Amära's Challenge

Out of Reach

11 years of age--

Amära focused on keeping her fingers out of the way of the knife as it lurched with starts and stutters around the potato. She sat on a low stool shaving the skins and more often than not chopping off a piece of the tuber.  Potato peeling was dangerous, difficult and messy. The shavings missed the pail and created a messy circle around her. Amära flicked her eyes up to her eldest sister, Dawyn who sliced radishes rapid-fire on her cutting board and slid them into the boiling pot for stew. 

"How many have you finished?"

Amära looked up to her mother sitting in a worn chair, finishing the hem on a black cloak. She knotted the final stitch in a single movement and used her teeth to cut the thread. Next to her chair sat a small pile of winter undergarments and a wool saddle blanket.  

Amära looked down at the misshapen spuds. "Six... almost seven." She added. 

Her mother looked unimpressed. The dark circles under her grey eyes spoke of the several months of late-night sewing. 

"You'll get faster." She said, as though consoling herself. 

Amära didn't like that; it made it sound as though she would have to do more of this potato peeling. 

"Who's the saddle blanket for?" Balmere, the youngest only six, asked. He held his wooden horse in hand. Amära smiled, remembering how she'd once been as carefree as him. 

"For the Smithy...Bron." 

"Can I have one?" 

"When we get a horse." Her mother smiled, eyes warming with hope towards her son. 

Amära watched thin-lipped then looked over at the saddle blanket. She missed riding her father's horse, Deagread. 

"I'll be the fastest rider in Rohan, a famous Orc-hunter!" Balmere cheered. Amära noticed her mother wince. 

"So will I." Amära blurted. Her older sister glanced at her while carrying turnips to the stew pot, Balmere's eyebrows furrowed. 

"But you're a girl." 

"Yes, but... Father said I have a natural balance." 

"All girls have that." 

Amära's cheeks warmed as her sister giggled. 

"He also gave me sword lessons." She said. 

Balmere looked to mother with a frown. "I want sword lessons." 

"When you're older." Mother replied. "For your protection." 

Her brother watched her wrestling the potato. "Can you teach me to ride too?" He whispered. 

"We need a horse." 

"We'll both be Rohan Riders!" Balmere burst out, Amära couldn't help but grin at his enthusiasm. 

"That's enough." Her mother gathered the sewn garments and put them in a basket. "Amära, take these to the Smithy, he's expecting them today." 

Amära lit up, threw the potato knife into the pail, impaling a crudely cut potato. She jumped to her feet, wiped her hands, grabbed the basket, rushing to the door. 

"And take Balmere with you." Her mother added. 

Amära nodded as she opened the door, Balmere, horse in hand, followed her as she left. The walk to the smith was quiet and short. Balmere pranced around the late autumn grass and then closer to her side when they passed the cliff. 

When they reached the smith, Amära placed the basket onto a clean chest sitting outside the workshop.  "Amära," Bron stopped her. 

"Yes?"