"Rise and shine, Ragamuffin!" Corsa's voice intones through my bedroom door, punctuated by a brisk knock. Her tone is light and teasing as usual. Even this most momentous of occasions cannot impress its seriousness upon her. The tumbling sound of bare feet rushing after her suggests that the twins are awake as well.

I'm late, then.

I drag my fingers through my hair and pull on a shirt (the best attempt at presentability that I can manage at this early hour), and shuffle down the hallway to the dining nook. This house is hardly large enough for the five people that it contains, but, then again, it was not built with us in mind.

The table is already cramped, overflowing with food and bustling elbows, by the time I shuffle into the picture. I take my usual seat opposite Corsa and further ruffle Arri's already-sleep-ruffled hair with a playful affection. Her customary protests, when they come, are half-hearted at best.

Unheard conversation buzzes around my head as I scrape jam onto toast and take my first bite. It is only when there is a lull that I realize there are several expectant eyes trained on me.

"So?" Corsa prods.

"So?" I echo around a mouth full of bread crumbs.

"Are you... you know... nervous? I mean, you shouldn't be. There's nothing to worry about. You'll do great. But-" Her father interrupts before she can rework my nerves into a frenzy.

"Of course he'll be fine," Enos answers for me in his steady baritone.

I sigh at the offhand encouragement. There is no use in pretending that I am not nervous—they must have heard me tossing and pacing late into the night—but I attempt to salvage what remains of my dignity by forcing a neutral expression.

"I'm ready," I say with more confidence than I feel. With any luck, I can speak it into being. The toast feels suffocatingly dry on my parched tongue, and I force it down with a swallow of juice in order to avoid choking.

"Good," Enos concludes. "Because we have a lot of work to do today."

"Father, really? You're going to make him work on The Eve?"

"Corsa," her father chides. "There is more to becoming a man than some foolish night camping in the woods. He needs wisdom. Character. Neither of which can be accomplished today... but a good work ethic is a start."

"I guess I wouldn't know," she sasses, rolling her eyes at me as if in a shared joke that I am too preoccupied to catch. I can merely listen as my day's events are decided without me.

"It's settled, then," he determines, standing. A nod in my direction is the only signal I need to follow. Even if breakfast hadn't turned to ash in my stomach, I doubt I could eat any more. We ready in silence and step over the threshold before the sun rises.