Mirabel had awoken late again that morning, and had suffered through yet another uncomfortable breakfast. Adelaide had not had much to say, considering Mirabel couldn’t very well answer while she was eating. It was hard to spoon food into your mouth while motioning a response.

    She’d found it easier to get dressed that morning, at least. Having done it twice before, she was beginning to figure it out. It still took her several minutes and caused her much embarrassment, but she was getting better at it. Didn’t make her feel less stupid, though.

    Currently, she was heading up to the cottage from the fields, Tomas having asked her to retrieve a bucket he’d forgotten for milking the goats. Esther and Ansel were both nowhere to be found for some reason, otherwise she was sure he’d have asked one of them. She wasn’t sure she even knew where to look for a bucket. She felt rather lost when walking anywhere on the small farm, to be honest.

    Fortunately, however, once she got into the cottage and rummaged in the kitchen a bit, she found an empty bucket. With a pleased smile at having managed to accomplish something useful at last, she walked out the front door with the bucket swinging at her side.

    To her surprise, just outside the door was Esther and Ansel, drawing in the dirt with sticks. Esther pointed to something, and Ansel nodded, scratching at the dirt again. He then pointed to something, and she began moving her stick in circles on the ground.

    Curious, she walked over to them, neither of the two having noticed her yet. As she got closer, she could see in front of them were several drawings, mostly of patterns, such as circles or squares, but also pictures of flowers and trees.

    She took a step closer, her foot scraping against the ground, and Esther finally looked up. Her mouth opened in a small ‘O’ of surprise, and she quickly scrambled to her feet. Ansel looked up at his sister as she stood before his eyes wandered to Mirabel, and he too scrambled to his feet in an instant, dropping the stick he was holding.

    Mirabel wondered why they were acting as if they’d been caught doing something they shouldn’t. They were only drawing, after all. Why should they be afraid of being caught?

    “Don’t tell mummy,” Esther said, breaking the strange and uncomfortable silence. Mirabel’s brow scrunched in confusion at that. “We just got distracted, that’s all.” Ansel nodded, backing his sister’s words, but adding none of his own.

    Mirabel nodded, still confused, but Esther immediately brightened. Jumping forward, she pulled Mirabel into a hug, her thin arms wrapping easily around Mirabel’s small waist. Surprised, it took her a moment to return the hug. She decided that they had simply been distracted from their chores and didn’t want to get in trouble for it.

    “Thanks you, Dove,” Esther said with a smile. Mirabel smiled back, but it was a distracted smile. She was looking at their drawings, and she took a step closer to see them better. Her eyes wandered to the sticks the children had dropped, and all of a sudden something clicked.

    Bending over, she picked up a stick as the children watched curiously. She crouched and began to drag the stick through the dirt, watching as it left a line behind it. Her eyes shifted to the patterns drawn by the children, and a smile came over her face.

    Straightening, she turned to the children with a large grin. Their confused faces stared back at her, not understanding her odd behavior, but she didn’t care. She had just realized that she could communicate after all.

    Still holding the bucket in one hand, and the stick in the other, she dashed down the hill towards Tomas and the goats. The wind rushed through her hair, flowing behind her in tossing waves. She enjoyed the freedom of having her hair down. While the intricate hairstyles of the palace were beautiful, they couldn’t compare to the feeling of hair tumbling down around your shoulders, or the wind rushing through it and blowing it, twisting it.

    Barely slowing, she skidded her way to a stop at the bottom of the hill, almost stumbling again. She dashed the rest of the way across the field to Tomas, the bucket swinging behind her.

    Tomas saw her, and a laugh tumbled from his lips, his shoulders shaking. She stopped in front of him, her face flushed and a grin on her face. He returned the grin with a chuckle following it, his green eyes alight in amusement.

    “You didn’t have to run, you know,” he said. “I had one bucket already.”

    Mirabel shrugged, still grinning, and handed him the bucket. The bucket wasn’t the reason she’d run anyway. The stick, however, was a different story.

    Spotting a bare patch of ground, she headed over to it, stick in hand. She crouched on the ground and looked over her shoulder to see that Tomas had followed. He had, but with a confused expression on his face.

    “What are you-?” he began to ask, but stopped as Mirabel began drawing lines in the dirt with the stick.

    She scratched furiously, writing as much as she could in the space given, trying to explain who she was. Perhaps if he knew, he could get her back home. As much as she may have liked the farm, it wasn’t her life. Her life was back at the palace, planning a wedding, getting married to a prince, becoming queen. Not milking goats and carrying buckets.

    A hand touched her shoulder, and she started a bit in surprise. She turned and looked up at Tomas, who was staring down at her with a serious face. Her brow scrunched.

    “Dove,” he began, and her heart plummeted. That wasn’t her name. “I can’t read.”

    She felt the stick slip from her grasp, falling to the dirt, but she hardly noticed. He couldn’t read. His words seemed to echo through her mind endlessly. It had never even occurred to her that he had never learned. It just seemed like the sort of thing everyone knew. But apparently not. Her high spirits of a few moments before fell, draining out of her like the sand in an hourglass trickling from one end to the other.

    Her eyes had fallen from his, but now they returned, capturing his gaze once more. He seemed to have realized how much his words had affected her, his face having turned grim. As their eyes met again, his jaw clenched slightly, his face setting in a hard expression. It looked odd on him. He normally had such a kind face, open and innocent. But now, he instead looked as if his last hopes had been drained away, not hers. He looked like he had nothing left to lose.

    She felt tears burn at the back of her eyes, but she blinked the feeling away, refusing to let them fall. It was silly of her anyway. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. Of course a goatherd wouldn’t be able to read. Of course it had been a stupid idea.

    She blinked again and felt a single tear roll down her cheek despite her efforts, leaving behind it’s salty trail. Lifting a hand, she wiped it away before it could reach her chin and fall to the earth.

    Swallowing hard, she looked up at Tomas’s face, still grim, and she smiled. It felt forced, and it didn’t quite reach her eyes, but it was all she could muster. After days of her hopes being snatched away, this last one was the final straw, and it was difficult to hold herself together. She just wanted to go home. Why was that so much to ask?

    She pushed herself up and straightened, Tomas doing the same beside her. She avoided looking him in the eyes. She realized she was getting overly emotional over something that was really nothing. It was stupid. She took a deep, shuddering breath. She’d be fine.

    She left the stick on the ground behind her and walked away. No footsteps followed her. That was fine. Everything was fine. She was numb; she was fine.

Tomas watched as she walked away. He could tell she was pretending to be fine, but he could also tell that it was just pretending. His inability to read had hit her harder than he’d expected it to.

    He glanced back at the scratches in the dirt, letters that formed words that he couldn’t read. Words that were important to her. Words that he couldn’t possibly decipher. It had never bothered him that he couldn’t read. He could count money, which was enough for selling the goat’s milk, but reading had never really been a need for him. Not until now.

    The pained look on her pale face when he’d told her he couldn’t read flashed through his mind, and he closed his eyes, rubbing his temples in an attempt to get rid of the image. He couldn’t stand to see others in pain, and knowing he had caused hers hurt him.

    She hadn’t managed to get many words written. He bent over and picked up the stick, twirling it between his fingers. He’d stopped her before she’d gone too far. She’d been so excited to finally be able to communicate; he almost wondered if he should have let her continue.

    No. That would have been far crueler.

    But still, as he watched her dejected form walk away, his thoughts couldn’t help but spin in circles about what he could have done. Finally, though, they settled. He hadn’t had much time to think yet that morning about the previous evening and the discussion with his mother, but now that’s where he found his thoughts had landed at last.

    He’d made his decision, he realized. And it wasn’t because of a good night’s sleep. It was because of a certain Lucerne girl’s fallen face when he’d opened his mouth to shatter her final hope.

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A/N I'll be honest, I felt rather melodramatic when I was writing this. But, oh well x) First drafts and all. Anyway, hope you like! Let me know down below, okie? Okie. Lovels! xx

P.S. Happy Thanksgiving to you Americans out there!