The Moon

Prologue-4

Gloria squeals, beating the floor with the broom in a panic. “There is a rat in this room! Those useless cats, I swear!” Her words are earsplitting. “I don’t care if they’re everywhere all the time. I don’t care if they're supposed to be sacred to my people either. I hate them! And want the scoundrel out!” She beats the floor a few more times, breaking bits of straw from the broom, and mumbles in her native tongue. “Anealla raf. A’ana’mata muhana na’acimaj tumay fihkas!” She lets out a squeal as she continues to beat the floor, and more straw breaks away.

Sarah and Peter look at each other, bursting into laughter. They stop only for the short moment Gloria glares at them before catching a glimpse of the rat running under her chair and goes into another frenzy.

The door flies open as Luke finally comes running through.

Peter and Sarah continue to laugh.

Luke surveys the room, scythe at the ready. “What is all the crashing?” He looks from Gloria to Peter and Sarah.

Sarah can’t control her laughter, and her words come out in spurts. “Don’t worry, Father. Umula seems – to – have stumbled – onto – a rat’s nest that – the cats missed.” Sarah tries to catch her breath as she holds her stomach with her left hand and her cramping back with her right hand.

Luke sighs, relaxing. He rolls his eyes, chuckling, and holds out a hand to Gloria. She refuses. It takes all three of them to catch the rodent in a bucket. Luke takes it out into the woods behind the cottage, away from Gloria and her broom.

Peter and Sarah head to their room. The moon lights the walls. Sarah peeks out at it. Not too much longer until sunrise. They get dressed, greeting the day with a smile and dulled memories of the previous day’s discussions.

Peter walks outside to start his chores with Luke.

Sarah sits down in the kitchen with Gloria to begin lessons on a new knitting stitch.

Later that afternoon, after all her chores are done, Sarah sneaks off into the woods with her old wooden play sword. Using a tree as an opponent, she tries her best to imitate the fighting style her father showed Peter. She twirls and strikes the tree just as Peter had hit the dummy. The sword just bounces off the tree. Little bits of bark fall to the ground. It doesn’t feel the way she wanted. Shoulders slumped, she leans against the tree, sliding down the rough bumps. Her arms hang on her knees. She leans her head back, hair catching on the bark, and closes her eyes in defeat. A snap startles her. She jumps to her feet, holding the wooden sword at the ready, only to drop it and put a hand to her chest when Peter walks from behind a tree.

Peter puts his hands out in front of him. “Whoa, now, I don’t want you to hurt me with the big bad wooden sword!” He falls to his knees, hands clasped together in front of him. “No, please spare me!” He chuckles, getting up from the snow, and brushes it off his pants.

Sarah relaxes, letting out a long sigh, and her head drop towards the ground. Walking over to him, she punches him in the shoulder and keeps walking. He laughs. Before she gets too far away, he takes her into a headlock, holding her head close to his leg. She struggles enough to elbow him in the gut. He lets go. They laugh, pushing each other back and forth. Peter brushes the snow from a log, and they sit side by side.

Sarah breaths in the brisk fresh air. She loves that their natal days fall towards the end of Iclyn. It’s her favorite month of the year. When all the other months are so selfish, Iclyn is the only one where at the year’s end, everyone does something for someone else, no matter who they are. Her father calls it the month of compassion. It was in this month that they found Peter. He had told her his natal day was in the winter, so she had offered to share hers as her offering that year. She takes another big gulp of air, looking around. Oh, how beautiful the snow is today. Year after year, and it never fails to amaze her.

Sarah looks at Peter, resting her chin on her right shoulder. “You almost got hurt, you know.” Her mouth curves into a smile, and she leans her shoulder into his.

Peter looks over his shoulder, tossing a thumb behind him. “Yea, I was afraid for my life back there.” He puts a hand to his chest. “That wooden sword is menacing!” He waits a second, cutting his eyes to her, and then pushes her shoulder.

Sarah rolls her eyes. She pushes back, laughing, and sighs. Smile remaining, she looks at the ground. Pulling up her skirts, she moves her foot back and forth across the snow. Birds chirp in the trees, flying from one tree to the other. She watches them, then turns back to the blinding snow.

Peter puts his elbows on his knees, resting his chin in his hands, and looks at her. “You really want to learn, don’t you?” He watches her nod as she stares at the ground, drawing circles in the snow with the sword. “Tell you what.” Turning, he rests his right arm on his left leg. “One day.” He slaps the back of his fingertips on her leg, making her look at him. “One day, I’ll teach you for real.” He leans back, crossing his hands and throws them to the side. “No play swords, and on a day when your father can’t protest.” He watches her eyes widen, and he smiles.

Sarah looks into Peter’s blue eyes, grinning. “That would be wonderful.” She keeps grinning until Peter takes her in another headlock.

This time he rubs her hair with his fist. She struggles against him, trying to use her elbow, fist, anything at this point.

Peter stops when Luke calls for them.

Sarah falls to the ground. Getting on her feet, she punches Peter in the gut.

Peter doubles over in exaggerated pain.

Sarah kicks snow at him, and they race back to the cottage.

When they get there, Gloria has supper prepared, and they wash up before sitting at the table.