The Fairy Tales of Ella and Meline, Chapter Nine: Kindling
This chapter is dedicated to Mom.
Also, content warning: child abuse is fairly central to this one, guys.
***
Meline allowed herself the smuggest of grins as she came up West Earth Shaft; she’d gathered enough deep-black for several mantles. She thought about curing it; cured deep-black was sunbeam-resistant, but it lost a lot of softness and stretch as a result. She patted her rucksack; there was lots of time to decide what to do with it.
The elevator stopped, and she got out. A short walk down the passage, and she asked the earth to guide her, her will flowing down the walls and floor and ceiling. The shaft was ajar, her lid shifted off to one side to allow fresh air in while Meline was down here, but that also meant creatures could sneak in. They didn’t often, but Meline didn’t feel like getting nipped by a cricket tonight.
It came as a mild surprise, then, when she felt something. A trio of pulses so soft against the earth a younger fairy might’ve missed them, but unmistakeable as the breath and heartbeats of sleep. Meline held her staff across her body, asked her staff to light, and started forward, letting her feet loudly scuff against the dirt. No change. She heard a stirring from the alcove directly under the tunnel’s lid, and stepped into it from as far opposite the disturbance as she could.
A fairy child was fitfully asleep. After almost dropping her staff, Meline propped it against the wall and knelt. It was a little girl, maybe two thousand years old, and so skinny she was nearly see-through, with a mat of hair all about her. Meline furrowed her brow. The girl’s clothes, though filthy and torn beyond recognition, were finer than most. Touching the child’s tiny hand and forehead felt like brushing against ice.
Meline removed her rucksack, and wrapped the girl in deep-black. The risk of tearing it hardly crossed her mind; deep-black, the natural fabric of pure darkness, despite its native shafts and caverns, was quite warm.
Once the child was swaddled, Meline thrust the lid, a flat rounded piece of limestone aside, hefted the child in both arms, and somehow clambered out of the shaft. It was a cold autumn night, though the wind was dying. As Meline set the stone back in place and picked the girl up, she supposed the chill had forced the girl into the hole.
Meline whistled for Coarser; the child was lighter than anyone her age should be, but Meline was unused to the weight. Before she’d crossed halfway to Oakhill, Coarser was flying across the grass toward her. “Get Ella,” Meline said, “this child needs food, and shelter from the cold. Hurry!” Coarser sniffed the bundle once, reared, turned about, and was gone toward the hall.
Meline felt the child stir. “It’s alright,” she murmured, hugging the bundle to her chest. “You’re safe now. Soon you’ll be warm and full.” Whether the girl heard her, or was reassured by the contact, she settled back down.
Meline was in the light of the stable door when two figures emerged, led by Coarser. Havel’s height gave him away, and Meline would recognize Ella’s stride anywhere. She held out her arms, and Meline passed the child to her. Ella pulled back a fold of the deep-black even as she turned on the spot and rushed inside, Meline and Havel on her heels.
“She’s cold,” Ella said. She looked to Havel. “Stoke the kitchen fire and gather the blankets from the storeroom in the left upper wing. She’s injured too,” Ella said as Havel raced ahead. “Her right eye’s swollen shut. Once we’ve got her warm, we’ll have to check if she has any other wounds.”
“I didn’t see any blood, and no signs she fell into the shaft,” Meline said as they passed the front landing, “though the poor thing’s filthy head to toe. If there are any cuts, we’ll have to clean them.”
“I’ll grab the supplies from the infirmary,” Ella said as they mounted the stairs. “Could you re-warm the soup? She should have something thick and nourishing, but not too much if she’s starved.”
“Yeah,” Meline said, still puffing from the stairs, “and maybe a sip of faerye. It’ll warm her fast.” Ella nodded. They came to the kitchen, the fire roaring in the hearth. Ella set the child by the fire and went for her supplies. As Meline pulled back the swaddling, Havel came in with blankets piled over his head. “Thank you,” Meline said. “Once I’ve unwrapped the deep-black, could you give it a shake and put it in my storeroom? It needs to cure for several months.”
Havel nodded. “How is she?”
“We’ll know once Ella gets back,” Meline said. “For now, she’s alive, and warming up. If we can get her clean, put some hot food in her, and make sure she’s not seriously hurt, that’ll be a good start.” Havel nodded, then left with the deep-black.
Meline made a bed out of the blankets on the floor, then set the child on it, and threw more blankets on top. She let the fire die down—Havel had built it up too high—then set the pot of soup on.
Meline felt the girl’s hand and forehead again. They seemed warmer. Hopefully she wouldn’t catch a fever.
Ella came in while Meline was stirring the soup, carrying two hefty cases. One held gauze of spider-thread, silk ties, and absorbent fluff of various kinds, along with glass knives, probes, and other instruments. The other held a number of small bottles—cleansers and tonics that would give strength to the weak and purge sickened cuts—Meline’s own contributions to the infirmary stock.
Meline turned back to the soup. Piping hot; good. She pulled a small bowl out of the cupboard and was just filling it when she glanced at the makeshift bed. A small dark eye blinked at her.
“Hello,” Meline said, kneeling. The child twitched as if resisting the urge to move away. “Are you alright?” After a moment, the child nodded. “Are you hungry?” Another nod. Meline glanced at the cutlery drawer. “I have some soup for you. I’m just going to grab a spoon.”
Meline scooted over, and reached up with one hand while the other grabbed the bowl from the counter. “Can you sit up?”
The child gingerly propped herself up. She caught sight of Ella, and stopped like a rabbit who’d heard a twig snap.
“You have nothing to fear here, child,” Ella said. “You are in my house. And Meline has some soup for you.” She added in a stage whisper. “Between you and me, it’s pretty good.”
The child looked back at Meline, who held out the bowl. “Careful,” Meline said as she took it, “it’s…” the child, after a quick sniff, shoveled soup into her mouth until her cheeks were full to bursting, “…hot.”
But she seemed unbothered by the heat. The soup was swiftly gone, and the girl held out the bowl to Meline. Her hopeful expression needed no translation.
“Before you have another bowl,” Ella said, “I’d like to have a look at you.” She knelt on the other side of the makeshift bed.
Havel came back into the kitchen. “The deep-black’s put away, Miss—”
It was lucky the child had eaten so fast. The moment Havel opened the door she dropped the bowl and threw the blankets over herself. Strung taut as a fiddlestring. Just like— A small, ominous feeling crept into Meline’s heart.
“The child just woke up, Havel,” Ella said, turning to face him, “and she might be scared if there are too many of us here. Maybe go down to the forge and work on one of your projects. We’ll call if we need you.”
He bowed. “I’m just a bell away.” He backed out of the room, looking undeservedly sheepish.
Ella turned back to the blankets. She set a hand on top of them. “You can come out.” The blankets stirred. “Havel is a kindly soul. He has three little sisters, and is a big teddy bear to all of them.”
Two small hands appeared above the blankets, and pulled them down. The girl sat back up. Ella held a hand to her chest, and made a small, seated bow. “I am Ella,” she said, “and this is Meline. She found you in a mine shaft we have in the yard, and brought you here.” She smiled. “As I said, you’re safe under my roof.”
The child sat still, then turned to Meline and held up the bowl.
Meline chuckled. “Still hungry?” She took the offered bowl.
“As I was saying,” Ella said, “I’d like to have a look at you before you have more soup. Maybe we could wash you up a little bit? I’d especially like to see that eye.”
The girl held a hand up to her face. Her other eye went wide, and she started trembling like a leaf. The ominous feeling in Meline’s heart grew. She put a pot on the fire to boil. “Shall I grab the wash basin?” She looked at the girl. “Does a hot bath sound nice?”
The girl looked up at her. She stopped trembling, and nodded. She watched as Meline brought in the copper basin and filled it, adding hearthstones warmed by the fire. They hissed as she dropped them into the basin with a pair of tongs. Soon the water was steaming.
The girl’s clothes were caked with dried mud and bits of moss and grass. Once she felt the water with a tentative hand, she was all too happy to get out of them, though here and
there she winced as Ella and Meline got her undressed. Meline noticed the girl wasn’t breathing very deeply, and hissed between her teeth when Ella took her arm back to get it out of its sleeve. Ella shared a glance with Meline at that, but said nothing.
A moan rumbled from the girl’s throat when she eased into the bath. Goose-pimples erupted all over, and lay flat again. She settled down until only the top of her head was above the water.
Ella and Meline each took a small copper bowl, and poured water over her head. The girl spluttered and shook herself.
Her hair grew darker as the dirt washed away, and while Ella kept pouring, Meline started brushing. “You have so much hair!” she said as she brushed. “And it’s so thick and straight! Ella, look!” she held up a lock she’d teased the moss and seeds out of. “When this is straight, child, it must reach to your knees!”
“Jealous?” Ella said with a quirked eyebrow.
“Only a little,” Meline said, resuming her work.
“When Meline doesn’t put anything in her hair,” Ella stage-whispered again, “it sticks up all over.” Meline gave Ella’s braid a tug. “Ow!” She was smiling even as she yelped. “I’m going to go bald if you keep pulling my hair!”
Meline eyed her a moment. “You wouldn’t look too bad with a bald head.”
“I like my hair where it is, thanks.” Shortly thereafter, while Meline kept teasing out the girl’s hair, Ella lathered up a bar of soap. The smells of sage and lavender filled the room.
“Can I have your arm?” She held out one hand while the other held the soap. The girl hesitated, then gave her arm into Ella’s care. Soon she was covered in soap bubbles. Ella carefully worked all over her arms and back, then gave the child the bar to scrub her legs. Ella took a warm, soft cloth, and cleaned the girl’s face. She scrunched her mouth and resisted, at first. But Ella’s kindly patience won out.
Ella made no sudden noise or movement that Meline noticed, as she finally wrapped the girl’s hair in a towel. But the way Ella carefully set the soap in its dish, the way the tendons bulged on the backs of her hands, and the mechanical way she picked the bowls up off the floor and put them on the counter, gave Meline to know Ella was reining in a terrible anger.
They got the girl out of the basin, and Meline dried her off as Ella went to dump the water, promising she’d swiftly return.
That was when Meline saw the bruises. The ribs on the girl’s right side were already yellowing, as was the hand-print on her arm, just visible against her creamy skin. The bruise under her swollen right eye was unmistakably the shape of a fist, and much larger than Meline’s. Meline took a long, long breath. Ella had obviously noticed. There would be time to talk with the child about it.
“Well,” Meline said, “I wish we had a nightgown in your size. Maybe I can stitch a few for you, and ask Havel if he could bring some of his sisters’ old ones. In the meantime, would you like a shirt of mine or Ella’s? We can wash your clothes in the morning.”
Ella came back with the washbasin.
“Ella’s.” It was the first time she’d spoken.
Ella stopped mid-stride. “Yes?”
Suppressing a smile, Meline turned to Ella. “She’d like one of your shirts to wear to bed.”
“Oh?” She looked to the girl. “Is that right?” The child nodded. “Then I’ll go fetch a few, and you can choose one. Would you like more soup while I get them?” Ella bit her cheek at the girl’s aggressive nod. “Then I’ll be back shortly.”
The girl, wrapped in a blanket, was almost done her bowl when Ella returned. She had four short-sleeved flannel shirts of different colours. “Which would you like?”
After a moment’s thought, the girl pointed at one with a chocolate and cream tartan pattern.
“Excellent choice,” Ella said, setting the others on the back of her chair while she handed the chosen shirt to Meline. It was far too wide in the shoulders, which went almost to the girl’s elbows, but it was the right length for a nightgown, at least.
Ella knelt on the floor, and beckoned the girl toward her. The girl grabbed Meline’s hand, but she approached.
“As I mentioned before, child,” Ella said, meeting her eye, “you are welcome here, and you are safe under my protection.” She fidgeted, a show of discomfiture Meline rarely saw. “I don’t know how you came here, and I don’t know where you came from.” The girl’s fingers were tiny hooks in Meline’s hand. “I don’t need to know right now. But I need to know three things before you go to sleep here.
“First…” Ella gulped, “do you want to go back to where you came from?” Meline’s heart twisted in her chest as the girl shook her head. Ella struggled again. “Is there anyone who loves you who wants you to go back to them?” Meline didn’t try to stop her tears as the child shook her head again.
“Alright.” Ella took a deep breath; it seemed to steady her. “Now, what is your name? If you decide to stay here, I would rather not call you ‘child’ all the time.”
After a long moment, the child’s fingers relaxed. She spoke so quietly Meline missed what she said.
“I’m sorry?” Ella held a hand behind her ear.
“’m Selva,” the girl said.
Ella grinned. Her eyes were shiny. “Well, Selva, shall we get you to bed, then?”
***
The room Ella picked out for Selva was cozy, and just down the hall from her own. The bed had a down comforter, and a thick green and cream quilt. It even had a small lamp on the night table. There was just one problem…
Meline laughed. Selva had a death-grip on Ella’s left hand. In the brief instant Ella managed to prise her hand out of the child’s grasp and flee, Selva cracked the door back open as soon as Ella closed it.
“She’s quite attached to you,” Meline said, covering her mouth.
“Whose side are you on?” Ella was trying to loose her pant leg from Selva’s grip. And failing, but judging by her poorly-concealed smile, that wasn’t important.
“I have a thought,” Meline said.
“Is it helpful?”
Meline huffed, and met Selva’s eye. “This is what I live with. Are you sure you want to stay?”
“Yeah.” Selva’s nod, and her renewed grip, were firm as bedrock.
“What’s the plan, Meline?”
“I don’t know if it’s ‘helpful’ enough.” Meline made no effort to hide her grin.
“Meline!” Ella was trying not to laugh.
Meline’s pretended apathy melted. “Selva’s little, and in a new place, and she’s had a rough time. She doesn’t want to sleep by herself.” Meline removed Ella’s hand from the offending Selva. “So, this first day, why don’t we sleep in her room?”
Ella stopped struggling, and looked down at Selva, who nodded so aggressively Meline worried her head might fall off. “Ugh, fine.”
***
Ella looked up at the shop clock; Havel should’ve arrived a while ago. She poked her head out the shop door; his boots were on the welcome mat, his cloak on its usual hook. She rolled her eyes, suppressed a smile, and headed up to the kitchen.
“Ooh!” she heard Meline’s voice, “I like this one.” Ella edged the door open. Selva, clad in a soft green tunic with brown leggings, zipped across the kitchen and fastened a hand on Ella’s coveralls. Havel was laying out hand-me-downs on the table, which Meline was looking over. A honey-coloured dress with walnut accents was the object of her praise.
Ella rested a hand on Selva’s head. “Yes, you look very pretty.” She looked at Havel, who jumped when she spoke. “Come down to the shop when you’re finished.”
Havel nodded, a mildly guilty look on his face. A light went on in his eyes. “Selva,” he said, kneeling, “I have something for you.” She turned toward him.
Ella set a hand on her shoulder. “Go on.”
Selva approached. From a large pocket on his overalls Havel drew a patched, careworn creature that could plausibly have been a stuffed centaur. It had two noodle-like arms, four stubby legs, and a body shaped like a pear.
“This is Flappy,” Havel said. “He was mine when I was little, and my sisters don’t play with him anymore.” He glanced sidelong at Selva. “He’s looking for a new home and a new friend.”
After a moment, Selva held out her hands. Havel tenderly handed the stuffed animal to her. She looked Flappy all over, from his mismatched ears to his toes, which looked like they had gotten caught in a few doors. She gave him a hug.
“Say ‘thank you,’” Meline said.
Selva looked at her toes. “Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome,” Havel said, getting back to his feet.
As Ella and he turned to go, Ella felt a hand fasten on her leg. She set her hand over Selva’s and shook her head. “After you’ve been here a while, you can help me in the shop,” she said. “But it can be dangerous work, and I don’t want you to get hurt. Right now, stay with
Meline and help her, alright?” After a moment, Selva nodded. Ella swept Selva up in a hug. “I’ll be back in a bit.” And she closed the kitchen door.
“She’s a dear,” Havel said as they descended the stairs. Ella kept glancing behind to make sure she wasn’t followed.
She closed the shop door once they were both inside. “She knows what kindness is, at least.”
Havel gave her a confused look. “I think all children do, Master.”
“But they can unlearn it.” His confusion deepened. Ella sighed. “Someone has beaten that child in the last week, Havel.”
Havel had just taken up his hammer. His knuckles went white. “Who?” The thought occurred to Ella that no fairy valuing his life would lay a hand in anger on one of the Deeprock sisters.
“I don’t know,” Ella said. “She came into my home yesterday, from the north or west, I think, and has far to go before she fully trusts us.” Seeing that Havel’s stranglehold on the hammer didn’t slacken, she set a hand in the centre of Havel’s chest. “Take a deep breath, my son. Deeper than the roots of the earth.”
Havel’s belly swelled and swelled, until Ella felt the trembling anger in his sinew yield. “Now breathe out, and let this anger pass like a storm in the night.”
In three breaths, Havel was himself again. His knuckles reddened. He opened his eyes. They were the grey of rainclouds. “What will happen to her, Master?”
Ella shook her head. “So long as she lives in my hall, Selva will be loved and cared for.” She smiled. “Now, you asked last night about smelting silver with moonbeams?”
***
Ella had just set out her writing desk, and was mixing her ink when a soft tap came at the door. “Yes?” The door opened a crack. “Come in.”
Selva squeaked in. “Meline’s outside.”
Ella nodded. “She told you to stay in?” Selva shook her head. “Did you… not want to go with her?” After a moment’s thought, Selva nodded.“So she said you should find me?” Another nod. “Well, we just had lunch… what would you like to do?”
This seemed to baffle Selva. She came over and looked at what Ella was doing. “Squiggles?”
Ella smiled. “Writing. One of my teachers taught me the Feyish script long ago, and I find it helps a great many things.” She thought back over twenty thousand years. Fey, old and home, tarnished with rage and grief. The new world of Gaea, cold and new and beautiful. Centuries lived in a cave on a desert escarpment, devoted single-mindedly to internalizing the teachings passed to her, of arms and words and the spaces no words could fill. An age of healing to pay less than a year of horrors.
Ella returned her attention to Selva. “Do you know your script yet?” Selva shook her head. “Come, sit.” Ella patted her lap.
Selva curled her legs inside Ella’s, and Ella folded her blanket over them. The top of Selva’s head brushed Ella’s chin. It was a cozy arrangement.
“Now,” Ella took up her pen, “there are seven vowels.” She paused. “A vowel is the… the meat of a word. ‘A’, ‘E’, ‘É’, ‘I’, ‘Y’, ‘O’, and ‘U’ are the vowels of Feyish. All other sounds, the
consonants,” she enunciated the word, “are the bones that give the meat shape.” She tapped the top of Selva’s head with her chin. “Does that make sense?”
Selva nodded.
“Can you explain it back to me?” Selva’s quick nod turned into a shake of her head. “I’ll try again…” she wrote. “This is your name. The ‘e’ and the ‘a’ are vowels—they’re the bits you can stretch, like a piece of meat. Now—” Selva looked up at her and back down at the paper, and started fidgeting. “What is it?”
Selva fidgeted a bit more. “… Sssss… lllll... vvvvv…”
“Hmm?” Ella said. “I’m sorry, I don’t—” Selva scrunched up in her lap. When she stayed scrunched, Ella set a gentle hand on her head, “Selva? I said before, and I’ll say again as many times as you need to hear. You’re safe. No one here will hurt you. I didn’t understand you. Can you tell me what you meant when you’re ready?”
After a moment in which Ella did nothing but breathe, Selva poked her head back out of the blanket. “I can stretch the other ones, too.”
Ella mouthed the sounds Selva had made. “That’s exactly right.” You’re cleverer than fey twice your age. “There’s another name for sounds like those, though. How about I find a better way to explain it for next time, and we continue with these seven letters? Is that alright?” Selva looked like Ella had spoken one of the human tongues. Finally, she nodded. “Good,” Ella said, wondering if her teachers had felt this far out of their own depth; they’d seemed unflappable at the time. “Now I’m going to write the vowels out nice and big, and you’re going to copy me.”
Across the top of the page she wrote them out, in as fine a hand as she could manage. Then she gave the pen to Selva. “Now you try. Write each one under mine.”
Selva took the pen in her right hand—Ella tilted her head; most fey were left-handed—before switching it to her left. Holding it in her little fist, she touched pen to the paper. Then she twisted and looked up at Ella.
“Go on,” Ella murmured. “It took me many, many years before I could write them well.” Selva’s eyes widened, and Ella set a hand on top of her head. “But I could never write them as well as I can now if I hadn’t kept trying.”
Selva’s nod and the little grunt she gave were decisive. She furrowed her brow as she turned back to the paper. The pen moved with a child’s care, hitching and stopping and correcting its course as it drew the ‘A’.
When she finished, Selva looked up at Ella again. “It’s bad.”
Ella drew back. “What? That’s an excellent first ‘A’!”
Selva pointed at her letter. “But I made squiggles, and it’s all spikey, and yours is silky.” She curled up on herself. “I can’t do it.”
After a moment, Ella leaned forward, putting her arms around Selva. I want to know who raised you. “Selva,” she said, “you’ve never made even one letter before, right?” After a while, Selva nodded. “This is the first letter you ever made?” Another nod. “Do you want to make good letters?”
“But I can’t!”
“But do you want to? Do you want to make a better ‘A’ than you just did?” She leaned forward. “Do you want to make a better ‘A’ than I can?”
She felt Selva uncurl a bit. “But yours is…”
Ella waited. Selva uncurled a bit more. She sniffed. Ella gave her a handkerchief. She blew her ears.
“… but mine’s bad.”
Ella shook her head. “I watched you put your heart into that letter. You gave it your best.” She set a hand on Selva’s head. “And your best is never shameful. But with time, and with practice, and with love, your best will become better. So, do you want to make a better ‘A’ than this one?”
Selva turned her head. In her small almond-shaped eye, Ella saw a flame kindle. “Yeah.”
Ella smiled. “Then you will need to practice, and practice, and watch, and practice.” She pointed her chin to the paper. “A good place to start is with these vowels. Write them until you get to the bottom of this page.”
So Selva wrote. And Ella watched.
Eventually, Selva came to the bottom. “There’s no more page.”
Ella chuckled. “You can flip it over once the ink’s dry.”
Selva did. She held the pen out to Ella. “Make the vowels again.” Ella did so, and made to hand the pen back. But Selva shook her head. “Write something.”
Ella raised her eyebrows. “What should I write?”
Selva held a finger to her lips, and her eyes wandered in thought. “Something pretty. Like the letters.”
Ella gave a pensive sigh. “Something pretty like the letters…”
She held the pen just off the paper for a while, and closed her eyes. And then she wrote.
Flivisen,
vurlurn mwarful ghrand fward wymeldrens,
vjarmwash dhwerd ryshasrelens.
“Little spark,
Wand’ring through the cold and lonesome night,
Hath now kindled an hearthlight.”
Selva hmmed once Ella read it to her. “It’s… a little song?”
Ella chuckled. “It’s a poem.” Selva quirked an eyebrow, and Ella bit her cheek. “Poems are pieces of writing made to be beautiful. They usually have specific rules. This one is a sprilling poette. It has three syllables—those are… bits of sound—three in its first line, nine in its second, and seven in its last. It’s an easy form to learn, but a poet might practice for centuries and still not master it.” She touched the sheet. “My master would probably find this one acceptable.” She glanced at Selva. “Back to vowels?”
“Yeah!”
***
Meline woke to a sound like a gasp for air. She turned over. Ella was on the side of the bed furthest from the wall. Selva was between them. By the lamplight, Meline could see a wide little eye. Selva was breathing like she’d sprinted from Oakhill’s front door to her crown. It was sweltering under the blanket.
Meline stroked Selva’s hair. Selva tensed for an instant, then cuddled against Meline. This did not help the heat.
“Did you have a bad dream?” Meline whispered so as not to wake Ella.
Selva cuddled closer. “Yeah.”
“Do you wanna talk about it? That can help sometimes.”
Selva carefully sat up. She looked at Ella, who had just started snoring. She tugged the sleeve of Meline’s nightgown.
Meline made them each a cup of warm milk and honey in the kitchen. Selva sipped hers. It seemed to Meline the swelling about her eye had gone down.
“I was back home,” Selva said. “He was mad at me. He was madder at Stu.” She clenched the cup. “And I burned the house.”
It was hot in the kitchen, too. Meline went to open the window when she saw the milk in Selva’s cup starting to bubble.
Meline came around the table and put her arms around Selva. The child was radiating heat.
“Did this… actually happen?” Meline asked. “Was it a remembering dream, or a made-up one?”
“He didn’t know about Stu.” The heat became just a bit less. “Not really.”
“Selva,” Meline said, “take a slow, deep breath for me.” Selva did, and got hotter again. “Now let it go.” The heat dropped, lower than before. “Again, deep breath in.” Hotter. “And out.” Cooler still. “This time breathe in and focus on your dream. Tie it into your breath.”
“I don’t know how.”
“Try your best, and it’ll be good enough.”
Hotter, and then hotter. Almost so hot Meline couldn’t touch her. “Now breathe out, and breathe the dream out with it.”
An actual tongue of flame licked at Selva’s lips. It went out, and the dangerous heat went with it.
Meline sat in the seat beside her. “How do you feel now?”
Tears leaked from Selva’s eyes. Meline stroked her hair. “Come here.” Selva curled up in Meline’s lap, and Meline wrapped her arms around her, rocking back and forth until she finished her milk. What’ve you been through that you’re like me?
“Shall we go back to bed?”
Selva was already asleep. Meline carried her back, pulled the blankets up over her, and gave her a kiss on the forehead.
Ella stirred. “Ever’thing alrigh’?”
Meline kissed her too. “Yeah. Go back to sleep.”
***
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