“Andi, you’re up early?” Mum says, sensing my presence. She was always the first to wake; early bird catches the worm and all that.
“Couldn’t sleep, figured I would get a head start on loading up the cart.” I reach for my boots.
I hate lying. I hate the disapproving look Mum gives when I do, but it’s better than having her worry over something that I have no control over.
The story of the Tanith dynasty terrified me, tormenting me every night. Mum raises her eyebrow at me; I feel her stare following me as I grab a hot bun and head out the door briskly before she can call me back.
The morning air swishes around me, like being wrapped in a warm towel from beside the fire. I have always loved our cottage. Hidden in the woods, surrounded by rolling hills bursting with an array of flowers in every colour, like a rainbow skating across the meadows. Beautiful oak trees are dotted along the fields, which blend seamlessly with the river and the stone bridge that leads into town.
As fearless children, this was our playground. Elana, Wyatt, and I would play hide and seek in the woods, rolling down the hills, making flower crowns. Reaching the top of the trees was considered a badge of honour.
My favourite part was being able to see over the top of houses in the town and watch folk go about their day, unknowingly being observed.
White fluffy clouds glide along the blue sky, over our little piece of heaven. I doubt any other town could compete. Our town wouldn’t be what it is without the folk and the sense of community we have. It’s what makesus,andwho we became.
In Vendyl, we look after our own.
Savouring the last of my hot bun, carts rumble across the bridge as townsfolk get ready for the day, setting up their stalls, and cleaning up the roads to make their little corner appear pleasing to the customer.
We have been selling items from our stall for almost a year, offering as many fruits and vegetables from our little garden as we can spare, along with the herbal remedies that Mum makes up: ointments, lotions, and bathing oils.
Since Dad died, it’s been hard. We’d relied heavily on his considerable woodworking skills to earn a pretty penny. He could make anything: chairs, pipes, instruments—to name a few.
Now we sell what we can.
Behind me, Misty’s neigh pulls my focus to the old, worn-down cart at the side of our cottage. I’m astonished it’s still standing after all these years. The back wheel has broken off so many times, I have lost count. Wyatt—my best friend and adopted brother—fixed it just a few days ago, but I don’t trust it to hold. Luckily, he had been persuaded to help us at the stall today; if it breaks again, at least he’ll be on hand to repair it.
I sigh at the sight of the boxes of bottles and tubs, as well as the enormous pile of produce. Plodding over, I toss them into the cart.
“Good haul this week. Let’s hope we can stash some money for winter.”Mum calls as she comes out of the door, her long golden hair braided into a tidy bun just above her neck. My mum’s calmness is renowned. She may act cool and collected, but inside, anxiety tears her apart.
“When is Wyatt coming? We’ll need to get a move on if we want to get the best spot,” she yells, rushing back into the cottage.
“I’m sure he’s around here somewhere.” I shrug. “But we can leave without him, if you’re that worried.”
Sometimes I think Mum likes Wyatt more than me; she always wanted a son, and all he had was his drunken uncle. Not that I begrudge him her affection. The image of his skeletal body, drowning in stained clothes, is seared into my mind. He completes our family, the puzzle piece we didn’t know was missing until he made himself right at home.
With Wyatt’s fair complexion, icy-blue eyes and rosy skin, his boyish look that has always gotten him out of trouble. Mum used to say he was as innocent as a newborn babe, until she realised how mischievous he was.
Taking Misty by the reins, I gently stroke her nose—Dad’s last gift to me. He told me he had picked her because she was the same colour as my eyes.
I lead my horse to the cart to attach her saddle, discreetly grabbing an apple from the nearest box and holding it out to her. As she softly walks towards me, someone shouts from the other side.
“Hey, careful!”
I peer around the cart to see Wyatt holding his left foot; he hobbles towards us, groaning in pain.
“What are you doing hiding under the cart?”
“How about, hey Wyatt, I’m really sorry for rolling the cart on your foot. Please forgive me,” he whimpers, ducking his head to hide his smile.“I was checking the wheel, making sure it was still in one piece, if that’s okay with you.” He grabs hold of his foot. “I think I might need crutches. Don’t worry, I can still help. See, I can hop.”
Wyatt hobbles towards me, before jumping on one foot, using the cart for support. I approach him to check he is okay, smirking as I notice he is using the foot he claimed was injured. I tilt my head, raise my eyebrows, and gently push him off balance. Wyatt stumbles, putting his full weight on his ‘broken’ foot.
“Wrong foot,” I roll my eyes.
Wyatt stares at me in wonderment. “Did you see that? It’s a miracle.” He grabs me by the shoulders. “You fixed me, Andi. You must have been sent by—”
“Misneach, you’re so funny!” I scoff. “Now, can you stop being an idiot. We need to go before Mum screeches at us.” I push him away and walk towards Misty, picking up her reins.
