Their teacher, however, remained outside with him.
“It’s just me today, Briseis has mayoral duties,” she told him, gaze hovering around his chin.
Soren nodded. “Very well. I will see to the game field and flowerbeds.”
“Good, the children have been wanting to plant seeds.”
“All right, I’ll turn over the soil and bring out the supplies from the shed.”
“Briseis told me you’ve led nature walks for them before?”
“I have.”
“It’d be nice if you could plan one for later this week with the warm weather.”
“I’ll do that.”
“Wonderful.”
“Good.”
Something of a forced smile stretched her lips, and Maeve nodded. “All right, then, have a good day.”
“You as well, Miss Maeve.”
“Mister Soren.”
He was ashamed to admit, even to himself, but over the next few days, Soren often found himself…charmed. He rarely had reason to notice anyone beyond assessing them for potential danger around Kiri, but he couldn’t help noticing Maeve.
The shame wasn’t in finding her charming—he figuredsomeone would have to be made of stone not to be even a little enchanted with her. No, his shame came from being surprised at not only how good she was with the children but the lengths she went to for them.
From what he’d learned of her from Imogen, he hadn’t imagined Maeve willingly doing activities with the children. He hadn’t imagined she’d get dirty or sweaty.
And yet, it was Maeve who helped the children plant the first seeds of their garden. She showed them how to measure the holes in the soil with their fingers, about proper light for various plants, and used the planting to diagram and discuss stages of growth. She helped them water the plants, happy to get her apron soaked and muddy.
It was Maeve who led the children in afternoon exercises, leading them in stretches to clear away the after-luncheon yawns or refereeing a game of tag or duck-ball, their favorite game. It was Maeve who guided them through cleanup and tidying times, and she who swept the floor and wiped down the desks every afternoon.
It was Maeve who ensured they had a good, long luncheon and took the time to eat it. She wiped jam off cheeks and brushed honey out of hair. She washed their hands and braided their hair and showed them how to tie their shoes.
And it was Maeve who seemed to have a song for everything. One for remembering your vowels, one for greeting the plants as they grew, another thank you song, and yet more for lunchtime, saying goodbye to the sun, remembering all the letters, and how to tie different knots.
Soren often found himself humming along, the silly rhymes floating to him through the open windows on the gentle breeze. It made his work even more enjoyable, and the rhymes—and the sweet lull of Maeve’s voice—quickly hooked into his mind.
He also found himself lingering around the school more thanwas necessary. A fortnight he spent avoiding it, and now he couldn’t keep away. From morning to dusk, he found ways to stay near her, if not in her direct company.
And that was enough. The nod of acknowledgement, the polite smile, the occasional friendly teasing, that would all be enough for Soren.
He…liked her way. Yes, he could sometimes glimpse the girl Imogen had spoken of. She could be direct, cutting even, but she tempered it with the children and took no nonsense from them—or her adult students. She was clear and direct, unafraid of anything or anyone.
She would’ve made a formidableerez.
She will make a good mate,histurukwould rumble greedily.
For someone, yes.A very good mate, indeed.
Ours, the beast argued, gnashing its teeth at the idea of some other faceless mate.
No, not ours. She’s leaving.
