A fire crackled in the hearth. Its warmth circled the amply furnished common room it bordered, mixing with the early spring breeze lilting in through the open windows. The late afternoon sunlight shone in slanted rays through the softly billowing curtains, providing better light than the candles on the heavy wood table in the middle of the room.

Two people sat at the table, eating a supper of roast duck, potatoes, leeks, and biscuits with honey. Distant sounds of crowds and conversations outside wafted in with the breeze through the yellow windows, but otherwise, the middle-aged man and the young woman ate in silence, the soft clinks of their tin dishes filling the room.

After a lengthy pause, the man began, "So, have you thought about what you're going to do?" The young woman shook her head with a disappointed frown.

"No," she replied. "I mean, I have, but... I don't know." Her father dabbed his mouth beneath a well-groomed mustache with a napkin.

"I wish I could take you with me this year, Damian," he offered. He gave a cheerless smile. "I wish I could give you enough money to live forever without needing to work." Damian shook her head again.

"I know I need to work," she stated. "I just... don't know what I want to do." Clyde laced his fingers together against his chin, elbows resting on the table.

"Well, I realize there isn't much here, and if you don't want to be a seamstress or a housemaid, I don't mind," he responded. "Maybe you could go to Trent. I know a lot of people there who might take you on as an apprentice."

"I don't want to go to Trent," Damian answered quickly. The thought of leaving home, despite that there might be more than a handful of people her age whom she might meet, made her uneasy. "I just don't know what I want to do." The truth was, she hadn't yet discovered a trade that piqued her interest. The only thing she was truly interested in was dangerous, and even if she wasn't afraid of upsetting her father, she wouldn't know where to begin looking into it as a job. She set her fork down, realizing that she hadn't taken a bite in several minutes. The question weighed heavily on her mind as she tried once again to come up with a solution they'd both be happy with. It was only a week or two before Clyde would set out into the countryside, selling the textile guild's wares from town to town, and she had to be working by then or else she'd starve. Once again, she failed to find an answer that didn't end up with her becoming a spinster, or at best, a quilter.

Clyde smiled as he returned to his plate. "I remember feeling just like that. Why, it was just about twenty-five years ago I had this exact conversation with my parents." Damian looked at him hopefully.

"Really?" she asked. He nodded.

"Just before I met my old master Henry, the potter," he added. He chuckled as he sipped a mug of ale. "That was such a dismal place to work. The kiln made the whole shop so hot, I swear I lost twenty pounds in three months there." He looked at Damian, fatherly smile in his eyes. He reached across the table to lay a hand on her arm.

"Whatever you decide, Damian, I'm sure you'll be great at it," he commented. "And you won't be stuck with it for the rest of your life. It's just to get you on your feet." Damian smiled as the tension faded away from her shoulders.

"Thank you," she replied. Clyde nodded and leaned back in his chair.

"Eat up, dear," he concluded. "We'll find you a decent job before I go, don't worry." Damian smiled and returned to her plate.

After supper and washing the dishes, Damian left her father for a walk, contemplating their conversation. The streets of Aether, bathed in the yellow light of evening, were quiet. Most of the few merchants that lived in town had already gone home to supper, and few people remained outside afterwards. No farmers or ranchers came into town to revel with the local folk, no soldiers paraded through the streets, and travelers rarely came through. It was a quiet town filled mostly with seamstresses, leather workers, and manors of minor earls and barons left alone to the servants for much of the year, and the town was asleep by nightfall.

Damian strolled down the streets, her cobalt blue hair flowing around her head and down past her waist with her step. Golden eyes glanced at the wood and brick houses and thatched roofs out of a beautiful face a little younger in appearance than she was. Her slender, smoothly curved figure of fair skin was wrapped in a long dress with a vermillion cloak to protect against the cool evening. Leather boots tapped rhythmically down the brick roads as she passed shops, houses, and the occasional townsperson who gave her a quick nod and, "good evening."

Soon, she came upon the entrance of a pub that was just beginning to open for the night. A young man stood in front of the pub's windows, setting up a sign advertising the specials of the night. He stooped over the wooden sign as Damian approached, short dark hair only just visible over his bent back, clothed in a cream-colored shirt and dark grey trousers.

The man stood when Damian was just in front of him and smiled, a little nervously.

"Hi, Damian," he remarked.

"Hi, Connor," Damian responded.

"How are you?" Connor asked.

"I'm well, thanks," she replied. At first, she didn't want to say any more, but as she gazed into those soft brown eyes, she found herself adding, "Well, I'm still looking for a trade to take up. I'm afraid I won't find one in time. My father's leaving in just a week or two."

"Oh," Connor answered. "Well, you know, Norman has been looking for a new waitress. I-if you were interested. It's not a trade, you know, you wouldn't have to stay here for long, but it would at least get you through the summer." He smiled again. "I would like to see you... more." Damian's heart swelled as his words rang through her mind.

Finally, she stated, "Thank you. I'll keep that in mind." Her heart implored her to stay, but the rest of her was afraid, and she began to move on.

"It was nice seeing you again," she remarked.

"You, too," he responded, watching her as she began to walk away. "Have a nice evening."

"You, too," she echoed, her steps erratic. It was getting both harder to walk away and harder to stay.

"Good night," Connor finished.

"Good night," Damian answered. She hurried around the next corner and bit her knuckle, cursing herself. She liked Connor. He was the one person who had told her she had lovely eyes, not that they were an aberration, an abomination, inhuman. She wanted to stay longer and speak to him more, but she could never gather up the courage when she had the chance. She was too afraid of losing him to get closer.

That was the way it had been all her life. Damian had rarely had any friends growing up. There weren't many opportunities in Aether and children born in town usually didn't stay very long. The result was that Damian had often lost developing and potential friends on those occasions that she actually had someone her age to be with. Often, she would come home from her father's semi-annual trade routes to find a new friend now gone. She became withdrawn as she stopped opening up to anyone and began to think that was okay. Now, she was old enough to know better, but it was still too hard to come close to anyone, and the effort seemed too much for her to handle.

But she wanted to know Connor better. And perhaps waitressing at the pub where he worked would give her that chance.

Suddenly, she stopped and turned. A strange sensation, faint and inexplicable, fell over her. She glanced down a long street leading northwest and could just see the tips of the mountains on the far side of the river running around Aether. Her pulse sped as she gazed at those mountains, half hidden in shadows and half glowing with golden light from the setting sun.

Cautiously, she turned to begin walking again, but before she took one step, she stopped and glanced down at the boots she wore. She lifted her skirt slightly to see more of them. They were old, older than her, faded from their age but still strong. The style and construction were nothing out of the ordinary, but these boots meant a great deal to Damian. They were her mother's boots.

Damian had never known her mother. All she knew of her was what her father had told her, which had been much over the years. He had loved her and still missed her, and it both awed and saddened Damian to see Clyde's eyes glaze over in reminiscence when he spoke of her. She had died birthing Damian.

It was magic, her father's voice came from memory. Magic killed your mother. Dropping her skirt, Damian took in an unsettled breath and looked around, but her eyes only returned to the mountains to the northwest.

It felt like a tug, a gentle beckoning, but at the same time, it was like a warning.

Damian hastily began walking down the street again, heading back towards home. The town remained quiet as the sun fell further to the west, nighttime coming fast.

---

A bell jingled merrily over the door of the shop. A petite woman with a round face and plump arms looked up over her eyeglasses to the visitors. Her face lit up when she saw who stood in the doorway.

"Clyde!" she greeted in a soft, summery voice as she stood and approached the door. "It's so good to see you! And Damian! Look how big you are!" Damian smiled as she stepped inside behind her father.

"Hello, Marilyn," Clyde responded.

"Come in! Come in!" Marilyn added as she moved aside to let Clyde and Damian in. She focused on the younger girl and asked, "So, Damian, are you working for Mr. Thompson now?"

"No," she answered with a polite shake of her head.

"Oh, really?" Marilyn wondered. "He just told me he found a new girl. Well, what about Mrs. Prescott?"

"No," Damian repeated, still smiling.

"Marilyn," Clyde attempted.

"No, no, let me guess," she insisted. "Oh! I know! Mrs. Lancaster."

"Actually," Clyde cut in, laying an arm around Damian's shoulders, "Damian's looking for a good master to take up a trade." Damian was glad for her father's intervention. As much as she enjoyed visiting her father's suppliers, it always felt awkward when her status came up in conversation.

"Ah, I see, I see," Marilyn replied pleasantly, apparently brushing aside the thought. "I had the same trouble with my dear Bella just a couple years ago. It's so hard to decide, isn't it?" Damian nodded in response. "But she's doing wonderfully now. You'll find a good trade, Damian."

"Thank you, I hope so," she responded.

Turning to Clyde, Marilyn continued, "Now, I imagine you're here to see about your wares."

"You know me too well," Clyde smiled. "What do you have for me?"

"I don't know how you're going to carry it all this season," Marilyn stated. "I've got five bolts."

"Five bolts!" Clyde exclaimed. "You've been busy!"

"I have, I have!" she agreed. "Come around to the back, I'll show you what I've got." Clyde nodded.

"Please excuse me," he remarked to Damian and followed Marilyn to a room behind the one they stood in. The door closed behind them and silence fell over the shop, save for a steady hum. Damian followed the sound to a brown-haired girl of her age, sitting in a corner of the shop at a spinning wheel. A large basket of wool sat beside her, strings of it leading up into the spinning wheel, at the other side of which sat a similar basket filled with spun thread. Five other baskets of wool sat near the wheel. Damian approached the girl, the buzz of the wheel growing louder as she neared it.

"Hello, Andrea," she introduced softly as she neared. The girl looked up and smiled faintly when she saw Damian. She released the pedal and leaned back in her seat with a heavy sigh. Her hair was pinned up in a bun, but several strands of it had come loose and hung tiredly about her face. Her forehead glistened with sweat.

"Oh, excuse me," she apologized. "It's such tiring work."

"I understand," Damian answered. Andrea sent her a strange look.

"You don't have a trade yet?" she asked disbelievingly. Damian looked away, rubbing the back of her neck nervously.

"No, not as such." Andrea leaned over to straighten the piles of thread in the basket sitting beside her. Damian added, "I've been thinking of going into my father's business. When he's too old to carry on, I mean. I've learned a lot about it over the years." She had spoken it carelessly, but as she considered it, she began to wonder if she wouldn't enjoy taking up his merchant trade. He'd told her enough about the hazards, weariness, and frustrations of traveling, but she would get to visit new places and meet new people, make enough money for a year in four months of travel and still be able to relax and call a place home.

"I see," was all Andrea said. Damian wandered over to a nearby window.

"So," she offered, "how is your brother?" Andrea looked back at her with an unreadable expression.

"Dead," she responded. Damian's eyes widened, the shock clear on her face. "He got pneumonia this winter. Never recovered."

"I-I'm sorry," Damian blurted out. Andrea looked away with a frown. Damian grew more uncomfortable with each passing moment. She had only met the girl's brother a handful of times, but while she'd liked him when she saw him, she never tried to get to know him better. Just like Andrea. Just like Connor. The spinster gasped. Damian saw her clutching her stomach.

"The baby just kicked," she explained.

"Baby?" Andrea only gave a short smile. "Congratulations!" Damian added awkwardly. "When is it due?"

"Around harvest," Andrea replied, a glimmer of pride and joy alighting on her face. Damian sent a quick glance to the door opening at the back of the shop.

"May the gods grace you a safe and healthy delivery," she finished with an attempt at a curtsey. Andrea only smiled with more warmth shown to Damian than she had to this point.

"Well, I'll look forward to seeing you then," Marilyn remarked as she stepped out of the door behind Damian's father. "And it was nice seeing you again, too, Damian." Damian nodded deeply.

"It was good to see you, too, ma'am," she concluded.

"See you next week, Marilyn," Clyde stated with a wave as he walked to the entrance, Damian beside him.

"Goodbye!" Marilyn called out as the bell rang over their heads.

Damian's gaze fell to the ground in front of her as they walked, partly in shame. She loved Clyde for raising her as gently as he had and not forcing her into work before she wanted to, but her short conversation with Andrea had made her very uneasy. She often forgot how strange it was for her to be without a job at her age, but to see Andrea, two years her junior, well established in her trade, married and with a baby on the way, it was a shocking reminder of how far behind in her maturity she was. She felt isolated, and suddenly regretted coming with her father to check on his suppliers.

"Damian?" Clyde asked curiously. "Are you alright?" She raised her head and nodded.

"Yes," she answered. "I just didn't realize Andrea's brother had died."

"Yes, poor boy," he commented. It was clear he wanted to say more, but the words failed to reach his lips. Damian slipped her hand in his and they walked on in silence.

It was a difficult place to be stuck in. Nothing appealed to her but what she had been doing all her life and she felt no urge to change that, but it bothered her to feel childish as she did when she visited someone like Andrea. The fact that she didn't know the girl very well seemed only to augment that feeling. She felt very alone and very glad for the warmth of her father's hand at that moment, but with it came a pang of guilt at how she had failed to support him all these years.

When they reached the mouth of the alley they walked through, Clyde shot his hand out, stopping Damian. She looked into the street and saw a well-dressed man riding a heavily laden golden brown and white horse just ahead of them. The man gave a nod to the father and daughter making way for him, and Clyde responded with a nod of his own. When the horse rider had passed by, Clyde relaxed and they stepped into the street.

"Looks like a trader from Rahgden," he remarked. "Probably here to negotiate transport of his wares."

"That was such a beautiful horse," Damian stated. Clyde only smiled and began walking toward their next destination.