look, and she continued, "Gonakru don Skaikru up. Oso souda lok em veida tro op fou bilaik emo hon emo sobwe op." The warriors located sky people. We must find the enemy patrol before they reach the tunnels.

Clair spoke up. "Ai gon sis yu au." I'll help you.

Anya regarded Clair, with her braided light hair and too-clean face, with something like distaste. "No, gada."

Lincoln could physically see his sister bristle at being called a girl. "Ai gaf kamp gonakru raun." I need to be with the army.

"Yu no ste yuj," Anya replied, still standing firm. "Linkon—"

"I am strong!" Clair growled, and inwardly Lincoln groaned. When his sister got really upset, she slipped into English, and there was no stopping her until she'd finished. "I can spar with anyone you throw at me. I've helped strategize. I know how to heal and fight. Just because I wasn't born into the village, you think—"

"Em pleni," Lincoln cut in, putting his hand on Clair's shoulder to stop her from continuing and saying something especially stupid, but Anya raised a hand.

"If you come," she said, using the language almost mockingly, "I am not responsible for you, nor will I go out of my way to save you. You may have learned some skill living here, but you do not yet have respect for your heda."

Clair's jaw seemed permanently locked, but she nodded, and soon after they were on the hunt.

-

They were tucked in the back section of the group, which Clair was fairly certain Lincoln had done on purpose. It grated on her that he didn't equate her abilities to capability; although, she did have to admit she should've expected it, especially from her brother of all people. He was nothing if not protective.