The two suns rose on a wintry morning, the smaller of the two, Lyonee, came first, gently waking those before it, and was followed by the larger, Gurk, whose merciless bright glare was said to have cured the blind on certain days. Only children, the sick, and the elderly were excused from the second call of the suns, and children were usually up wanting to play before the first calling of Lyonee. The small world of Feliya was simple, but disciplined, and the callings of the sun were important in Feliya.
Lydina was seventeen, and the daughter of a baker, and a blacksmith. Many made jokes about her parents, how her mother ought to be the baker, and her father the blacksmith, but this wasn't so. Still more laughed when pondering how Lydina would turn out, a blacksmith or a baker, or maybe even both.
Her mother wanted her to follow in her footsteps, but her father wished she would become a baker. Choosing one of these two professions would mean choosing one parent over the other, and Lydina loved her parents too much to do this. Besides, she had other ideas.

"Lydina! Get up you lazy girl! Gurk is almost here! You know what people say about those who stay in bed when Gurk is already up! Lydina!"
"Yes, Father," I groaned into my pillow. I fumbled with the sheets, and somehow in my tossing and turning, I managed to fall off the bed shelf. Popping up, and glaring at myself in the mirror across the room, I then reached down to scoop up the bed sheets. I rolled them into a ball, and chucked them into the "cave" in the wall where I slept.
I grimaced as my bare feet touched the cold, hardwood floor, and quickly began to change. Shivering, I yanked my nightgown off over my head, exchanging it for a clean pair of breeches and blouse. Grabbing the brush from the nightstand, I dragged it through my auburn hair, then twisted the strands into a knot, and jabbed in several pins to hold it.
Glancing out the window, I could see nothing but a swirl of white, and the two suns bravely trying to shine through it. I scowled, dreading another day of fierce cold, and began to dig in the drawers for two of my wool sweaters. Finding one dyed blue, and another dyed brown, I tugged them both on. I then found my coat, gloves, scarf, and hat. After pulling on all of these, I searched for a couple pairs of socks, pulled those on, and slid my feet into my boots. Checking to make sure I had everything, I trudged down the narrow, creaking stairs.
When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I hopped on one foot briefly while I tucked the bottom of my breeches into my right boot, and then hopped on my right foot while I did the same for my left. All this effort to keep out the cold and snow, and already I was dripping sweat in the hot kitchen.
My father stood in the kitchen, making the usual loaves of bread to last for the week. Seeing me, he grinned, and set about to make my breakfast.
"Here," my father handed me a chunk of bread, and a cup of hot soup. "Eat that while you head over to the shop to help your mother."
"You don't need help?" I asked, mouth full of bread.
He gave me a look that said that my manners needed improving, then said, "You know as well as I that no one will be going out for a loaf of bread in this weather. But horses still need tending to, and it sounds like your mother has her hands full with a pair of horses to shoe. Hurry on then," he concluded, pushing me out the door.
The cold air hit me hard, making it difficult to breath for a moment. Then, the feeling passed, and I was grateful for the warm clothes on my back and the hot soup in my hand. I sighed, and watched my breath form steam in the air.
"Lydina! You slow poke! Are you trying to become a statue? 'Cause you going to if you don't get moving!" Thomas had just stepped out of my father's bakery, proving Father wrong in his theory of no one needing anything from his store in this weather, with an armful of bread.
"You need help with that?" I asked, and we started to walk down the main street towards my mother's smithy. Thomas was the one and only son of the leading lawyer in town, and was a very eligible bachelor. He had been paying more attention to me lately, which I didn't understand why, considering that there were plenty of other girls around that were prettier than I was.
"Nope. I got it. You heading to help your mother?"
"Yep. Another day of: "Lydina! You are absolutely worthless! How are you ever going to become a respectable blacksmith if you keep jumping every time there's a spark! Oh, Lydina, I don't what's going to become of you." And she'll go on and on like that, and it won't even occur to her that maybe I don't want to be a blacksmith! Or a baker!" I sighed in frustration.
Thomas was laughing. "I am very lucky that my mother-Lyonee bless her soul-has departed this world, and that my father is too busy to take much notice of me! So thankfully it appears that I won't be in a predicament such as yours any time soon!"
"Be grateful. Anyway, it was nice seeing you, Thomas. I'd better go in to help Mother," they had arrived outside the smithy, a large wooden sign hung over them, swinging slightly. In thin, curving letters it proudly stated: "Dydi's Blacksmithing Services". Inside the windows of the brick building I could see my mother bending over her work, sparks flying everywhere as she worked the metal.
"It was nice seeing you too, Lydina," and to my surprise, with the hand that was free of bread, reached over to tug the snow-dampened hair that had escaped my hat and scarf. Grinning, he waved, and continued on his way.
I sighed as I opened the door, and was greeted by the usual maternal scolding and advice.
"It's going to be a long day," I thought, as the door slammed shut behind me.

At the end of the day, my mother and I were both exhausted. The storm had long since calmed, or at least it was no longer snowing. Every now and then the wind picked up and blasted a freezing blow in our faces. By the time we reached Father's bakery, and our house beside it, our faces were bright red from the cold.
Shivering, I opened the door, and allowed Mother to go in first, and then followed her inside. The heat and smells of dinner filled my nose, and my stomach grumbled.
I ran up to my room quickly, and shed all the extra clothing I had put on earlier that morning. Stopping to redo my hair, I noticed a candle stub sitting on my nightstand. I had stayed up late last night reading, and the candle was almost gone. A puddle of wax pooled around the stump, and a blacked bit of string protruded from the candle. I made a mental note to find a new candle before coming up to bed, as I checked my hair.
Finding everything to perfection, I went back downstairs.
"Lydina! That you? There you are. Set the table, poppet," Father said brightly when I arrived in the kitchen. He'd been calling me poppet for as long as I could remember, and sometimes it bothered me, but only when company was present. I always found it hard to stay mad at him, for the thought of him suddenly being gone made me afraid that we might part on bad terms. Now, my mother, well, that was a whole different story.
I went to the drawer where we kept the silverware, and got enough for settings of three. My hand movements were clumsy, as they were numb and burning from the sudden change of temperature.
Walking to the table, which was also in the kitchen, and placed there the pile of utensils. In a bureau by the table, I found some placemats and napkins that I had woven a while ago. After arranging the placemats, folding the napkins, placing the silverware, and setting three plates on the table, the table was set.
Just in time, for our usual meal of porridge and bread was ready. The three of us sat down to dinner, and ate. When we finished, I thanked Father for dinner, and offered to clean up, as I had been taught to do from the time I was tall enough to reach the table, and bureau.
"Yes, that would be nice, poppet. Sleep well," he said as he left the kitchen, yawning.
"Lydina."
"Yes, Mother?" I looked up, surprised that she hadn't left with my father, as she usually did.
"Thomas Harysun Sr. would like you to go over tomorrow to shovel the snow," my mother said matter-of-factly.
"Ok. I'll do that before I go over to help you. Why can't Thomas do it, though?" I didn't mean Thomas Sr., I meant Thomas Jr., his son. I was still confused about all the extra attention he had given me earlier that day, and about why his father would suddenly want me to clear out his drive when he had a son fully capable of doing it.
"Ji no suay pae," she said, using a Feliyan expression, which meant that she didn't know. "Don't stay up late, Lyisha," using another one of my nicknames.
"Yes, Mother," I responded as she walked out of the kitchen to my parents' room at the far end of the house.
I spent the next few minutes cleaning up the dishes, and tidying up the kitchen. I laid out what would be needed for breakfast the next day, and then I went to the drawer where the extra candles were stored. Taking one out, I found a match and taper, and after placing it on the taper, lit it. Or attempted to, anyway.
Scowling, I found another match, assuming that the last one had been bad, or I had held it at the wrong angle. Five matches later, the candle remained unlit. My face was now flustered with frustration, and I glared at the matches, declaring out loud that they were evil, and that they deserved a punishment of Gurk's creation.
Taking a chair, and another box of matches, having depleted the other one, I made a few more attempts, before resting my head on the table to glare at the candle. Why couldn't I light it?
I frowned at the white tube of wax, willing it with my mind to burn, and light up the darkening room. Already three of the four candles lighting the room had burned out, and unless I managed to light this one, I would be sitting here in darkness when the last one burned out.
I leaned back in my chair, furious with the candle and matches. It was then that I noticed the faint smoke rising from the candle. I moved closer, and once again willed it to burn. And it did.
The sudden light hurt my eyes, and I couldn't help but be shocked. I don't why I was, magic usually showed up at my age, but I never thought that I would be one of the gifted ones.
Carefully I lifted the taper, candle a-top, and walked across the room to the other candle that was still lit. I bent over to blow it out, and then I thought, Why not try and blow it out with my magic?
I concentrated on the candle, and once again, used my mind to will it to burn out. It took a few minutes, and my head started to hurt, but eventually it went out. Now, it may have been because of the sudden draft, or had the draft been my magic?
Shaking my head as I went up to my room, the magically lit candle still in my hand, I couldn't help but be gleeful of finally having a good excuse of not becoming either a baker, or a blacksmith. Smiling as I glanced at myself in the mirror, I placed the candle beside the old one on the nightstand.
I began to pull the pins from my hair, and I had to admit to myself that it was one of my better features. It often reminded me of flames, only in a more toned down of a way. I was very thankful that my hair wasn't ridiculously red, like Hattie Labek's. She was a sweet girl, but her hair reminded me of someone from the carnival.
My eyes were a soft blue, not a vibrant hue, but quiet and soothing somehow. Or that's how my grandmother described them. Not vibrant, but quiet and soothing. I didn't care for the paleness of my skin, though. I wished I was as tan as my mother, but instead I had inherited my father's ivory skin. My lips sometimes were more subdued than their usual bright rosy pink color, but not often.
I tugged a brush through my hair, which almost reached my knees. Almost. It did not seem to want to get any longer. My fingers, the moment they placed the brush down, automatically began to plait my hair for the night. When I finished, I took off my blouse, and breeches. Shivering, I pulled on a nightgown that I had grabbed from a drawer in my bureau.
I looked over at the fireplace, still freezing, and saw that it was stone cold. No wonder it was so cold up here. Maybe I could light it with . It was one thing to light a candle, but another thing to light a fireplace. Untrained as I was, I was likely to light up the house instead. Which was not how I wished to introduce myself to the world as one of the magically gifted.
Lighting the fireplace with the candle, I banked it for the night, and then crawled into bed. Snuggling under woven blankets and sheets, I grinned as I thought about what a wonderful day it had been.