Donkeyskin - ON HOLD

Of Cities

*Of Cities*

 The day after Midsummer, the dancers left the village. Elodie was among them, riding her pony, her saddlebags packed with all she owned. M. Beaufort rode on her left, and at his left rode the dancer Manon. The beautiful woman hadn't spoken a word to Elodie since she'd officially joined the company.

Elodie, for her part, had spent the time since early spring training Juliette to take her place, and the girl had excelled at every task placed before her. Elodie knew the village would be fine without her, and it was with an almost light heart that she bade everyone farewell.

The village had given her a new beginning, but now it was time to progress beyond the beginning and truly rebuild her life. Ninon and Birch she had left with much more regret. But she couldn't stay any longer, and they both understood that. She would see them again someday, though, she was sure.

The further they rode from the village, the more alive Elodie felt. It was as if she was slowly shedding a massive burden with each step they took down the mountain. The wind ruffled her hair, and the pony pranced with eagerness, and everything around them was alive, alive, alive.

Elodie felt like laughing in delight every time they passed a mile marker, because every mile was one mile further from her past. For so long, she'd been trapped in limbo, somewhere between dead and alive, trapped and free, and, for the first time in a year, her fear trickled away, leaving only ecstasy in its wake.

At night, they would stop at inns or wayhouses, or, if there wasn't a village nearby, they would camp under the stars. They weather was brilliant, not too hot and not too cold, and the sun shone late into the night. The dancers would gather around the fire, stretching, joking and teasing one another, and Elodie just watched, stretching too. She didn't know any of them well enough to invite conversation, and, besides, she probably wouldn't have, even if she had known them. She was not much for talking.

But she listened, and listened well. Within a few days, she not only knew everyone's names, but also what their role in the company was. The tall, dark man, Noah, shared the male lead roles with red-haired Xavier. The dainty Fleur headed the girls' chorus, and fiery Katia was often cast as the villain.

All the dancers seemed to gravitate towards Manon, though. It was as if she was the glue holding the entire company together. But, for some reason, Manon seemed to loath Elodie, and took great pains to ignore her. Elodie would have worried that this would have affected her reception into the company were it not for Fleur.

The young dancer had taken to riding beside Elodie, or sitting with her at supper, and, at the inns they came across, Fleur often managed to arrange things so that she and Elodie were in the same room.

She never insisted on conversing beyond what was necessary, and for that Elodie was grateful. Where the other dancers chattered like squirrels, Fleur knew when to keep quiet, and spending time with her was a bit of a relief.

One night, after they'd been out of the mountains for almost a week, M. Beaufort pulled her aside as she was about to find the room she and Fleur had been assigned in that particular inn.

"We'll be arriving in Winterwatch tomorrow afternoon," he said. "And there are certain things we need to arrange before then."

Elodie nodded in agreement.

"You need to come up with a stage name," he said, and she blinked, startled. "No dancer should be called Donkeyskin; it's a horrid name."

Elodie had to smile. "Good point," she said.

"Think about it," M. Beaufort said, moving to leave. Elodie stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm.

"I don't need to," she said. "I'll be called Lune. It seems fitting enough to me."