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A gray dawn rises. Clouds must have rolled in off the lake overnight. A thick fog hangs heavy between the trees. What sunlight comes through does so weakly, catching the autumn morning's frost on the grass and making them glitter. The air is wet, cold, and clinging. Wrapped in the thick, heavy cloth of my new cloak as I am, I barely feel it. The faint tremble in my hands and limbs is not from that, but from lack of sleep. After talking with Mother and Father by the fire we all climbed into the wagon to seek our rest. I found little, to the point it may as well have been none. I was awake when Mother's hand touched my shoulder. “It's time,” she said, with a soft, sad, smile.

Now we stand outside the wagon. Mother, wet-eyed and standing tall, holds Tals on her hip. His eyes are heavy with sleep and he rubs the back of his hand across them. I don't think he's awake or old enough to understand what's happening. In his mind, he's awake before he wants to be, cold, and confused. There's a throbbing ache in my heart, worsening with each beat. When I see him again, he'll be so much bigger. I'll have missed so much. Will he remember, when the time comes? It's a foolish thought, one I should know better than to believe.

At least I'll be long gone when he starts screaming. It's small and cold as comforts go, but I've precious few at the moment. I'll take and treasure each and every one.

Next to him, Father's hand spanning his shoulders, is Djan. Djan, who is old enough to understand why we are all out here in the cold. He's known this was going to happen, like me. Like me, he'd been struck by the surprise of it actually happening. I wonder, will he stop his efforts at appearing grown long enough for a hug and a wet, smacking kiss from me? I mean to leave him as he's often left me: annoyed, and with no doubts about being loved. I hope he will.

Then there's Father. I see the tremble in his lips through his beard, how he must swallow thickly to keep the feeling within him. A pillar of strength, always, even if he must force himself to be. It's for him that I clench my jaw. I hide all of my certainty that I am not ready for the sake of the troubled lines in his brow and the way his eyes shine. Pride, sorrow, and love in equal measure burn in their depths and I will not have sorrow overtake. I will not. I swallow and lift my chin.

He smiles at me, a near-laugh leaving him in a huff. He knows what I'm doing and allows it. “You will return to us,” he says, he commands, “grown and even more beautiful.”

I nod and swallow again to answer, “I will,” I promise.

“Is Zira leaving?” Tals asks, overloud. Mother hushes him, which prompts him to ask again, nearly shouting the words. My stomach is in knots and I have to will myself to smile as I go to him. It's wavering and frail, but he doesn't see that. He reaches for me and I take his little hands in my own.

“I am,” I answer, hushed. “I have to go somewhere, and I won't be back for a long time.” Mother's chest shudders as I say this. I can't look at her, or I'll lose all my will to leave.

“Where are you going?” he asks. “Can I come?”

It's such a typical question for him that I laugh. I see the edge of Mother's smile in the corner of my eye. “No,” I say, shaking my head, “I have to go alone.” He frowns, and the beginnings of a pout appear. “I need you to stay and keep everyone safe. Can you do that for me?”

Interest flickers in his eyes. “I guess,” he sighs, before pulling his hands free and throwing them around my neck, bringing himself and Mother crashing into me. “Bring me a present,” he tells me. I laugh again and promise that I will. The laugh turns to a whimper as Mother wraps her free arm around me.

I'm not ready. I feel her mouth on my temple, trembling with the effort to hold back her tears. My own burn in my tightly closed eyes. After a moment, Djan and Father join the embrace and I desperately cling to their support. “I guess I'll miss you,” Djan allows, though his voice is cracking and unsteady. I'm smiling even as a knot of acid burns in my throat.

“I'll try to miss you,” I croak back. “but I promise nothing.” His laugh chokes off halfway through and becomes a sob he tries to swallow. Mother gives Tals over to Father so she can take my face in her hands. My eyes burn with tears I will not allow to fall. For her sake, for the sake of her wet eyes and trembling hands.

“Be brave, my daughter,” she commands, voice cracking on daughter, “be forthright, true, and know that we love you always.”

“I will,” I gasp, I promise, “I will.”

Mother releases me and steps back. Away from me. Her arms twitch, as if to reach for me, before falling back to her side. Djan rushes to her side, burying his face in her middle. Tears drip into Father's beard, though his face is as stone. My sight blurs. “Go,” Mother says, curling as if the word was struck from her with a blow. I step back hesitantly, unwilling to turn away. She shouts, “Go!”

I turn on my heel and flee, swallowed by the dense fog.

Coda

The sight of his little girl, of his Zira, vanishing into the trees is one that tears a gaping wound into Kels' heart. He took her into his arms and heart fourteen years ago, knowing from that moment that this day would come. He had thought that this knowing would lessen the sting of its arrival and was wrong to think it. The loss of her keens through him, sharp and cutting like winter's winds. As what remains of his family breaks down around him, he forces himself to be steady and sure, to be a well from which they can draw strength.

His wife is torn, sundered by her own words. The strongest, greatest woman he's ever known broke herself for the sake of her daughter. To have that command, still ringing in the air, be the last word spoken between them has made a ruin of her. Somehow she finds it within herself to comfort their son who clings to her and weeps. Djan fights each sob as it escapes him, each one tearing free in a wrenching gasp. “Why?” he demands of her, face pressed into her belly, “Why does she have to go?!”

“It was time,” she answers. What she says not is that she feared Zira would need the push. That, for all of her capability, their daughter may not have had the will to take those first steps. She had confessed as much to him the night before, when they lay abed and were certain the children slept. He had offered to be the one, if the need arose, but she would not have it. It would be her to carry the burden and whatever enmity may come of it.

He wasn't sure then if such a push was needed. He still isn't. That aside, it's done and not to be taken back. There's no point to dwell on it, yet he knows they both will for all the long days to come. In his arms, Tals begins to wiggle and reach for his mother. Kels sets the boy down and watches him run to her and fling his little arms around her.

“Hush now,” he says, looking up at her, “hush. All's well.”

She laughs and smiles down at him. Both are brief and fragile things, but present. His heart lightens to hear it. She kneels to cup her youngest son's face in her hands. “Thank you, dear heart,” she murmurs, and kisses his brow. The boy accepts her praise and affection with a sunny smile. She pats his cheek and rises, “Go and play with your brother, hm? I need to talk to your father.”

For once, Djan goes with his brother without complaint. Kels keeps one eye on them, knowing better than to look away for even a moment, even as their mother steps into his arms. He holds her close as she winds her fingers into his hair, tucks her face into the crook of his neck, and breathes.

In those moments are a warm, quiet stillness. A calm and surety that seeps into their bones, drawn from and given to each other. As it should be. “We should've told her,” she whispers, “We meant to, but...”

“It wasn't time,” he answers, but what he means is we weren't ready. “She'll likely learn soon enough anyway.”

She hums, breath warm and damp across his skin. “Am I a coward,” she asks, “for being glad it's not us who'll tell her?”

He presses his nose to her temple and answers, “If you are, then so am I. Let her be mine by blood a little longer.”

His wife, his beloved Alia, mother of his children, pulls away to look him in the eye, “It changes nothing,” she tells him, “She is yours in all other ways.” Then she pulls him into a soft, chaste kiss. He closes his eyes, ignores the expressions of disgust from his boys, and tries his utmost to believe her.