“Bless the Maker, look at that kill!” my mom shrieked from the doorway of our hut, and it pulled me from my thoughts about my father. Every muscle in my body hurt. I was tired, I stunk, and I was covered in blood, but seeing my mom so happy caused me to grin goofily at her.
“We’ll need to take out the waistband of my trousers by next week,” I joked. My little sister Adaline popped her head out from the doorway as her eyes grew as wide as saucers.
“Cougarin stew for dinner!” she shrieked in joy.
That got a chuckle out of me. The baked potatoes and greens were filling, but nothing like Mama’s cougarin stew.
I stepped inside our home, shuffled across the freshly swept floor, and passed the kitchen which led to the back porch. Mother already had the butcher table and knives out. She knew I wouldn’t come home empty-handed, and her faith in me made me proud.
After slamming the beast down on the table, I groaned, rolling out my neck.
“You did good, Arwen.” My mom smoothed my hair and then wrinkled her nose. “But you smell like death.”
Adaline broke out into a full-on belly laugh and I sprang from where I stood and ran after her with my arms out like a bloodsucker from Necromere.
She gave a genuine shriek of terror. Now it was my turn to burst into laughter.
“Alright, don’t scare your sister. Go and wash up, it’s May Day!” my mother scolded me.
May Day.
I sighed. All the single girls and single boys of age would stand in the village square blindfolded and then start walking towards each other. Whoever you reached first, you kissed.
It was a long-held tradition of Cinder Village, and as terrifying as it sounded it was kind of thrilling as well. Legend said whoever you kissed on May Day would become your spouse. At eighteen winters old, this would be my first May Day. I was eligible last year but had been sicker than a dog from eating some bad berries, so I was unable to attend.
I reached up and touched my lips, wondering if Nathanial would kiss me—you weren’t supposed to peek, but some of the boys let their blindfolds slip so that they could gravitate towards the girl they wanted.
I wanted Nathanial.
I slipped into the bedroom I shared with Adaline and grabbed a clean tunic and trousers. My mother had long since given up trying to get me to wear skirts and dresses. Ever since my father died nine winters ago, I’d had to become the hunter of the family, and hunting in a dress was just downright stupid.
Adaline was hiding under her bed furs, probably afraid I’d rub cougarin blood on her. I walked towards her and hovered over her. After a moment, thinking I was gone, she slowly pulled down the covers, but when she saw me she screamed again, yanking the furs back up. I burst out in delighted laughter.
“Arwen!” my mother snapped.
“Fine,” I groaned, the laughter dying in my throat.
Sometimes I just wanted to mess around with my little sister, but my position in this family required me to grow up faster than I would have liked had I been given a choice. We had a roof over our heads and food in our bellies, so I knew better than to complain.
“Oh,” I called back to my mom as I was walking out to the community bathhouse. “I invited Nathanial for dinner,” I said casually.
A dinner invite on May Day was no small thing.
The corners of my mother’s lips quirked up into a conspiratorial grin.
“To be nice! To share the bounty,” I told her, heat creeping up to my cheeks. It was customary after a good hunt to invite a guest to the feast. Good luck even. She knew that. But it was also encouraged to invite potential suitors over for dinner on May Day so that the families could meet and start getting used to the idea of a potential marriage.
“Of course, dear,” she said in a sugary sweet tone, and I scowled at her. I was eighteen winters old. I’d be expected to take a husband soon. Nathanial would be a good choice. He had a prominent job in the village, and he was one of the only boys in town who didn’t seem threatened by my hunting trips with the other men in the village. Even when I married off, I’d still have to provide for Adaline and my mother. He understood that.
Brushing my mother’s weird smile out of my mind, I headed down the alley between Mr. Korban’s apothecary shop and Mrs. Holina’s bakery, and stepped into Naomie’s bathhouse.
“Oh, child!” Naomie plugged her nose when I strode inside. “You smell like a dead ratin! You’ll need your own soaker tub with extra sandalwood oil.”
I grinned.
Naomie was like the village grandmother—with a sharp tongue. She took care of us all and hit us with the truth no matter how much it would hurt. For daily washings I would just use the heated bucket of water in our hut, but for washing after a week of hunting I needed Naomie’s soaker tub and soap stone.