That afternoon, I slip from camp before Audrel or the other tribe members find me, asking me for help with odd jobs, stealing away my time. The forest is still this time of day aside from the occasional scuffle from a rabbit or squirrel.

Most women stay at the camp while completing their afternoon tasks, often sorting the plants foraged in the morning. It's the prime time to share gossip, catch up on life even though the tribe is so interconnected, we practically live as one organism. I never took to their prattling, perhaps because I'm a discussion topic when absent. I can say that with almost certainty since some have dared to bring up my mother with me around.

My feet plod a little slower than usual over the decaying leaves coating the rich soil. The odd request Nal m'se asked of me weighs on my mind. Not only is it vague, I can't even begin to work on it. I don't have a timeframe or any gauge for the quality level of each parcel. Does the weave need to be tight and precise, worthy of trading? Or can it be made more hastily?

I sigh. I must patient like Nal m'se said. In the meantime, I have more important responsibilities to worry about, such as making the dyes for the next batch of robes we plan to trade with the Alkse tribe. Each flower I collected this morning must be soaked and pressed, extracting the precious few drops that each contains. It's long, tedious work that at first seems to yield little.

But every drop enables us to create the beautiful, colorful robes that the Alkse will trade large portions of salt and soapstone for. The Erdest, also, trade medicinal herbs, healing balms, and rocks sharpened into knives. With that perspective, the hours I spend pressing flower petals is worthwhile.

I wander a familiar path through the trees, landmarks embedded in the arcing and reaching tree trunks. There's a cluster of thin trees ahead, and beyond, a slight clearing where beige rock sits. I pause, squatting down as if that will hide me from an observing eye.

The forest doesn't offer up any noise. No footsteps crackle or snap behind me, whether they be animal or human. I release a breath and creep around the rock. Two bushes press against it, and I squeeze through. Twigs catch on the animal skin I'm wearing, scratching my exposed arms and calves.

I'm getting too big for this. It might've been fine when I was six, but eleven years don't pass without imposing some form of change.

The bushes shroud an entrance to a cave. I duck inside, another reminder that I'm not as small as I used to be. I blink rapidly to adjust to the dim lighting. Slowly, a figure comes into focus, huddled against the wall in the small room. A blanket I weaved for her drapes over her shoulders, painting her in a brilliant shade of pink. I spent so many nights on it, squeezing hundreds of flowers to get the bold hue, coloring the thread, and crossing each stitch in the weave.

"You've come," Mother says, her voice raspy with disuse. At least she isn't talking to herself, yet.

"I brought food," I say. My hand ducks into my pocket to retrieve the package of food I saved for her. "It was deer meat today."

My mother's gaunt face shrivels with displeasure. "More savory cakes." She lifts the blond, crumbly cake, sniffs it, then takes a bite. A damp square marks where it'd once been.

"It's the easiest to package," I explain as always.

"Too much salt," Mother says. I supply a skin of water, and she almost downs it in one sip. "I'll have to make my recipe for you sometime. You ought to eat better food than what they force down your throat."

I press my lips in a smile. She's said that for years, too. If only that dream could become reality.

Mother bites into the deer meat. Slowly, her head moves up and down, in sync with her jaw. "It's more tender this time."

"That's good." A wooden basin lays empty at the edge of the cave's entrance. I grab it with one hand and the water skin I brought with the other. "I'll refill these for you."

The bushes pinch at my waist once more as I exit the cave. I pass through a field, dotted with only a few trees, to reach a creek. The water plinks over smooth stones like a tranquil song. I dip the wooden bowl and water skin in it, residual drops splashing against me.

My gaze falls to a particularly large rock jutting out of the creek, and my brow creases. A mosaic of tiny circles mottle the surface, but in a way that I'd expect the rock to erode. They're grouped in fours, two higher and diagonal to the lower dots. Enough space is between each one to separate distinct groups. My brow creases, and I scan the perimeter of trees. I don't see anyone in sight. Then again, it wouldn't be hard to hide in a forest.

The longer I consider the rock, the more it reminds me of "an," or salt. I scour my surroundings one last time before hurrying back to Mother's cave. It's best to not stick around in open spaces.

"I've restocked your water," I tell Mother when I return. "Enough for a few days at least." I give Mother my water skin for her, and again, she polishes it off in a few large gulps. She finished the meal I brought, so I tuck the cloth in my pocket to be washed and reused in two moon's time.

I remove the last of the bulk weighing down my robe, two apples and a sweet corn cake from yesterday. It isn't much, but it's the best I can manage. I can only bring her food that won't spoil and can be easily stored.

"How has your music been?" Mother asks.

"Fine." My gaze falls on her fingers like they're magnetic. The long bones bend in a gnarled fashion. They twitch around the water skin; perhaps Mother is imaging the feel of a laivo under them instead.

"Did you bring it?"

"I forgot it." The excuse feels stickier in my throat the longer I use it.

Mother lifts her chin toward the cave's exit. "I suppose I have taught you all the songs I know." Her eyes, a shade darker than sandstone, narrow at a distant sight. "I may not be able to play anymore, Celisae, but that doesn't mean that I don't have more expertise to share."

Heat rises in my cheeks. "Yes, Mother."

"Do you not wish to learn?" Her eyes focus solely, intensely, on me.

"Of course," I choke out.

"But—"

"I... have what I need." I cut off there. Mother already knows the rest.

"So much of your skill is being wasted," she tsks. "The clan is exploiting you. They're exploiting your gift."

"Not really." I shift on my feet. "They can't exploit what they don't know about."

"All the worse," Mother insists. "They love your talent when it benefits them. But if they ever found out..." She holds out her arms as if welcoming me to her fate.

"I know," I whisper. "But maybe..."

When I don't continue, my mother prompts, "maybe what? Maybe that's why you despise the laivo?"

"I don't despise it."

"Oh, but I see it in your eyes. You seem nervous, too stuck in this world whenever we play it. I can feel the tension radiating off you. And now, once you think you've extracted all my songs, all my knowledge, you stop bringing your laivo. You may be less skittish than when you brought the instrument, but you still squirm whenever I mention it."

I open my mouth to contradict her assessment, but she continues.

"That's not the way to summon light. The sun is attracted to joy, the moon wielded by sorrow. You must leave behind the burdens of this world and enter a new one, one that's governed by notes and rhythms. In the world of music, you don't think, you feel. You let the melody express the emotions that words cannot convey. That's where power emanates. That's the power light will obey." Mother's voice isn't loud, yet it seems to pulse around me. Or maybe her words are still imbued with the strength she received from music so many years ago.

Tense beats pass in silence. Slowly, Mother reclines against the stone. The intensity in her eyes has faded, leaving only a dull flicker behind.

"Perhaps you don't need my guidance anymore," she says. "Perhaps you have all you need."

Emotion grapples in my throat. But I don't. You must know that.

I swallow in an attempt to keep my throat from constricting. The last thing I want is for Mother to catch a tear escaping my eyes.

"I will bring it next time," I say.

"Don't make promises you won't remember." Her voice comes out as a lazy reminder. She drags herself to the bowl of water, tipping some into her hands and patting her cheeks.

"I will this time," I declare with more fervor than I expected.

The water sloshes against the sides of the bowl. Fortunately, none escapes to the rocky floor. Mother needs every last drop she can get.

"I should bring another water bowl," I say absently.

Mother glances up at me, her expression blank. "Is it realistic for you to get hold of one?"

That's the trouble. The tribe keeps fairly close tabs on such supplies. If I brought mine, I'd need an explanation for needing a new one. Stealing one would be even harder.

"I'll see what I can do," I finally say with a sigh. "Is there anything else I can bring?"

"'Anything' is a broad category," Mother replies.

"Alright." I retrieve my water skin from her side. "I'll return soon."

"Find time to practice," Mother says after me.

My shoulders sag. There's always more work to do, more expectations to fulfill. Due to my afternoon visit, I'm behind on my dye quota for the thread. And I guess I'll be exchanging some sleep in the next two nights for catching light.