Anna crept from her bed. The stone floor didn't creak, but the door hinge did; she paused for a long moment, counting the regular grinding snores from her father's room (even through two closed doors, he was audible, if barely). She opened the door and eased it just far enough, stopping before the creak could let out its ear-shattering yowl. She waited, but her father's snores didn't change.
The bag she had packed was tucked into the bottom of the armoire, which did not creak. She fetched it and slipped into the hallway on silent bare feet, her boots in her other hand. The stone floor of the hallway was cold. She made her silent way past her father's room and into the main room. There was enough of a gap between the shutters for her to see that Madam Epiphylla had also, finally, gone to bed, or at least blown out her lamps. Their next-door neighbor was kindly to her, but she spent more time tending the flowering cacti she'd been named for than the plants required, mostly to observe the goings-on in this part of Kaipo. When it was too hot for gardening, Madam Epiphylla sat at her window, sewing and watching with an eagle eye. Anna wouldn't put it past her to stay up most of the night to catch neighbors' daughters (or neighbors themselves) sneaking out.
She sat down to put on her socks and boots--the desert was cold at night, and she had a long walk ahead of her. The chair creaked when she stood up and she froze.
Her father's snores didn't waver.
She felt around on the mantelpiece behind a pile of her father's books and found the note she'd written him. She left it sitting on the armchair to the left of the fireplace, where she always sat. Her basket of mending sat beside it. She'd finished her father's coat just this evening, stitching much later into the night than usual and straining her eyes in the firelight to make sure it was done.
She plucked the cape she'd mended last week from underneath her father's coat and fastened it, pulling up the hood, and looked around one last time. "I love you," she whispered to the room, and to her father, still snoring.
The front door didn't creak because Lerovon, down the street, had fixed it for them last week. He said it was the neighborly thing to do, but everyone knew he meant it as an opening gesture in a courtship. Her father approved of Lerovon, who was a quiet and steady journeyman carpenter. Anna liked him well enough, but he didn't make her heart flutter like Edward did. She shut the door carefully behind her and checked the street. It was silent. The greater moon, half full, gave enough light for her to make sure she didn't step in anything unfortunate as she made her way through town. She kept to side streets just in case. The town gate was open, as it always was in peaceful times, because sensible travelers used the cool of night to cross the desert.
The moonlight muted all colors, but even so, Edward's orange cape was visible. Anna hummed softly, a few bars of the last song he'd written for her, so she wouldn't startle him into a louder noise. He turned swiftly, and his smile warmed her heart.
"I was worried for you," he murmured. He had been waiting a while, she realized guiltily, judging by how cold his hands were.
"Father stayed up late reading," she explained.
She was a half-handspan taller than he was; he looked up to search her face. "Are you sure, Anna?"
She leaned in for a kiss, a soft brush of lips. Their first kiss, too, had been in the moonlight; it seemed right. "I'm sure."
He took her hand and they walked through the Kaipo gate. The moons glowed silver above, the greater at half and the lesser a thin slice in the velvet depths of the sky. The sand shimmered in their light.
The Moonlit Path, G, Edward/Anna
The bag she had packed was tucked into the bottom of the armoire, which did not creak. She fetched it and slipped into the hallway on silent bare feet, her boots in her other hand. The stone floor of the hallway was cold. She made her silent way past her father's room and into the main room. There was enough of a gap between the shutters for her to see that Madam Epiphylla had also, finally, gone to bed, or at least blown out her lamps. Their next-door neighbor was kindly to her, but she spent more time tending the flowering cacti she'd been named for than the plants required, mostly to observe the goings-on in this part of Kaipo. When it was too hot for gardening, Madam Epiphylla sat at her window, sewing and watching with an eagle eye. Anna wouldn't put it past her to stay up most of the night to catch neighbors' daughters (or neighbors themselves) sneaking out.
She sat down to put on her socks and boots--the desert was cold at night, and she had a long walk ahead of her. The chair creaked when she stood up and she froze.
Her father's snores didn't waver.
She felt around on the mantelpiece behind a pile of her father's books and found the note she'd written him. She left it sitting on the armchair to the left of the fireplace, where she always sat. Her basket of mending sat beside it. She'd finished her father's coat just this evening, stitching much later into the night than usual and straining her eyes in the firelight to make sure it was done.
She plucked the cape she'd mended last week from underneath her father's coat and fastened it, pulling up the hood, and looked around one last time. "I love you," she whispered to the room, and to her father, still snoring.
The front door didn't creak because Lerovon, down the street, had fixed it for them last week. He said it was the neighborly thing to do, but everyone knew he meant it as an opening gesture in a courtship. Her father approved of Lerovon, who was a quiet and steady journeyman carpenter. Anna liked him well enough, but he didn't make her heart flutter like Edward did. She shut the door carefully behind her and checked the street. It was silent. The greater moon, half full, gave enough light for her to make sure she didn't step in anything unfortunate as she made her way through town. She kept to side streets just in case. The town gate was open, as it always was in peaceful times, because sensible travelers used the cool of night to cross the desert.
The moonlight muted all colors, but even so, Edward's orange cape was visible. Anna hummed softly, a few bars of the last song he'd written for her, so she wouldn't startle him into a louder noise. He turned swiftly, and his smile warmed her heart.
"I was worried for you," he murmured. He had been waiting a while, she realized guiltily, judging by how cold his hands were.
"Father stayed up late reading," she explained.
She was a half-handspan taller than he was; he looked up to search her face. "Are you sure, Anna?"
She leaned in for a kiss, a soft brush of lips. Their first kiss, too, had been in the moonlight; it seemed right. "I'm sure."
He took her hand and they walked through the Kaipo gate. The moons glowed silver above, the greater at half and the lesser a thin slice in the velvet depths of the sky. The sand shimmered in their light.
They set off for Damcyan, hand in hand.