“I’ve never seen you before!” I shouted after I had entered the meadow during a warm summer day. I looked forward to basking in the sun, allowing it to kiss my deep gray skin that often itched from the stifling air of the crowded city. I normally spent my afternoons escaping into the meadow for tranquility, but that day was different.

  Upon entering, I noticed a strange figure near the edge of the cliff. My curiosity overcame me, and I became excited. A young boy with black wings turned and looked at me after I had shouted after him. His tangled black hair blew in the wind, and his crimson red eyes widened, full of mystery. Normally, such an intimidating image of someone as cryptic as his figure would alarm any child. I had heard plenty of stories of terrifying gremlins, or demons of old who would haunt Tamarine children for their souls. These tales were often told to children whenever they misbehaved and parents would threaten that the ominous creatures would come after them if they did not obey. However, for my younger self, the dark-winged boy stirred curiosities in my heart, rather than fear of someone to consume my soul.

  He did not speak as I walked closer to him, but only stared intensely, forming his black wings into a take-off position. I smiled and continued to greet him, regardless that he seemed more scared of me than I was of him.

  “You found my meadow,” I said, softening my voice.

  “Your meadow?” he asked with a young voice similar to the boys I knew my age. He raised his thick eyebrows and his lips slightly curved as his wings slowly folded.

  “Okay, well it’s not my meadow, but it’s my favorite spot. And no one else knows about it. Except you, I guess. I’m Lillie! What’s your name?”

  “Sable,” he said. I moved closer to him until I was standing at arm’s length from him, unable to hold back my interest. The mysterious boy eyed me as I tried to encircle him for a better view of his wings, but he twisted as I did, preventing me from going behind him.

  “Nice to meet you Sable,” I said while halting my footsteps. “Are you a gremlin, or a demon?”

  “Neither,” he replied, standing stiffly with his arms to his side. He wore black clothes, or perhaps dark gray, and his skin was light brown, a color which I had never seen before on another person. The Tamarine had gray skin, but with various deep hues of cool colors, sometimes more vibrant than others. There were even some people with green hues, but never had I seen a person with warm tones like brown.

  “Oh good. I wouldn’t want you to pull out my hair or eat my soul!” I shouted, and Sable’s eyebrows furrowed. “You must be a Teragane then, especially since you have big black wings.”

  Even though I was only a young child, I did not really believe in gremlins or demons, nor other monsters in tales or songs. I thought for sure if such things exist, then surely I would have already seen one. For how often my parents threatened for these creatures to come after me, at that point in my childhood, I had never experienced these things haunting me in the dark. In addition, I had heard stories about the mysterious winged-people who lived in the mountains. Naturally, I did not believe in them as well, but upon the sudden discovery of one standing in front of me, I immediately became a believer of these people.

  I continued to ask Sable questions about where he came from, discovering that he lived on the mountain near the forest of my own home. My curiosities were intrigued by his presence, but my stomach growled loudly, breaking my streamline of questions.

  “Hey! I wanted to eat my honey and bread. Would you like some?” I asked, but turned on my heel regardless of his answer. I assumed that if he didn’t want to stay, he could easily leave, and with his limited communication, perhaps he didn’t like answering questions in general. I sat in the grass, pulling my shoes off, and, to my delight, Sable followed me and sat next to me.

  I was hungry, but I thought it could be rude to not share with the boy who happened to find my favorite hiding place. I did not bring much, but I still shared what little bread and honey I had. He ate it quietly, speaking very little, crouching next to me as his eyes confidently stared at me and the food I had given him.

  “My mother made this fresh today, which is best,” I said. “Second-day bread, if it lasts, is usually best for sandwiches.”

  “What is a sandwich?” he asked, his intense stare slightly relaxing.

  “Oh, sandwiches are when you put meat and vegetables between the bread slices,” I said while imitating the concept with my hands. “Sometimes I like to spread fresh butter, but we don’t usually have butter.” Sable listened as I spoke, softening his stare, but still kept his eyes on me and my hand movements, occasionally looking at the sky. “This bread is made from wheat, which I grind myself. I have to sit on the kitchen floor. But, there are other types of flour, depending on the season.”

  “Interesting,” Sable said. He then adjusted his wings behind him in a calm manner, and laid back against a rock. He relaxed his intense stare, looking up at the sky, and occasionally at me, and I kept talking.

  I did not realize how much I knew about bread and different types of flour. But I kept speaking about it for some reason—most likely because Sable never changed the subject. He listened, and said simple words, indicating that he was consuming every word I spilled out. My little self never had so much free time to talk without getting interrupted, lectured, or bullied. I spoke about flour, I inserted random information about rats getting into our pantry, and Sable continued to listen, only speaking one or two words at a time.

  After essentially monologuing for the entire afternoon, I had not noticed the shadows growing long over the meadow, cast from the great cedar trees, indicating that the sun was disappearing behind the mountains until Sable mentioned the setting sun. He adjusted his position, eying the sky and the vanishing daylight.

  “Oh! I need to go home—my parents will kill me!” I shouted while scurrying to gather my shoes, and I thrust the stained napkin and empty jar in my skirt pocket, and I realized that there was a small hole at the seams.

  “They will kill you?” Sable asked while his eyes widened.

  “No, not really,” I said. “But they’ll be mad. I gotta go!” I shot up and turned towards the forest. “It was nice meeting you!”

  I did not look back, nor thought about Sable’s disappearing figure behind me. My only thoughts were to return home before my mother scolded me for not being there in time to help cook dinner. Her disdain for my absence was usually one I tried to avoid, especially first thing in the morning and later in the evening. During the day, she usually didn’t care where I went, giving me the perfect opportunity to slip away to venture through the city, the forest, and visit the meadow.

  Now, however, I had another reason to venture outside of the city.

  I just met a potential friend.

  “Who are the Teragane people?” I asked my parents while we sat at the table to eat. I was excited to discuss with them about my day in the meadow, but I also carefully approached the subject, fully knowing my parent’s disapproval of others—especially those starkly different from them. We were sitting at our small wooden table in the kitchen, spoons clinked while scooping soup from wooden bowls, and the open fireplace crackled. Both my parents glanced at each other for a moment, then continued to eat.

  “They are the people of the mountains,” my mother said in between a spoonful of soup.

  “Why do they live in the mountains?” I asked.

  “They are mysterious people; magical, some say. They are not to be trusted, just like anyone who possesses witchcraft.”

  “Why not?”

  “They keep to themselves, so we just respect that,” my father grunted. “They stay separate from us.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Stop asking so much!” my father shouted. “Damn it, child, you don’t need to ask every little thing that pops into your head! Now, quiet and eat your food, otherwise I’ll send you to bed without another bite.”

  “Sorry,” I whimpered as I slumped in my seat, feeling uncomfortable as the questions still whirled in my head, especially wanting to know more if Sable were someone I could be friends with—now I wasn’t sure what to believe.

  After that night, I stopped asking my parents questions during mealtimes. I hoped that maybe there would be better times during the day that I could expel my curiosities to them. However, due to my parents’ busy schedule of my father working at the mine during the day, and my mother often preparing food, cooking, and other daily household chores, I rarely found any opportunity to devote myself to asking them questions—yet, I rarely found them to actually receive my curiosities with positivity. My mother was often teaching me new useful skills, like weaving grass for baskets, knitting, and dying clothes, but every time I tried asking questions, my mother or father would always result in the same scornful manner.

  So, I stopped asking them questions, unless otherwise needed.

  It was better that way.

  ***

  I left my home most afternoons to visit the meadow, and was excited that Sable also continued to return. The meadow became his stopping point after hunting and just before he would return to his home up in the mountains. Before, I was used to visiting the area to find solitude from the city and the people. Now, it seemed Sable also found peace in the meadow.

  I brought food for us to share, and he always ate it happily. He was a curious boy, and I could not fully understand him at times. He spoke so little, at least, in comparison to me. At times, I thought he only returned so that he could eat the food I would share, although, I noticed he was awfully skinny and gaunt; unlike the people from my village, where most kids had round cheeks, were sturdier, despite the food shortages.

  Rich families were always bulkier, but even us less-fortunate had at least some stockiness to our shape. However, Sable was of a different type of people, of course he would look different, although we both had pointed ears, even though mine were slightly longer than his.

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  I wished I had wings like him, but only so I could fly anywhere I wanted. Despite the fact we were different in race, for my younger self, I was simply happy to finally have a friend to share my meadow afternoons with as his friendly demeanor was a strong indicator that we had become friends. His differences fascinated me, and my curiosities were never disregarded whenever I asked him questions. He always answered, but only in short and never rambled about anything. Because I was accustomed to people always shutting me down, changing the subject, or bullying me, I often could talk for hours about subjects with Sable, never seemingly disturbed by my unwavering conversations.

  “How was your hunt today?” I asked Sable one day. He laid in a carefree pose with his back against a boulder, wings folded and relaxed. We had eaten some bread and berries I had picked earlier, and crumbs lay idle on his chest.

  “Successful,” he answered.

  “How many fish did you catch?” I asked while tilting my head.

  “One.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why don’t you catch more? Like for friends or family?”

  “They catch their own.”

  “Ah! So you do have friends?” Sable scrunched his nose and looked at me with his intense crimson eyes, furrowing his eyebrows. I was working on knitting a crimson woolen scarf, and quickly looked down at my hands. I could not help but smile, holding back my laughter.

  “Yes,” he simply said. I let out my giggle as I looked up at him.

  “Why is that funny?” he asked as I continued to snicker. He leaned forward while locking his eyes on me. “Is it funny because you thought that I don’t have friends?” I knew there were other kids who lived near him from a previous conversation we had, but I did not know the extent of his relationships, for it seemed he was often alone and his people very few. At that moment, it was not the fact I didn’t think he had friends, but rather my intentions of trying to get him to talk more about his life. I felt successful in my mind as he continued to look at me with a puzzled expression. My laughter seemed to intrigue him to understand what was happening in my own mind.

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” I said while smirking at my own audacious behavior.

  “What is so funny?” Sable asked, nearly demanding.

  “Nothing, it’s nonsense. I’m just being silly.”

  “Okay,” he said while he laid back in his resting position, no longer pushing for me to reveal further than what I was willing.

  That was something very different about him.

  Everyone around often pushed and pried, causing me to often clam up, afraid of being scolded if I were to say the wrong thing. Sable, on the other hand, never displayed this type of behavior—and I was ever so grateful for his consideration.

  ***

  “You’re never home to help me anymore!” my mother yelled at me one day. “You need to be of more use around the house. Your father and I are breaking our backs to give you a good home!”

  “I’m trying to help!” I shouted in defense while pinching my arm as I kept my eyes staring at the floor, attempting to hold back the tears that were forming.

  “You only bring me inedible food!” she yelled. “Why can’t you figure out which foods are edible already? All you do is waste your time playing with the neighbors.”

  “I’m not wasting—”

  “Don’t talk back to me!”

  There was never winning an argument with my mother. Every time, it was always the same. No matter what I said or did, I never felt enough in her eyes. So, I decided my arguing was pointless, and that in order to appease my mother’s wants I needed to figure that on my own. I needed to learn more about what types of plants I was finding.

  Wandering through the streets, I entered the morning market in the city square, eyeing the different vendors. I scanned the area, specifically for items that possibly came from the forest, or a garden, or something that looked familiar to the plants I could forage. A wooden table with dried plants caught my eye, and I approached the stall. Inspecting the array of vegetation, I peered closer, catching the attention of a stout lady.

  “Scram, kid!” the large woman shouted. “Or I’ll send the Keepers on you for stealing!”

  “I’m not stealing!” I shouted quickly, moving my hands up with innocence, showcasing empty, but dirty palms. “I only want to know what kind of plants these are.”

  “What? Why would you—oh, well, why do you want to know about my plants?” she asked, lowering her voice, but still looking suspicious of my presence.

  “I want to learn more about plants so I can help my family.” I folded my hands together and pouted my lips, and the woman crossed her plump arms and raised a curious eyebrow. “Please, can you tell me what are these plants?”

  “Want to know more about my plants?”

  “Yes, please! I really want to know!”

  “Well, you’d be better off reading a book, then.” She laughed, most likely fully knowing most children didn’t know how to read. Even adults often didn’t know, only some basic writing and reading passed from a resourceful family member who they were lucky enough to be related to. I, on the unfortunate side of the district, had no family to teach me—not even my parents had this privilege.

  “Where could I find a book about plants?” I asked, trying to hide my illiteracy for some reason.

  “Oh? Well then, there’s the ol’ library near Smithy’s.” She pointed down a street leading away from the market square. “I think the woman’s name is Torie. I went there once, maybe twice. She’s quite helpful actually; very queer and excited about things. Ha! Not sure why, though. She may have a few books for you, I’m sure of it. You’re better off there than asking me. Ha ha!”

  “Smithy’s?”

  “Smithy’s is a tavern, you silly child. Just use your nose to smell the ale and sweaty drinkers.”

  “Oh, okay, thanks!” I waved at the stout woman, and she reluctantly returned the gesture. I followed her directions, leaving the woman to continue laughing at me. It felt weird, but I simply shrugged off her behavior, knowing how lucky I felt to at least have avoided being chased off by the mace of a Keeper.

  The woman of the library sounded like an interesting person, yet I wondered if the merchant laughed because she had lied about Torie, and she was simply leading me to an old grumpy witch who would soon throw me from a window. Regardless, my imagination felt more excited about the idea of finding books, even if there was a chance it was not as the stout woman had said. I decided to risk the adventure, in spite of my wandering imagination.

  As I trudged through the stone street the woman directed me to, and I saw a group of older, filthy men laughing in front of a building. They were drinking and smelled strongly as the merchant had described.

  “I’m looking for Torie’s library,” I asked the men. They looked at me with glazed eyes, and sneered at my question with their yellowing teeth—at least, what little they had left. Feeling impatient, I instead pushed the large door open, and marched right up to a bearded man behind a wooden counter.

  “Hey, kid, you can’t be here,” the disgruntled bartender said as he wiped clean a wooden mug.

  “I need to know where the library is,” I demanded while standing on my tip-toes as I peered over the bar counter, gripping the edge with tight knuckles.

  “Oh, I see. Torie’s up a house. Stairs are to the left from the door,” the bartender told me, and an expression of relief passed over his grumpy and wrinkled face.

  “Thanks,” I said, and skipped away, swinging my arms. I ignored the gazing eyes as confused and frowning faces watched me pass by. I was simply happy that at least another person knew of the library and who the mysterious Torie was. The stench of ale and sweat filled the air, but dissipated when I exited the tavern and climbed the stairs to the second house above. I entered a balcony with a red door, and pushed it open. A waft of musky air with a hint of something sweet filled my nostrils, and my jaw slightly dropped.

  Outlines of overbearing bookshelves towered around me, and twinkling lights from glass trinkets hanging from the ceiling swayed its gorgeous reflections. I felt minuscule in comparison, yet fully in awe of the grandiosity of the books lining the walls and the shimmering lights, like fairies in the air. Small wooden tables with comfortable cushion seats were to my right. Ahead, a small desk with numerous papers stacked and mass amounts of writing items. Feather quills made from white feathers reflected the twinkling lights, and several glass lanterns with curved glasses filled the room with radiance.

  “Well, hello there. Can I help you?” a young woman asked as she approached me from the other side of the room, dreamily walking towards me. I closed my mouth as I looked at the Tamarine with tan linen trousers, finding it odd since most women wore skirts or dresses, unless working in fields, or other hard-labor jobs. Her blouse was a similar color, but underneath an emerald green embroidered waistcoat, also something I had never seen upon a woman. She had lovely brown hair, loosely braided, and her pointed ears had several piercings with tiny loops and chains. Her gray skin was glowing with strong undertones, and many braided bracelets and necklaces adorned her figure, and she wore a pair of round spectacles.

  “Hi there,” I said and placed my hands behind my back. “I was told I should come here to—“ I paused, realizing that even if she gave me a book on plants, I would not be able to even utilize it for my goals—since, naturally, I was illiterate.

  Maybe books have pictures, and I could figure it out for myself. I can’t give up now.

  “I am looking for a book about plants,” I said confidently. “I need to learn more so I can help my family.”

  “Oh? How curious, yet splendid,” the woman said, her voice filled with enthusiasm, something I was not accustomed to around adults. “Follow me. I think I’ve got a few in the natural section.” She spun on her heel and walked to a bookshelf, stopping in front of it. She glided her finger across the spines of numerous books, then shot a curious gaze at me, her brown eyes looking exceptionally large behind thick spectacles.

  “So, this is a library?” I asked while I kept my hands behind my back and looked around the staggering shelves and shimmering glass trinkets hanging from the wooden ceiling beams.

  “Yes, I’m amazed you have come here, but that makes me super confident that my reputation is spreading well,” she said while casting a side glance while she perused the books. “I’ve worked really hard to accumulate what you see before you, although, naturally, I could always use more. Much knowledge can be gained by entering the grand library of Historia.”

  “Library of Historia?”

  “Yes, that’s what I call it. Or, at least, what I will call it when I inherit this place from my grandfather.”

  “Are you Torie?”

  “Well, yeah. That is my given name. But I’m in the process of changing my name to Historia.” She puffed up her chest and lifted her arm with grandiosity, flickering her fingers in the air.

  “You can change your name?”

  “You can do even more than that.”

  “Really?” At my remark, Historia looked down at me. She bent over as she looked intently at me. Her big brown eyes reflected the twinkling reflections above, especially against the glass of her spectacles, but her intense gaze suddenly caused my heart to race with unfamiliar emotions.

  “Oh, my sweet child,” she uttered. “What wonders for you to behold.” My cheeks began to flush, and my heart pounded in my small chest. I looked down at the ground, and began nervously twirling the ends of my hair. I looked at my shoes, realizing how much they were in need of cleaning, and felt guilty for treading bits of dirt within this woman’s grandiose abode. She was so different than anyone else I knew.

  “Don’t fret, my sweet thing,” she calmly said while straightening up, and she patted the top of my head, slightly rustling my hair. She grabbed a book and walked to a table. “Come, I found what you are looking for—possibly.” I followed, and Historia motioned for me to sit at the table. She stayed next to me, watching with great eagerness. I felt my forehead begin to sweat as she observed me opening the book.

  Thankfully, there were sketches of different types of plants, but only every few pages. The words looked like markings, jumbling of unfamiliar objects on parchment. I had seen words many times before on store signs, allowing me to understand basic concepts of vocabulary. But the small letters jumbled together caused me to panic, and I felt nauseous as the woman stared at me.

  “Thanks for this,” I cheerfully said, hiding my intimidation. “I think it will help.” I smiled up at her, and she blinked curiously at me, obviously unconvinced.

  “Do you know how to use this book?” she asked, sounding genuinely interested. Immediately, my smile dropped.

  I wanted to lie; I wanted to pretend I did so that I could avoid any sneering that would most inevitably follow.

  But, the woman’s soft demeanor evoked the chance to tell the truth.

  “I know most children in this city don’t know how to read,” she said softly. “If that is the case, this book would be of no use for you.” I hung my head, realizing there was no point hiding my illiteracy from an obviously well educated woman. There was no point looking at pictures and jumbled symbols if I could not read.

  “Would you like me to teach you?” she asked, and I felt my heart nearly stop. My head jolted up. The feeling of despair dissipated, and I blinked drastically at the woman. My young heart began to flutter, changing its beat to a different rhythm.

  I had never received such kind thoughtfulness from another person, let alone a complete stranger who suddenly discovered my disadvantages of life. Why would she suggest teaching me? Was it wrong to accept? Could someone like her really offer such a thoughtful notion to an ignorant child such as myself?

  “Yes please,” I answered quietly as my toes curled within my small shoes. “I would like that very much.”

  “Excellent,” Historia replied while patting the to of my head. “I have some time this morning—let’s begin by learning the alphabet.”