A glint of sunlight flashes beyond Asher's eyelids. It must be late. His mother should have woken him. He opens his eyes, and they strain to weave together the sight in front of him. Grass, leaves, a twisted root--he sits bolt upright, panicked to not be in his own room. The memories return quickly, though. His parents. His house. The girl. He turns around and sees May watching him warily. She leans forward, as if about to come to him. He sighs and gives her an assuring smile. "Good morning," he says.
She looks confused. "How do you know?"
"What? Oh, I don't know, it's just something you say. You wish the other person a good morning."
It's clear from her expression that she finds the idea ridiculous. "My mother always awoke us by saying 'altira.' Health. For we had awakened to a new day."
It made a certain sense, Asher thought, beginning a day with gratitude for the simplest and greatest blessing. "I like that," he says. "Altira."
May giggles. "It strikes the ear funny when you say it."
Asher blushes. "Well, I'm going to say it anyway. Every morning when you wake up I'll say 'altira.'"
"Then I'll wake up laughing," she says, and it makes Asher smile.
"Good."
YOU ARE READING
The Unending Epic Written to Appease a Friend, Tell a Tale, an...
FantasyEach day, the story grows. The tale begins when two lives are suddenly and irrevocably twined together, and a boy from a lonely farm and a girl without a people find themselves each other's only friend. Little by little the fabric of their lives wea...
