Each day became easier and easier for me. A daily schedule of rising early and returning with the sunset was becoming my new normal. And with Minryn there to be my teacher in a new light, I grew content with my situation- but never happy with it.

    The men at the field gradually began to take notice of us as we worked quickly and efficiently. Minryn became winded easily so it was often I who took on much of the work. No more did I toil, wasting my time on trivial tasks. Minryn taught me exactly what she wanted me to, she showed me how to be clever. I found new ways to keep the crops, weeding without having to break my back, irrigating without trudging heavy pails back and forth, I even made something to keep the pest away. I showed those who took interest how to work more effectively. Mainly it was the young men or the sons who took my advice, none of the seasoned farmers lowered their pride enough to take serious advice from a young girl who barely knew her way around the field.

    The thing I enjoyed most about working in the field, though my face sometimes burned and my lips became cracks and I felt sore most mornings, was the activity around me. On either side of me I could hear men calling out directions, instructions, the sound of work being done; there was life happening about.

    There was not a living soul at home. Papa was statue who whittled away in his chair day and night; his life whittling away more than the wood in his hands. He grew his beard much longer than he usually did, his eyes had completely lost their luster, their familiarity was wiped away. Feria was a ghost, silently gliding by doing what needed to be done, but not with the zest she had before. She would sometimes shave papa's beard for him- he'd hardly notice- but she was forgetful. Maman was a sight too sorry to look upon. A corpse with no life within to even care for her own needs. Feria spent a majority of her time caring for maman, keeping her alive, though it was clear maman gave up living the day Erinna left. I didn't recognize her anymore. She hadn't eaten properly for days, only what Feria would force her to eat, which was minimal. Feria did her hair, washed her clothes, bathed her bony body every so often, but it was like caring for a glass doll.

    Every day I came home to that sad, pathetic scene, it pushed me closer and closer to an edge I didn't realize I was approaching until one day it all came flooding out.

   Minryn and I had worked diligently that day so I arrived home before a burnt sky could be painted.

    I washed my grimy face in the water pail Feria set out for me then entered into the house, taking a breath before crossing the threshold. I eyed my sister, half-heartedly sweeping in the corner, a kettle of broth boiling over the fire. Papa sat where he always did, in his chair, a large piling of shavings at his feet, precariously close to the licking fire. I didn't bother to look over at maman in bed.

    That was the dull scene I stared at intently for a few minutes, never moving from my spot by the door nor anyone's eyes glancing over to where I stood. Finally, without even knowing what I was going to do, I walked over to the table, which was neatly for supper, and flung the first plate to the ground, listening to the shattering sound as I picked up another plate and flung that to the ground. The plates went first, then the bowls, then I threw the cups aside. Not satisfied, I sought the few extra utensils we had and made a mess of that too. The fire within me still raged, though, so with strength which I only possessed in that moment, I turned the table on its side and flipped the chairs and bench about- one even landing in the doorway.

   When my violent rage had subsided, I stood in the middle of the mess, glancing between my family's eyes. Papa had stopped whittling during my rage, but never looked at me and continued on once I was done. Maman remained with her eyes straight ahead into the void. Only Feria stood still from her sweeping, her hazel eyes looking right at me, unwavering as she gripped the broom. Her expression didn't read of any shocked or deeply moved emotion. Their blasè reactions only rekindled the flame inside me.

   "Am I the only one who cares!? Do I live doomed in a house of mute, dumb corpses! Where is your happiness!? It did not die with her!" My voice was hoarse from the high, sharp volume I used, but I continued on. "But you let it die with her. I am the only one who lives in this sepulcher."

    My anger still fumed but tears were spilling over my eyes, running swiftly down my face as I continued my tirade.

   "She's dead and you've had your time to mourn. You're not dead, you haven't died. You're selfish! The whole lot of you! Selfish minded people who pity themselves too much. She wouldn't want this, she wouldn't want any of this for any of you!"

   My frustrations were all but drained, leaving me tired and ready to cry openly. Kneeling over the turned over bench, I wept softly to myself. Words hadn't stirred, neither had actions. I knew nothing else to do in that moment but give into the weakness of sobs.

   Nearby, I heard my sister resume sweeping, now, the broken pieces from the things I shattered. After my tears had dried, I got up to help silently, pushing the table back and rearranging the chairs and the bench the way they were. We never made eye contact, merely keeping out of each other's ways. I didn't know what my words may have wrought in her, but I felt no remorse for my sharp words.

   We sat at the table in the dimming light of dusk, nothing passing between us as we ate our supper. She finished first and got to cleaning up. I quickly finished simply to get out of her way and the stifling presence of that room. Instead, I retreated where I usually did, my room. By the flickering candlelight I read whatever materials I had, no matter how many times I had read it before. I had lost track of time- I only knew it to be late night due to the sheer darkness and chill that had settled over the room- when a disturbance interrupted my studying.

   Feria went about the room getting ready for bed. Her hair braided for the night, she slipped on her nightgown, but stood at the edge of the bed, never getting in. I laid on my side as close the edge as I would risk. Noticing her standing but not getting in, I glanced over at her expectedly. It was then that the candlelight revealed her eyes brimming with tears.

   "Don't you dare call me a selfish person, don't you dare." Though her voice quivered, her tone spoke of the firm demeanor she held. The force behind her words startled me for, firstly, I had not heard her voice in so long and, secondly, I had not heard her use that particular tone in a long time.

   I blinked, nodding numbly. The hard features on her face remained until finally, she broke. Immediately, I rushed to her side, embracing her in a protective, comforting hold which she returned.

   As I held her, tears pricked the corners of my eyes, but never did they spill.

   In my embrace, she sobbed quietly, but not as grievously as she had the first time when Erinna's death was fresh. Those sobs didn't cause her whole body to shudder, but rather she trembled irregularly. I knew then that the grief had broken; her mourning period was coming to an end- and for that, I was thankful to have my sister back.

   Once she was done and the tears had dried, she lifted my face gently by the chin, pushing back the hair in my face. I looked up at her with a small, hopeful, yet tentative smile that she returned. Cupping my face, she leaned forward until our foreheads touched, and lowered her voice to a whisper.

   "Why do we grieve? Why are we sad?"

   I stared into her eyes and she into mine.

   "You're right. We did not die with her- especially not me and you. Before she passed, we each held a piece of each other. Now that she's gone," She swallowed hard at that truth but pressed on with her encouraging words. "We haven't lost that piece of her. She lives on in both of us, so let us continue her legacy for papa and maman to see, for everyone to know."

    We stared at each other. Within, I could feel our sisterly bond restoring itself, repairing the frayed string with a stronger, sturdy one.

    At last, I had my sister back- both of them.

A second wind had revived me, allowing me to continue. It gave me a reason to wake up each day and work till my muscles ached. Feria became my foundation once more- an even stronger one.

   We talked again, at nights and in the morning. Somehow our conversation would always subtly shift to papa and maman. We didn't know what to do about their dire situations. It felt like they were slipping away a little each day and there was nothing we could do to reel them back to land.

   We prayed, then, to the Fates for an answer, help to motivate them to live again.

   Our salvation came one steamy, early summer day. We heard the high-pitched whistle before seeing the affable man riding on the pretty mare.

   Both Feria and I were outside, washing the clothes when we heard the whistling and glanced at each other before turning our shielded eyes toward the road. Eventually, we caught sight of him, high atop Kalinee, his usual grin across his face as he approached. His arrival brought joy and a sobering mood at the same time. Our smiles were shallow, paper masks hiding the sorrow beneath.

    Dismounting, he beamed brightly at us, fanning himself with the hat he wore.

   "My, my, it's hotter than Demuk's foul breath. My two nieces persevere, however, in such conditions."

    We warmly accept his embrace but did not eagerly jump into his arms which caused him to take note, a curious expression crossing his face for a moment's time. He brushed it aside.

   "Where's little Erinna?" He asked with a grin, eyes searching for her. "She wouldn't be idling while you two do all the work, would she? She's a tricky urchin."

   While he held a playful demeanor, I could sense Feria's weak smile of normalcy was deteriorating rapidly as she sought control of the tears starting to well. Uncle Lenord immediately took notice and concern formed on his face as he pushed the tears from her eyes.

   "What troubles you?"

   Though tears continued down her face, her voice remained steady and collected.

   "Uncle Lenord...Erinna," With just the sound of her name, Feria could no longer continue and instead wrapped her arms around our uncle's neck. The expression on his face now read of increasing alarm.

    "What? What's wrong with Erinna?" His eyes darted between mine and hers, searching for answers.

    Never again did I want to break devastating news to anyone, but Feria had given way to silent weeping. But just as I was prepared to open my mouth, Feria, in a soft-spoken, hushed voice, whispered it in his ear. I could tell because of the way his expression shifted from panic to blank disbelief. He slowly pulled back from my sister in order to look into her face. For the first time in my life, I saw tears glisten in my uncle's eyes.

   He took in a deep, shaky breath then stepped back, glancing behind then back at us. He looked so uncertain of what to do. I approached him, taking his hand in mine and looking up at him- he met my eyes.

   "When?" His voice brittle.

   "Some time in early spring."

   Staggering back, he covered his face for a moment before looking up at the sky.

   "She was only ten, then?" His voice wasn't as weak, but it carried a sorrowful burden.

   Feria was fighting to control herself at such a raw scab of grief, so I was tasked to answer his questions, to drive in the painful dagger.

    "Yes."

   Rubbing his face, he looked at me for the briefest second before glancing over at the house.

   "Your parents?" He watched me with misty eyes. "How do they fare?"

   To that, I could only pitifully shake my head, staring down at my bare feet. I wanted to tell him how lifeless they had become, especially maman, but I felt a blockade forming in my throat.

   We stood there in the heavy, hot air for another minute or so before he excused himself from our presence and disappeared into the forest, stopping to retrieve his bow from Kalinee. In many ways, I was more alike with my uncle, for we both knew the difficulties of dealing with our grief and balancing the bravery needed for everyone else.

   Once he had disappeared, Feria regained control of herself and set about her duties, telling me to tend to Kalinee (a task Erinna did) while she went inside to tell papa and maman of Uncle Lenord's visit and get the house in order.

   Obeying my sister's orders, I tied Kalinee to a tree that offered her ample shading and soothed her a bit before telling her I would be right back with some water. Fetching the pail- which, since Erinna passed, had become such a burdensome thing though it weighed no more than two pounds empty- I went on my way into the forest to draw some water from the pail.

   It had been what felt like ages since I ventured to the well. Some days I was tempted rather than weary to visit the well. I wanted to sit near it, believing I could feel her presence if I was quiet enough- maybe I wouldn't frighten her spirit away. But it was foolish thinking. Firstly, that her spirit would shrink from anything rather than become energized was ridiculous. Secondly, I knew she never reached the well so such a belief that she would haunt the area was fallacious.

   Arriving at the well, I peered down in the walled pit and stared, hoping in vain to catch a glimpse of some image, some mirage of my lost sister who so easily brought light with her. But regardless of how hard I tried to imagine her sweet face grinning back up at me, only my desperate reflection blinked back at me. Not wasting any more time daydreaming, I drew the water and returned to tending to Kalinee.

    After feeding the creature, I went inside to find Feria, still preparing some nuts and boiling some water for tea. While we waited for Uncle Lenord to enter, I sat at the table watching Feria move about, such a stark contrast to papa who whittled in his chair and maman who laid in her bed.

    Uncle Lenord eventually came in, no indication of what he may have done out by himself in the forest.

    He stood in the doorway for a few silent moments. I noticed he didn't have his bow in his hands, leaving it outside in common courtesy. In similar silence, I watched him, waiting for him to do something, come in and take a sit to rest and eat on the nuts that Feria had set out. Feria, though not pausing to stare at him, waiting for him to come settle in as well, glancing over for brief intervals of time.

    At last, he came in wearily like a man from a tiresome journey- quite unlike him. He settled down at the bench across from me, offering up a weak and worn smile that didn't light up the room like his smiles usually did. So we ate our nuts in silence, letting the crackling of the fire be our only noise- though that too seemed eerily quiet.

   Feria sat nearby working on her sewing while I attempted to count all the nuts in the bowl- it was little trouble seeing how sparse they were. We remained like that for many minutes until the heavy silence was interrupted by Uncle Lenord's fist slamming the table; it seemed the whole house rattled with the force.

   Startled, I glanced up at him, ignoring the now spilled nuts on the table, and looked up wide-eyed at him. Feria, too, jumped at the sudden burst of force and we watched, with our breaths held, what would occur. Never had we witnessed him cause such a stir nor seen such a powerfully darkened look on his face.

   Already on his feet, he crossed over to papa who had stopped whittling at the disturbance but remained staring blankly at the unfinished creation in his hands. Uncle Lenord halted a few inches away from papa, staring down at him for the longest time before speaking in a harsh tone that was foreign for me to hear in his voice- especially when addressing his beloved brother.

   "What act is this?" He said almost spitting the words in disgust. "You continue to just whittle while I'm here, brother? You ignore whilst you act like a ghost?"

   Papa stayed like a statute.

  "Whittling your life away like a fool. How much longer are you going to pretend, Emeric? Until your children that remain are gone from you too? Until your wife withers away without memory? Until you become skin and bones creating a trinket? Do you think that's fair to anyone, brother?"

   His voice dropped to a softer volume, but never lost its bite.

   "Do you not remember our father's words to us as he laid on his death bed? You were there, Emeric, I know you remember."

   Papa continued to remain still, though I noticed the slightest tremor in his hands. In that tense, heated moment, it seemed only the two of them existed in the room. Uncle Lenord stood before papa with a foreboding, yet worn demeanor about his stance. His volume became even lower, though still considered quite brazen for the occasion.

   "The time of mourning has passed, let it pass. What do you accomplish craving these useless, wooden idols with no purpose? Remember you still have a family, brother. Don't forget his words."

   "Only a true fool would call another that when he has no experience."

   The hoarse, rasping voice that cut back defiantly was a stranger's. So long had it been since I heard his voice that it didn't matter how harsh the conversation, it was a new sound to hear his voice again.

    Uncle Lenord's words still carried its stony anger as he barked back.

   "Am I truly the fool? Remind me of father's last words."

   Papa stood up to his full height, though he was more fragile in his getting up. Straightening to meet his brother's stern eyes, it was apparent how the mourning period had marked him. Such a weak, light old man the times had made of papa. But he stared into Uncle Lenord's eyes with the same hardness.

   They were like that for what seemed an eternity, staring with such intensity into each other's eyes for the longest of time before papa crumpled under the pressure and fell back into his chair. Breaking out of his uncharacteristically cold manner, Uncle Lenord rushed to help ease papa more gently into his chair, standing beside him as a calming presence rather than looming over him. He knelt beside the chair, his tone softer, more familiar.

   "Brother, I know the pain. I see your hurt, but you must understand your denial cripples the ones who live on. Think of how they need your strength."

   Papa truly crumpled then, covering his face with his hands to muffle the sobs that seized him. His small frame body shuddered and convulsed with each gasp of air. We watched from where we were, Feria and I, in silent respect. Tears were shed the first time I told him the news, but never had I'd seen papa weep so heavily and openly.

   Eventually, the sobbing subsided and he looked over at Uncle Lenord who remained close by his side, patiently. Papa shakily got to his feet with the help of his brother whom he pulled into a tight embrace. Papa whispered something in his ear, but it was too hushed for me to tell what he could have muttered.

   It was as if the tears had washed away the facade of that unresponsive, small man and before us stood our papa- the man we knew with the familiar gleam in his eyes.

   Once he had finished addressing Uncle Lenord, we were remembered as he looked over at us with tears still shimmering in his eyes. All it took was for him to call us and we went running into his arms where he held us close, prattling apologies and kissing our foreheads tenderly, telling us how everything would be fine.

   I had my papa back.

We were, of course, sad to see Uncle Lenord go. He tarried longer than was normal for him, but it was needed. He was the breath of life the house- and its occupants- needed. He brought back papa, for that and much more I continued to view my uncle as an unappreciated hero; an original Blytas.

    The only sore spot that remained was maman. She remained, even with new urging from papa, a corpse barely alive. All she had to relate to humanity was her constant, shallow breathing which never ceased.

   Every day, papa left for the fields with hope that maman would shake off whatever dark spirit drained her, but every night he'd returned to the same lethargic corpse he had left.

   Feria and I tried with her every day, with renewed hope that since papa was shaken out of his miserable state so could she be woken to life again. But maman and papa were two different cases with two different states of where they were in grief. I eventually began to lose hope- and honestly, patience- for maman and only Feria would try to rouse her.

   Since papa returned, no more did I have to venture out to the fields anymore. He was quite impressed how I managed to handle myself despite little prior knowledge of farming. With my new freedom, I resumed my studies, in town, with Minryn. The fields had taught us new things, though, and every so often we would explore the outside world, interacting with nature and others- that was the new stage in my studies.

   Everything was slowly but surely resorting to normalcy again- or however normal could be without my sister's glimmering light. The only stain which strained us was maman.

   One day, when the summer heat wasn't too scalding, Minryn had sent me home early for she wasn't in the best condition then. So, begrudgingly, I returned home to that half repaired house where Feria was continuing the chores and maman was in bed. The windows were open, as they usually were in the summer, and a gratifying breeze blew in once and a while. The day was as pleasant as ever could be.

    I noticed Feria getting a bath ready, retrieving the bucket to fetch the water.

   "I'll be back," She told me by the door. "Get maman ready, please."

    I watched her hurry out the house to the well before looking onward to maman. There she laid, this time with her back to me and the golden rays which split in.

    Inwardly, I sighed, though I scolded myself for doing so; she was my mother but she had let her grief transform her into a burden. I was a blossoming young woman, I needed maman more than ever at that time.  

    "Maman," I stood by her bedside, standing over her. "You need to get up. Feria went to get the water for your bath." As though she couldn't hear the previous conversation, though she didn't turn her ears to much those days.

    When she wouldn't stir, I didn't fuss for I knew she was a slow reactor and sometimes needed assistance. I waited but she didn't move.

    "Maman, you have to get up, just for this short while."

    Again, she made no move, not a single muscle showed signs of potential movement. In that quickest moment, frustration gripped me and my voice became stern, something that would dismay any- including myself if I hadn't been in that state- if they had heard it uttered from a child to a parent.

   "Mother, why don't you care anymore? Why'd your love die with her?"

   Nothing.

   As I would soon begin to discover as I grew older, anger could rain upon me rapidly if given the fire needed.

   Maman continued to block life out.

   Without much thought, I pulled off the bed covers from her revealing her fragile, malnourished body tightly curled up. Instead of pity or embarrassment, anger continued to bite at me and with one light pull I yanked her to her feet out of bed. She was shaky on her feet, her weak legs buckling- I had to support her, though it wasn't too strenuous considering her lightness. With her one arm wrapped around my shoulder, I began dragging her outside into the bright day.

   One might be horrified to witness me so callously drag along my mother like a ragdoll out of the house in nothing but her nightgown, but my anger was great. It was fueled even more by the voidness in her face and eyes as she allowed me to pull her along, tripping over things on the forest floor. Her feet were bruised with scraps underfoot.

   I dragged her along until we reached the spot I sought. The crudely made headpiece marked the grave where my sister's body lied decaying. When we arrived, maman knelt to the ground in a heap as if pushed. She refused to look up at the marking so I raised my voice now that we were out in the open.

   "Do you see it, maman, do you see it? There's where your hopes and life lay. Dig it up, maman, dig up your cares, dig up your purpose, it's all right there." My voice was shrilled and becoming raw with how loud I was. The lump in my throat didn't help either.

   My finger was pointed adamantly at the marking that she still refused to see. She now had her hands covering her face as she rocked before the grave. I heard no sound admitting from her.

    "See it, maman. She's dead!" The words felt hollow. My voice cracked with the emotions. "She's dead and you keep on mourning. Don't you know she's still here? I'm part of her! Feria's part of her! Papa and Uncle Lenord are part of her! You are part of her! You hurt her by ignoring what she cherished so much: life."

    Maman had ceased rocking but her hands remained on her face as she bent over in grief at the edge of the grave. Just as I was about to raise my voice at her again, I heard a soft mumbling that sounded like muted noise. Leaning closer to her, I waited to hear something else. There were no mutterings until a moment passed and she removed her hands from her face. Still, her voice was barely audible.

   "My daughter, my lost daughter." There were tears pouring down her face. She grabbed handfuls of dirt and put it like ash in her hair, weeping soundlessly.

   Some of my anger had subsided but not all of it. I stood over her, staring down at her while she wept. I was tired of the mourning- that time had long past. Pain was still allowable but not grief.

   "You still are deaf to the truth, mother. Your daughter does much better off this earth. She lives amongst the Chosen, yet you continue your selfish antics. Wake up, mother, wake up!"

   The undecipherable mutters had died and she remained absolutely still on the ground. There was a low rumble of a mumble that I couldn't understand.

   "You cry for your lost child in words one can't hear, but go mute for your living child you turn your back on." Tears of anger trembled in my eyes. "I thought we were taught not to be cowards of anything yet you cower in fear of truth."

   The mutter was spoken slightly louder but not loud enough.

   I took a step back from her, shaking my head.

   "We need you maman, why don't you listen anymore? Don't you care for us who live at all?"

    The mutter increased volume until I could hear her breathy, raspy voice croak out something which remained a mystery to me. She now sat up in an upright position, her back to me while she stared straightforward at the grave marking, muttering her words.

    "Mother! Listen! Open your ears," I yelled at her. "Open your heart and care again! Selfishness must die."

    Finally, she stood to her feet but refused to turn around to look at me, her volume starting to decrease again and mumbling overcoming her words which were on the cusp of becoming understandable. I waited for what felt like an eternity for her to turn around and face me, but her back remained to me. I couldn't hold in the rage anymore, tears spilling down my face.

   "Where had my mother gone? She turns her cowardice back on her family like a-"

   The words were gone from my mouth as the sharp sound of her hand resounded and the stinging burn across my cheek followed.

   Taken aback, I rubbed my burning cheek in shock, wincing at the pain, all anger depleted of my system. Finally, I stared into my mother's eyes which flames licked in. Straightening up, I held her stormy gaze. There was an old, familiar rigidness in her posture that would only come about when something had vexed her.

    Fighting the fixed expression of shock on my face, I settled for a more nonchalant, unyielding expression as I roughly wiped the tears from my cheeks and watched her.

   When she spoke, it was not with the frail, meek voice one would expect from her, but a hoarse, stony one. "Deaf to the truth? Deaf to the truth that my child is dead? Am I dumb to that truth?"

   With another swift yet heavy hit, I recoiled but recovered as a new stinging resulted on the other side of my face. I kept my hands to my side, the tears brimming in my eyes, but I remained firm.

   Her chest heaved in labored, heated breaths like mine did previously. She assaulted me again, this time seemingly unrelenting in her heavy slaps- which were surprising for her weakened state- that made my ears buzz. The world spun before me as I was battered all about. All the while, I simply let her rave and beat me without any resistance. All her anger went into her words and actions.

   "You pitiless child, you callous urchin! How dare you! How dare you!"

   The anger had seeped out of her. Sobbing shook her small body and she stopped her attack on me, her words dying on her tongue. I stood watching her fall about before me, my face red and burning with pain from the blows she dealt me. But I didn't fault her, that was what she needed. The tears restricted to my eyes eventually leaked out as well.

   Maman looked up at me. Her face was red and blotchy, tear streaked with dirt mingled on her face, but her eyes were filled with familiar, with light. For the first time since Erinna's death, I saw maman and I knew she saw me.

   We stared at each other for another moment, taking in our conditions, before she enveloped me in tight, protective embrace. The tears began anew.

   "I'm so sorry." She sobbed, holding me close. "My daughter, my dear, dear Aelita."

   I clasped onto her, unable to compose myself to speak until a minute or so. I then whispered in her ear.

   "It's okay now, maman. It's going to be okay."

   We continued to hold each other, pouring out all the pain of the last few months and seasons near Erinna's grave. A weight had lifted and life had returned in a rushing, overwhelming current. The drought had passed.

    Our grieving period was over.