He points out what we can see from this height.
There’s the lake he wants to take me to—not a long walk from our cottage at all, though we need to take the ice back before we can dive in.
Another time.
Another dream.
Another hope.
What if every day could be this wondrous?
I’m afraid to even dare to want that.
But that just means it’s worth it, doesn’t it?
Worth trying.
Worth doing.
Worth moving.
Backatthecottage,we blast the ice into smaller chunks and get it stored away.
Zan transforms back into his human form, and I watch him keenly for any signs of distress.
But he just looks back at me challengingly, and with an effort, because Iwantto meet every challenge he offers, I let it go.
His magic does feel lower than it did before, but Zan says he knows his limits, and I’m trusting him.
I’m trusting that he wants to be here, too, which is the scarier side.
Inside, Zan goes into one of the cupboards and brings out a gorgeous tome.
“This is where sages recorded what they’d learned and wanted to pass down for future generations,” Zan tells me. “It’s for you, now.”
Cautiously, reverently, I approach it.
It begins with a grocery list.
Instructions for baking bread.
Then questions—Kovan’s?—What do you need to live?
As I flip through the book, the attempt to answer is on every page.
Katas for future sages.
Tips for painting a room to make it your own space.
And I still when I get to a recipe for ice cream.
My eyes are blurry with tears.
All these people who came after me and before me, paving the way so it would be easier for the rest of us.
This is the real gift of the sanctuary.
I don’t have to start by myself, after all.
