Donkeyskin - ON HOLD

Of Choices

*Of Choices*

 When she told Ninon about M. Beaufort's offer, the next morning, Elodie had expected her friend to protest, or to ask her to stay. She knew the village needed her as an herbalist, and she'd thought Ninon would take that more sensible approach.

Instead, the older girl was quiet for a long moment, after Elodie broke her news. Elodie had come over to Ninon and Birch's, and now the two girls knelt in Ninon's vegetable patch, weeding around the new plantings. As she waited, Elodie deftly pulled up a few handfuls of wild chamomile, setting them aside to use later.

Finally, Ninon spoke, but when she did, it was nothing that Elodie could have expected. Instead, her friend was pensive. "Anyone can see you've been unhappy since you got here, Elo," she said, using a nickname she had recently coined. "And I'm not sure that asking you to stay here would be completely fair–to you, that is. Yes, we need an herbalist, but it doesn't have to be you."

That made Elodie think. If she could somehow train someone else to do the work she did now, then her choice would be easier. Yet still, she had gained some part of herself, living and working in the village, and it was the closest thing to a home she'd ever had.

But going with M. Beaufort did not mean forever. Dancers rarely lasted through their twenties, and, maybe, when she'd had a full career, she could come back.

She leaned back on her heels, basking the early morning sunlight, and, squinting, studied Ninon's bent form. "You think I should take an apprentice?"

"That would solve the problem, wouldn't it?" Ninon pointed out. "Although you'd have to stay yet a few more months."

Elodie nodded. "I'd have to stay, either way. At least, if I take an apprentice, it would only be a few months more."

"So you want to go, then?" Ninon asked.

Elodie shrugged, wiping her hands on her apron. "I don't know. I feel like I should go wherever I'm needed most, but you have no herbalist without me, and M. Beaufort has no prima ballerina. Either way, I'm depriving someone of something essential."

Ninon stilled, staring at her from beneath raised brows. "Really? So that's what you're telling yourself."

Elodie frowned. "What am I supposed to say to that?"

"I think," Ninon said, almost tauntingly. "That you're afraid to leave here. At least, this far from anywhere important, no one will ever recognize you. I think that's what you're thinking, Elo, and don't try to tell me otherwise."

Elodie bent over the vegetable patch once more, too ashamed to look her friend in the eye. Ninon was right, at least partially, and it hurt to realize that. She'd been lying to herself, and, worse, she'd lied to Ninon. The girl had trusted her with secrets no one else knew, and with the wellbeing of her community, and Elodie had repaid that trust by lying to her–selfishly.

She fiddled with the leaves of a potato plant, twining her fingers through the stems. She blinked, startled by the sudden tears in her eyes, and then swallowed painfully, breathing in the smell of earth and plants.

Ninon placed a tentative hand on her shoulder, and Elodie leaned into her touch. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Ninon folded her arms around her friend, rocking her slightly. "I know," she said. "I know. But I still think you should go."

Elodie managed a choked sound that may have been a laugh. "I'm glad you value me so highly," she joked half-heartedly.

"I do value you, you goose," Ninon said, her smile evident in her voice. "In fact, I value you so highly that I think you need to do something for yourself once, so go. Do it."