“There once was a man,” Mother began.

I immediately groaned. “It’s always a man. I’d rather it be a story about a woman.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Who’s telling this story?”

I kicked a clod of dirt, pressing my lips together. “Sorry,” I murmured.

“There once was a man,” she repeated, “who lived in a beautiful forest.”

“Like our forest?” I asked.

Mother smiled. “Even more beautiful. The trees were so tall that they touched the clouds. The ground was covered with wildflowers, and the air smelled of herbs. There were all sorts of creatures that lived in the forest: flocks of birds, herds of deer, packs of wolves, streams full of fish, and much more.”

A smile spread across my face. That sounded like the perfect forest.

“The man loved the forest,” Mother continued. “He loved everything in it and was grateful that it provided him with everything he needed.”

I nodded. “It’s important to thank the forest for its gifts.”

“That’s right,” she agreed. “Sadly, though, his happy paradise didn’t last.”

My brow furrowed. “Why not?”

“More people started coming to the forest to use its resources. They were cutting down the trees, hunting all the animals, and stripping the plants.”

My expression was bewildered. “Why would they do that?”

Mother’s eyes were distant. “Because they said they needed those things to live. They wanted to build cities and gather things to sell for money.”

I tugged on one of the locks of my chestnut hair. “You can live without doing those things,” I insisted.

She smiled and continued with her story. “The man asked the outsiders to please leave his forest alone. He explained that it was his home, and also home to many other living creatures. However, the intruders simply laughed and ignored his pleas. They continued to take everything they wanted from the forest—much more than they could ever use for themselves.”

I sniffed in disdain.

“The man begged them again. He warned them that the forest would disappear if they continued to take so much, but the outsiders didn’t care. After all, it wasn’t their home. They suggested he try to stop them, knowing he couldn’t. He was only one man, and the outsiders were many.”

I felt bad for the man in the story. I hated when people were bullied.

Mother gestured with her hand. “Eventually, the forest was gone and the man was left alone. The outsiders moved on to find new resources in new places. The man wept in the remains of his home and wished that he had been able to defend it from the intruders. He said that if he had been able to protect his home, everything would still be as it was.”

A short silence fell over us.

“Is that it?” I asked.

Mother nodded. “That’s the story.”

I wrinkled my nose. “It’s not a very good one.”

She chuckled. “Well, your grandfather wasn’t known for his storytelling abilities.”

Two birds twirled around each other in the air, darting across my vision. I crossed my arms, feeling rather cheated. “So, the only point of the story is to say that we should have soldiers to protect our resources from outsiders?”

“I suppose.”

“The forest didn’t belong to that man, either,” I scoffed. “Why would he have the right to keep resources to himself anyway? Why didn’t everybody just share, and only take what they need?”

My mother reached over to stroke my hair, which was the same color as her own. “I suppose it’s human nature. We worry about having no food or shelter, so we get as much as we can to protect against that.”

“It’s a stupid story,” I reiterated. “I still don’t think that soldiers are the most important thing to have.”

“Perhaps,” she said in a soothing tone, “but that’s the way most people think.”

I snorted, kicking an undeserving rock out of my path. “Tell me a different story. A better one.”

A smile curved over her wide lips. “Very well. Which story would you like?”

“Tell me a story about Linden and Lina,” I said with a small hop. “A new one!”

She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “A new one? I don’t know if there are any new ones.”

“Please,” I begged.

She always had stories to tell about my two favorite characters. I suspected that they were based on her own experiences with my father, but I didn’t dare to ask.

“I don’t want to think of a new one today, Tiff,” she sighed. “How about one I’ve already told?”

I made a small huff but didn’t pout. “Fine. Tell me the first story, then. Tell me how they met.”

My mother nodded. That was the one I asked for the most, so it was no surprise to her. “There once was a young woman named Lina.”

“And she lived in a small village far from everything,” I continued without prompting.

Mother laughed gently. “Yes, she did. The people in her village were all steady and practical, but Lina was wild and full of dreams.”

“Like me,” I added with another hop.

Her eyes shone with love as she looked over me. “Yes, much like you.”

There was a brief pause. We listened to the wind passing through the grass, stirring up the dust from the walking path.

Mother cleared her throat. “The only place that Lina felt she could be free from the disapproval of the villagers was in the forest near her home. She would kick off her shoes and run over the mossy floor of the woods. She ate wild berries and nuts, climbed trees, waded through streams, and sat among flowers to sing songs.”

I nodded my approval. It seemed the best way to live one’s life.

“One spring day, she decided to try and cross the river at the far end of the forest.”

“But that was foolish,” I chimed in, “because the river was swollen with melting snow.”

“Yes, it was,” Mother agreed. “Lina had been going to the forest for many seasons, so she thought herself equal to any challenge she might face. However, one should never have a contest of wills with the river spirits.”

I clucked my tongue. “Bad idea,” I said in a sing-song voice.

“She hopped onto the line of rocks that would lead to the other side,” she went on. “The water rushed over those rocks, too, but Lina told herself she didn’t mind if her feet got wet. Crossing the river during the summer was as easy as daisies, so she assumed it wouldn’t be much different in the spring.”

“Bad idea,” I sang again.

Mother tweaked my ear, causing me to jump out of her reach. We both laughed, but I didn’t return to her side immediately. I made a wide circle, gathering more flowers as I went.

“Then, what happened?” I prompted.

“As she neared the middle of the river, her foot slipped and she fell into the rapids,” Mother resumed. “The raging current crashed her into rocks as she was swept downstream, making it impossible for her to clear her head. She couldn’t tell which way was up, nor how to get to shore.”

“She broke her arm,” I added.

“Yes, she broke her arm, but she didn’t know that until later,” Mother chided gently. “Are you going to tell the story out of order?”

I playfully stuck my tongue out at her, skipping farther from her reach. I began braiding the flowers into a crown to match the one I wore on my head.

“Lina was certain that she was going to die,” she went on. “When, suddenly, her arm got caught on a hanging tree branch.”

“She was saved!” I cheered.

“Holding tightly to the branch, she was able to pull herself to the river bank. She stayed there for a few minutes, gathering her strength. But she soon found herself being lifted out of the water by the hands of a stranger.”

I fell silent. This was my favorite part of the story, and it was best when it was told by my mother.

Her eyes softened, yet her smile was sad. “She looked up into the face of the most handsome man she had ever seen. His eyes were like a beam of sunlight after winter’s snow. His presence was a fire in a hearth never before used. Lina was bewildered when she saw him. She knew that she had never seen anything like him before, and she also knew that she would never see anything like him again.”

I stared at the ground, giving Mother a moment of privacy. She never described what Linden looked like as far as his physical form. (Perhaps it’s because he could look however he wanted.) Instead, she spoke of how it felt to be around him, to be seen by him, to be remembered by him. She spoke in a way that conveyed the reverence of walking through an ancient forest and knowing how few people would ever see such a thing.

“Lina had heard stories of tiernan, but she never thought they were real. Even if she had, she wouldn’t have known how to recognize one by sight. She thought that he was just a human stranger who happened to be passing by. As such, she wasn’t afraid when he pulled her out of the water and wrapped her in his cloak.”

“‘You are injured,’ he said to her,” I murmured.

Mother plucked a tall blade of grass, turning it over in her hands. “His voice filled Lina’s ears like a summer breeze. It was soft and gentle, but she could still hear it over the roar of the river. He lifted her easily and carried her to a patch of sunshine nearby. ‘It was foolish of you to challenge the river,’ he told her.”

“The river cannot be defeated,” I finished.

She nodded. “His fingers lightly brushed over her, examining each of her injuries. She allowed him to touch her, studying his face in wonder. ‘What is your name?’ she asked him. He shook his head and answered, ‘I do not have a name.’ Lina laughed and insisted that everyone had a name. When the stranger thought about it for a moment, he pointed to a nearby linden tree and said, ‘I am called the same as that tree.’”

I finished braiding the flower crown, then skipped over to place it on my mother’s head. “Why didn’t you name me after a tree?”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “What?”

“Why did you name me after Auntie instead of after a tree?” I repeated. “You could’ve called me Willow or Rowan or Maple.”

Mother’s eyes grew thoughtful. “Because Auntie showed us the greatest love I had ever experienced, and I wanted us to honor her for that love.”

I frowned. “Even more love than my father?”

Her step faltered. “Of course,” she said quietly. “He left us, but Auntie dedicated the last years of her life to teaching us how to survive. She nurtured us and sheltered us. She protected us from the hatred of my family. No one has ever loved us like she did.”

I pursed my lips as I considered her words. What she said made sense, but it still sounded strange to me. It was easy for me to assume that my mother was still madly in love with my father, but at this moment I wondered if I was wrong.

We walked in silence for several moments before I spoke again. “Are you going to finish the story?”

Mother slowly shook her head. “I don’t feel like stories anymore, Tiff. Let’s finish it later.”

I pouted but didn’t argue. As young as I was, I still knew when Mother couldn’t be coaxed. I decided to give her some time alone. “I’m going to climb that hill,” I declared.

“Be careful,” she said distractedly.

I darted off, losing my flower crown in the process. I started singing a nonsense song—words and a tune made up on the spot, giving no thought to rhyme or meter. Usually, such antics made my mother smile, but instinct told me she wasn’t smiling at that moment.

We had circumvented the village of my mother’s youth and were now making our way over the cluster of hills at the center of Three Valleys. The tallest hill—perhaps it could be called a small mountain—held the local lord’s castle aloft. We wouldn’t be going near that estate, but we still had to pass by it to reach our destination.

I raced in a wide circle. My hands were outstretched, feeling the tall grass whip against my palms. My breathing grew rapid, but I didn’t tire. I rarely tired from physical exertion—another gift from my tiernan blood.

I probably would’ve continued running in circles, if the sound of horse hooves hadn’t reached my ears. My eyes widened as I rushed back to my mother’s side. I gripped her hand and she positioned herself to shield me.

Two men came galloping over the rise. They spotted us and changed directions to approach. The first man was clearly a soldier, with leather armor and a spear. The second looked like some sort of scholar, wearing a funny square hat on his head and puffed-out robes.

“What are you doing on Lord Yubran’s land?” the soldier barked. “What business do you have here?”

Mother immediately fell to her knees, pulling me down with her. “We mean no disrespect, sir, we are merely passing by. I swear we will go no closer to Lord Yubran’s esteemed abode.”

My heart began to pound faster than when I had been running up the hill. I couldn’t recall the last time my mother had sounded so scared. My eyes traveled up to the sharp point of the soldier’s spear, which was menacing in our direction. I struggled to swallow, but I couldn’t move the lump in my throat.

I noticed that the scholar’s gaze was riveted on my face, and I hurried to bow my head. It was always easier for us if strangers didn’t notice my tiernan features.

“Lift your head, woman,” the scholar commanded.

Mother slowly obeyed, allowing the two men to study her face.

The scholar’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing with this half-breed child?”

Her grip on my hand tightened. “I…I am escorting her to the far mountain,” she said, pointing. “She was wandering in the woods near my home.”

None of her words were technically lies, but they pricked my heart all the same. I bent my head even lower, trying to hide the tears in my eyes.

I knew that we would be safer if we pretended to be strangers. It wasn’t the first time that my mother had been forced to deceive. I was certain we would’ve used the same subterfuge in the village, if the people there didn’t already know the truth.

All of these things I knew.

But it hurt me every time.

Not for the first time—or even the thousandth time—I wished for normal-colored skin and round eyes. I wished I looked like my mother, and not like my father. I wished that we didn’t have to hide from the cruelty of others. I wished we could be safe.

The scholar’s mouth thinned, but eventually, he nodded. “That is good. It is important to be kind, but it is also important to uphold the integrity of our communities.”

Mother ducked her head. “Yes, sir.”

He pulled his shoulders back, lifting his chest. “These unfortunate creatures desperately wish to take part in human society, but it is beyond their ability to truly integrate. They cannot comprehend human values, and they eventually drag down others to their lesser state of being. The greatest kindness we can give them is isolation.”

The soldier gave a small bow. “You are very wise, sir.”

The scholar simply nodded. “I have been taught by many wise men. It is my duty to remember their words.”

“Yes, sir.”

There was an uncomfortable pause before the scholar pulled on his horse’s reins. “Let us be off.”

“Yes, sir.”

The two men rode away without saying another word to us. We stayed on the ground until they were out of sight, just in case they looked back.

When they were finally gone, Mother shakily stood. “I thank every good spirit in the world that they weren’t idle enough to waste time on us,” she gasped.

I understood what she meant. There were few things more dangerous to us than people who had nothing better to do.

She reached over and touched my cheek. “Are you alright, Tiff? Were you scared?”

I had been terrified, but I shook my head. “I’m fine, Mother.”

She nodded in relief. “Let’s hurry before we run into anyone else.”

I tried to smile at her, but my mouth felt paralyzed. I allowed her to take my hand and pull me along.

All of the temporary joy in our travels had fled. I was forcibly reminded of my sick aunt and the purpose of our journey. I thought about how Mother would have to find a secret way to get the medicine to her sister, as it wouldn’t be accepted by my grandfather if he knew the source. I thought about how thankless a task this was, and all the dangers we would still have to face to succeed. Pompous scholars and suspicious soldiers might be the least of our worries during our travels.

“Don’t dawdle, T’phani,” Mother scolded.

I quickened my step to catch up with her. “Sorry,” I muttered.

Walking faster wouldn’t make us safer, but it would make my mother feel better. And I supposed that the sooner we finished this task, the sooner we’d be home again.