The days were going to become colder, the nights longer; the time for the harvest was approaching.

   That harvest year, Feria and I assisted how we did every year, though we were a bit slothful in our work. Feria would organize the potatoes, lentils, carrots, and goodroots. I would keep record of our product; it helped since I was the only one who could record and it gave me practice, which I was in dire want of since finishing my speller.

   During harvest, maman and Erinna would stay home and help- most families did during the harvest.

   Maman would supervise our work, weigh the total produce before and after bagging, and set the dyes outside. Erinna was put to work shifting through the produce, tossing away the good from the bad, already having a keen eye for such things at a young age.

   Papa had the most toiling part. He'd harvest the barley during the wee hours of early morning then spend the daylight at the threshing floor, coming home as the sun slipped behind the horizon to carry out the bagged produce, packing it on the cart to wheel into town when collection day arrived.

   Most harvests were fine, that year was no different. We had a slight surplus, but not an overwhelming amount, it was better than nothing.

    When the harvest had passed, families of the same crop field would come together and celebrate. It was the only celebration as a community that we held. I would cherish that time for it was the only time I had playmates other than my sisters.

   We would count down the days till collection day when it marked the official end to field season and the harvest. Every year, papa would take the cart into town by himself and come home with the reward of the labor- that was what always made papa proud, was hold the earnings of his work. Afterwards, with our leftover produce, maman would start preparing food for the celebration which was always held in an empty field not too far.

    That year, as the day came for collection and we all went outside to watch papa wheel the cart of our labor down the road, I had the notion to come along with him. I asked him just before we went outside to the cart.

   He looked down at me with slight surprise, thinking on the matter.

   "As long as you keep from trouble." He told me.

   I beamed, eager to head to town.

   "We should ask your maman, though, before we go."

   That didn't deter my spirits. I approached maman and refraining from rapidly explaining, I asked her for permission.

   She wore the same critical expression papa did when answering me, except there were traces of clear rejection.

   "Please maman?" I pleaded. "I already promised papa I wouldn't cause trouble. I'll be good."

   Maman was not to be easily swayed. Ever since our visit with the priestess, maman had been reluctant about allowing me to do things. She was fearful of my inexperience with my blessing and didn't want to stir up trouble.

   "As long you stay close to your father, I suppose I will allow it."

   "Thank you maman." I hugged her.

   She smoothed my hair from my face, kissing my forehead, then scooting me along.

   We departed, waving goodbye to my sisters and maman as we carted down the room toward town where the collection was held.

   I was always eager to enter town as it had always been a pleasant experience for me. Usually, on most visits into town, I would wander freely, exploring whatever I chose, but this time, I promised maman I'd stay close to papa so I obeyed her wishes.

   The town was crowded, full of people who lived outside on the edge with their carts of products overflowing; livestock being herded together, weary mules pulling carts, men, women, and children about. The flurry of activity excited me, but I remained close to papa.

   People were standing in line with their products at tables, waiting to be seen by men at the desks who wore uniforms. The men would inspect the products then scribble down notes on a paper before them. After it was all through, the men in uniforms would hand the person a slip of paper then some money, which seemed more valued than the paper.

    As we approached the loud, muttering throng, papa guided me to a line.

   "This one Aelita, this is our line."

   It seemed, from my observations, that each line was for each crop field. The members of each crop field would go to their respective lines and wait to be rewarded.

   As papa and I waited in ours, I took interest in the men behind the tables. They looked different from what I was used to. For one, they wore clean, dark red uniforms- every one of them. Secondly, they each seemed to have a horse. Behind them, horses were tied near troughes. The only man I knew to have a horse was Uncle Lenord. No one in our province owned a horse or any transporting animal aside from maybe a mule. Thirdly, though it was hard to see, each man had a sword with them at their side. The swords gleamed and were long, not like the dull daggers that people in our province owned. My curiosity was so great, I inquired of papa about these men.

   "Where are those men from?"

   He looked at them then down at me.

   "They are the guardsmen of the king. They come from the palace."

   I was amazed. I had never been so close to someone from the palace. We scarcely heard much from the palace other than the laws which affected us. No one talked of the king or royal family or guardsmen, we were disconnected from such a world.

   By the time we approached the table- a table so tall my eyes just met the surface- I was staring at the man who routinely asked papa for any records of his products. Papa handed over the paper with my numbers and lines on it. The guardsman gruffly inspected the paper, making marks and scratches over certain things. After he was through looking at the paper, he told papa to bring the cart closer for him to inspect it. He looked over that with a stoic face as well, peering into sacks and prodding things. Finally, he took out a piece of parchment of his own and scribbled down a few things, handing it over to papa whose eyes shone with fulfillment at the sight of it in his hands. The last thing the guardsman did was reward papa his due. That made papa even happier. We were instructed to wheel our cart over to where a group of other farmers were unloading their products into bigger carts with coverings. There was one for livestock and one for produce. There were guardsmen helping as well.

   Papa gave the slip of paper over to a guardsman who told him where to load his products. I was glad to do something other than wait in lines and merrily assisted papa in carrying the sacks onto the covered cart. We had a few products still left in our cart which was our surplus for the rest of the colder season.

   "Last line." Papa smiled wearily, as we waited to approach another man, who was dressed differently from the other guardsmen. The man wore a uniform of sorts as the others did, but his was more embellished and a dark blue color.

   This last line moved quicker than the others and most were relieved when they walked away, happy to be done with collection and have their reward.

   I held onto papa's hand as we were called forth.

   "Next." The man had a very deep, commanding voice that rumbled.

   Though he was dressed differently from the others, he still maintained the same brisk actions and hard, unchanging eyes the other men had. I was fixated by his brown, full mustache, though I knew it was rude to stare.

   He pushed a long piece of parchment and a writing tool toward papa. Since the table was lower than the previous one, I was able to see what was on the paper.

   The long paper seemed to contain a lengthy sentence at the top, a wax seal on the bottom right of it, and a list of blank places where names would signed. There were very few, actual names signed, rather unintelligible scribbles that were little more than dashes and marks. The few names that were signed were either only a surname or a shaky spelling of the first and last. There was only one, neat, legible name written in fine cursive- so fine I could only make out an M as the first name and B as the surname.

   Papa picked up the writing tool and held it over the parchment, but never touched it. He seemed hesitant, glancing quickly down at me then at the paper then finally up at the man.

   "I'm afraid I can't-"

   "Just put something," The man rumbled, his arms crossed. His bushy eyebrows hid his eyes well, but the impatience was prominent.

   Papa nodded meekly but still staggered. I then understood his dilemma and plucked the tool from his hand.

   "Let me, papa, let me!" I cried eagerly.

   He gave me an unsure look then looked at the man again.

   "Is it possible my daught-"

   "It doesn't matter, as long as someone from your household signs." He replied curtly.

   I beamed as papa stepped aside. I concentrated on writing each letter. My hand was craving the feel of letters forming into words. I wrote as neatly as I could, not as fine as the MB signature, but clearer than a majority of the others. I had practiced writing all my family's names so writing papa's wasn't foreign to me.

   Setting the tool down, I inspected my work. The letters were shaky but legible. There papa's full name was before me. Emeric Domshov.

   "Very good, Aelita." He praised me. I smiled proudly up at him.

    The man took back his paper and tool as papa and I walked to our cart and began off toward home. I was eager for the celebration and food about to come.

    As we retreated from the crowd of busy people, I had to glance back one last time to stare at the man with the full mustache and impressive uniform. He was still at the table, waving on the next person, inspecting over his list. Suddenly, he frowned, raising a bushy eyebrow in question as he peered closer at the paper. He looked up, seemingly searching for somebody then meeting my eyes. I knew it rude to stare, but the man interested me and I seemed to be the focus of his attention then. We kept each other's gaze, my quiet, curious, gray ones with his puzzled, questioning brown ones until a group of carts and people blocked our eyeline and I finally looked away toward the path ahead.

    We would celebrate greatly that night, around neighbors and friends, happy and warm in our accomplishments. I told my sisters and all the other children about the guardsmen, especially the one with the heavy eyebrows and matching mustache.