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Authors: Caitlin Sweet
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Now, though, the sun is shining once more, and my daily letters will resume.
I am happy to inform you that Nellyn seems to be adjusting painlessly to his new concept of time and language. He has been far more talkative than he was before and has already told me several fascinating things. For example, the shonyn only eat fish after the rains, when they can be scooped out of the water like lynanyn. He said, “Shonyn are finders, not seekers.” I thought this very strange, but of course did not let him see this. I am more excited than ever to relate to you what I learn from him.
He almost could not look at her. “Will you come again tomorrow?” he asked, each word an echo but each one new. He was dizzy again; he heard his voice as if someone else were speaking. He could not feel the lynanyn half he was holding, though he knew it would be cool. His skin too was a stranger’s.
“Yes,” she said, “I will.”
EIGHT
Lanara woke with a start. The light in her tent was grey and thick—a cloudy dawn, too early to be waking. At first she heard only the hammering of her own heart. As it calmed, she heard the river and the quiet hum of shonyn voices, carried on wind. Then another sound, much closer. She sat up and called, “Who’s there?” to the shadow in her half-open door flap.
“Maarenn,” said a voice, and a young shonyn woman ducked inside. She hesitated, looking down at her feet.
Lanara said, “Please come closer. I can’t see you very well.”
Maarenn took three steps toward the bed and stopped. “I am sorry. I know this is your sleeping time, but I can only come now. I. . . .” She finally looked up. Lanara saw dark eyes, curly hair tied back but falling over one shoulder. “I need to speak to you. Of Nellyn.”
Lanara wrapped her blanket around her and sat on the edge of the bed. She motioned Maarenn to the chair. After a long moment she sat, very stiffly. Lanara said, “What about Nellyn?”
In the silence, she heard someone laugh in the village below. Maarenn turned to the door flap. Lanara thought she saw her smile before she looked back at the room. She spoke then, quite quickly, as if she had practiced the words.
“Nellyn stays alone in an empty hut, far away from his sleeping companions. He does not join me on our flatboat, even though we are gathering companions. He takes a different one and gathers alone. He speaks to no one.”
Lanara ran a hand over her hair and down her neck and closed her eyes, which felt gritty from too little sleep. “And you have come to me,” she said, opening her eyes, “because you think this is my fault?”
“Fault?” Maarenn repeated. “I do not understand this. I come to you to say he is dear to me and many others. He suffers with change. Perhaps you do not see this. So I speak to you.”
Lanara shook her head. “No—he is happy. I know he is. Confused, maybe, because he
is
changing—but this confusion will pass.”
“Pass? No. There is no return for him, with you here.”
Lanara stared at Maarenn. “You
are
blaming me,” she said, her voice rising. “And you’re telling me to leave him alone, yes? As if it’s any of your business. It’s his choice—all of it. Not yours.”
Maarenn shook her head again. She rose from the chair and stood with her hands upturned. “I am sorry—I do not know. . . . He tells me you want to understand us, so I try to help you do this. And I try to help him. He cannot give you understanding of shonyn; you must talk to someone else for this. And you must let him find us again.”
Lanara rose as well, still holding her blanket close around her. She was taller than Maarenn, and this was her tent, but she felt awkward as her anger dissipated. “I appreciate your concern for Nellyn and for me. But please be reassured: I won’t hurt him. I am his friend, as you are.”
“No,” Maarenn said, “no.” She turned and left the tent, as silent as all shonyn were on the sand. Lanara did not watch her go.
I am happy to inform you that Nellyn seems to be adjusting painlessly to his new concept of time and language. He has been far more talkative than he was before and has already told me several fascinating things. For example, the shonyn only eat fish after the rains, when they can be scooped out of the water like lynanyn. He said, “Shonyn are finders, not seekers.” I thought this very strange, but of course did not let him see this. I am more excited than ever to relate to you what I learn from him.
He almost could not look at her. “Will you come again tomorrow?” he asked, each word an echo but each one new. He was dizzy again; he heard his voice as if someone else were speaking. He could not feel the lynanyn half he was holding, though he knew it would be cool. His skin too was a stranger’s.
“Yes,” she said, “I will.”
EIGHT
Lanara woke with a start. The light in her tent was grey and thick—a cloudy dawn, too early to be waking. At first she heard only the hammering of her own heart. As it calmed, she heard the river and the quiet hum of shonyn voices, carried on wind. Then another sound, much closer. She sat up and called, “Who’s there?” to the shadow in her half-open door flap.
“Maarenn,” said a voice, and a young shonyn woman ducked inside. She hesitated, looking down at her feet.
Lanara said, “Please come closer. I can’t see you very well.”
Maarenn took three steps toward the bed and stopped. “I am sorry. I know this is your sleeping time, but I can only come now. I. . . .” She finally looked up. Lanara saw dark eyes, curly hair tied back but falling over one shoulder. “I need to speak to you. Of Nellyn.”
Lanara wrapped her blanket around her and sat on the edge of the bed. She motioned Maarenn to the chair. After a long moment she sat, very stiffly. Lanara said, “What about Nellyn?”
In the silence, she heard someone laugh in the village below. Maarenn turned to the door flap. Lanara thought she saw her smile before she looked back at the room. She spoke then, quite quickly, as if she had practiced the words.
“Nellyn stays alone in an empty hut, far away from his sleeping companions. He does not join me on our flatboat, even though we are gathering companions. He takes a different one and gathers alone. He speaks to no one.”
Lanara ran a hand over her hair and down her neck and closed her eyes, which felt gritty from too little sleep. “And you have come to me,” she said, opening her eyes, “because you think this is my fault?”
“Fault?” Maarenn repeated. “I do not understand this. I come to you to say he is dear to me and many others. He suffers with change. Perhaps you do not see this. So I speak to you.”
Lanara shook her head. “No—he is happy. I know he is. Confused, maybe, because he
is
changing—but this confusion will pass.”
“Pass? No. There is no return for him, with you here.”
Lanara stared at Maarenn. “You
are
blaming me,” she said, her voice rising. “And you’re telling me to leave him alone, yes? As if it’s any of your business. It’s his choice—all of it. Not yours.”
Maarenn shook her head again. She rose from the chair and stood with her hands upturned. “I am sorry—I do not know. . . . He tells me you want to understand us, so I try to help you do this. And I try to help him. He cannot give you understanding of shonyn; you must talk to someone else for this. And you must let him find us again.”
Lanara rose as well, still holding her blanket close around her. She was taller than Maarenn, and this was her tent, but she felt awkward as her anger dissipated. “I appreciate your concern for Nellyn and for me. But please be reassured: I won’t hurt him. I am his friend, as you are.”
“No,” Maarenn said, “no.” She turned and left the tent, as silent as all shonyn were on the sand. Lanara did not watch her go.
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