chapter 16 whispers of the wind
940 Words
The sun was sinking when Aria reached the market square again, its golden light spilling through the gaps between crooked wooden stalls. Long shadows stretched across the stone ground, and the air carried the mixed scents of earth, smoke, and crushed herbs. Her basket was nearly empty now—only a few carefully wrapped packets remained—but her legs trembled with exhaustion.
Her feet ached.
Her shoulders burned.
Sweat clung to her skin beneath the faded linen of her dress.
Still, she straightened her back and forced a small smile as customers passed.
Anything was better than returning home early. Anything was better than facing Aunt Selda’s sharp tongue and sharper temper.
Around her, the market hummed with life. Vendors called out final prices. Coins clinked. Children darted between stalls, laughing as mothers scolded them half-heartedly. Gossip drifted on the breeze, loose and careless, spilling like water over stone.
Aria kept her head down, rearranging the remaining herbs as neatly as she could. Fever-leaf. Mint. A bundle of duskroot she had picked before dawn, fingers numb from the cold forest soil.
“Still here?”
She looked up.
It was the same woman from earlier—the one with kind eyes and a tired smile, the one who had bought fever-leaf and waved off her husband’s impatience. She stood before the stall again, hands folded loosely, studying Aria with quiet concern.
“You work too hard,” the woman said gently. “Where’s your mother?”
Aria’s fingers froze mid-motion.
The word struck deeper than she expected.
“She… passed,” Aria said after a moment, her voice barely steady.
The woman’s expression softened immediately, sympathy blooming across her face. “I’m sorry, dear.” She paused, then glanced at the herbs again. “These look fresh. Your hands must be kind to them.”
Aria almost laughed.
Kind?
Her hands knew splinters and bruises. They knew scrubbing floors raw and gripping baskets until her palms burned. They knew the sting of Aunt Selda’s grip when patience ran thin.
“I just do what I can,” Aria said quietly.
Before the woman could reply, a sharp, shrill voice sliced through the warm evening air.
“Ariaaa! Look who’s still here pretending she’s a merchant!”
Her stomach dropped.
Mira.
Aria stiffened as Mira approached, Rae trailing beside her. Both girls wore soft pastel dresses, clean and pressed, their hair braided neatly and tied with ribbons. They looked like they belonged to laughter and comfort—everything Aria was not.
Mira wrinkled her nose dramatically, eyes sweeping over Aria’s dusty skirt and worn sandals.
“Selda really sent you out again?” she said mockingly. “You look exhausted. Did she even let you eat?”
Aria ignored her, turning back to the woman and forcing calm into her voice. “Would you like anything else? I can give a discount.”
Rae snorted and stepped closer, plucking a packet of mint from the table as if it were hers already.
“Discount? For this?” She laughed. “You should pay me to take it.”
“Put it back,” Aria said quietly.
Rae only raised it higher, dangling it between her fingers. “Or what? You’ll run crying to Aunt Selda?”
Something tightened in Aria’s chest—anger, sharp and sudden, pressing against her ribs.
Before she could respond, the woman stepped forward, frowning. She gently took the mint from Rae’s hand and placed it back on the table.
“That’s enough,” she said firmly. “She’s working for her family. Show some manners.”
Rae rolled her eyes, clearly unused to being corrected, but Mira tugged at her sleeve.
“Come on,” Mira muttered. “Let’s go.”
As they turned away, something strange happened.
A breeze swept through the market.
Not the warm evening wind—but something cooler, sharper. The herbs on Aria’s table fluttered. Leaves lifted, spinning lightly in a small circle, as though guided by unseen hands.
It lasted only a heartbeat.
But Aria felt it.
Her breath caught. Her pulse raced.
She hadn’t meant to do anything—but something inside her had answered her frustration, rising instinctively like breath.
No one seemed to notice. No one—except a little boy nearby, his eyes wide as he stared at the swirling leaves, then slowly up at Aria.
Their gazes met.
Aria shook her head gently, a silent plea.
The boy hesitated… then nodded.
The woman glanced at the herbs, impressed. “You truly have a healer’s touch,” she said warmly.
Aria swallowed hard. “I… just take care of them. That’s all.”
A bell rang somewhere in the square—clear and final.
Closing time.
Aria quickly packed the remaining herbs into her basket and bowed slightly. “Thank you.”
“Be safe going home,” the woman said. “And if you ever need a place to rest… my shop is by the fountain.”
Aria blinked.
Kindness like that felt unreal. Dangerous, even.
“I will,” she said softly. “Thank you.”
As she walked home, the last light of the evening faded behind the rooftops, shadows swallowing the narrow path ahead. Her chest tightened with dread—Aunt Selda would be waiting.
But beneath the fear, something else stirred.
A faint warmth.
A fragile hope.
She didn’t know it yet…
…but just beyond the forest line, hidden among ancient trees, a pair of sharp silver wolf eyes followed her movements—curious, watchful, and strangely drawn to the girl who did not yet know what she was becoming.
- Writer
