She rose slowly, brushing the grass from her skirt, and we walked forward together and tossed our wreaths into the fire. They vanished in the smoke like they’d never been there at all.
A little boy with dark, unruly hair shoved through the crowd, clutching something in his fist. A wooden toy soldier, worn and scuffed. He marched straight to the fire and tossed it in. It was gone in an instant, swallowed by the flames, just as a woman caught up to him and seized his arm.
“Aran! I told you not to bring that. You won’t get another.”
“I don’t need another,” he said, puffing out his chest. “I’m a man now.”
He couldn’t have been much older than me, but his attitude was that of someone twice his size. I stared at him, half in awe, half in disbelief. Toys were precious, my mother always said so, and I always treated mine like treasure. But Aran didn’t even flinch, he just stood there, staring into the fire like he wasn’t afraid of anything. And behind us, other boys started whispering, their voices urgent and jealous. They wanted to prove that they were men too.
After stuffing my face with all the midsummer foods and pastries at dinner, my mother and I stayed near the long tables. My father had gone off to help someone with something. I always spotted him keeping busy at occasions like that. I suppose my mother did the same thing, weaving a new floral wreath for me, quietly singing along to the melody of a fiddle playing somewhere nearby.
My brother, Einar, and his best friend, Isak, had already vanished. I didn’t know where, and I didn’t care to know. They never let me playwith them. Instead I listened to the song and watched as the flowers and vines turned into a crown in my mother’s hands.
“It’s so pretty,” I said.
She smiled. “Let me.”
I bent forward, and she murmured something in the language of the gods:
“Vesh un lori, noviel te laani,” she said, ”May fortune forever light your path.”
She placed the crown on my head and for a moment, I felt like a princess, the glade my kingdom.
But the wine flowed faster, and the men grew louder. Arguments broke out over games no one remembered the rules to, and harsh voices cut through the music.
My mother leaned closer and whispered, “Go make some friends.”
So I did as she asked. I slipped away from the tables, unsure where to go, until I sawthem. Three girls sitting on a blanket beneath a tree. I recognized two of them, I didn't know their names, but I had seen them before.
I didn’t really have friends. We lived on the outskirts of the village, our closest neighbors an elderly couple who disliked noise. Einar used to play with me, but lately he’d been avoiding me, growing up faster than I could keep up with. So when I saw those girls beneath the tree, I told myself it was my chance to find new friends to play with.
I walked toward them, trying to keep my steps light. I hoped I could be one of them. My dress almost looked like theirs. My mother had sewn it from leftover fabric after making a new shirt for my father — pale blue linen with soft flutter sleeves. Clean and pretty, just like them. For once, I didn’t feel out of place.
“Ugh. What’s that smell?” one of them said before I even spoke, wrinkling her nose. Her dress was white and poofy, not the kind made for play. Her parents probably scolded her if she even sat on the grass.She had a face full of freckles and sharp red curls that bounced as she spoke. She wasn’t friendly or approachable, but I still tried.
“Do you want to play with me?” I asked with the most unsteady voice I could have had. I sounded frightened.
I was also being way too eager, and I regretted my decision the moment I saw the look on their faces. Flabbergasted, all of them. Like ’how dare this girl speak tous’.
“No. We don’t play with mud stompers,” she spat. I didn’t understand the words, but I felt the meaning of them.
“I’m not a mud stomper,” I retorted.
“Yes, you are!” She snapped and rose from the blanket. “You’re a filthy little pig, and we don’t want you here.”
She shoved me hard enough that I hit the ground, my palms scraping against dirt and stone. It didn’t matter that I’d felt like them. She’d smelled that I wasn’t, and now she’d made sure the rest of the world could see it too. My blue dress was streaked with mud, just like my boots.
One of the girls wore a white hat tied with a satin ribbon, and beautiful, structured yellow dress.
“Stop it, Selma,” she muttered.
“I heard she’s stupid too,” the third girl added. Her eyes were as dark as her hair.
“I’m not stupid,” I retorted.
Selma smirked. “Can you even read? Or write?”
They already knew the answer, and I hated that they were right.
