Threshold

Chapter Two

The sky was just beginning to lighten on its ocean edge as I stumbled through my grandmother’s door. My hands ached from the cold and my feet were numb--no better than hams attached to my ankles. At least the cut on my foot had stopped stinging. I lumbered through the cottage, catching a glimpse of blue lips as I passed the hall mirror. I tried to brush the hair out of my face, but the stringy sandy locks only ensnared my fingers. I collapsed into a wicker chair, pulling an afghan across my lap.

“Sweat Leaf!”

 I flinched for a moment. I should have known my grandmother would be up. She’d been the sun’s wake-up call for as long as I could remember—any hope of not being noticed was both ill-founded and irreparably dashed. My grandmother stood in the doorway to the kitchen, an apron wrapped around her plump waist.

“Have you been out all night fighting sand monsters?” Despite the lightheartedness, I recognized the worry in her voice.

I brushed some sand off of the afghan and glanced at my grandmother sheepishly. “I fell into the ocean.”

“That I see. I’m just a bit worried about what sea-nasty pulled ye in. Come then.” My grandmother marched towards the washing room. I followed. It was always easiest just to listen.

“Now what bit of sorcery pulled ye from your bed and to the waters in the middle of the night, Scarlett, dear?” She asked as she set a kettle to boil and proceeded to draw a bath.

“I needed to think.”

“I find it easiest to think when my toes aren’t resembling the northern tundra.”

“A swim wasn’t my plan.”

“I should hope not. Unless swimwear has drastically changed since I last went into town.”

I glanced down at my bedraggled dress, a sopping mess of sand and salt.

“Is sand the worst of it?” she asked.

“Well…”

“I thought ye were in the ocean, not the well,” She replied keenly. “Off with it then, let me see the affliction.”

I peeled away layers of sand and fabric, discarding the soiled garments. I rinsed my foot in the warming bath, twisting to expose the scraped underside. My grandmother clucked, taking a moment to examine the wound before moving on to my shoulder. She ran her worn hands across the tender skin, tsking as she explored.

I took the moment to glance around the room, not caring to watch as she investigated bone and flesh. My grandmother’s house was well-loved. It was easy to see that she’d raised a son in the home after moving away from Caerwyn. The building itself was modest, not looking like much more than the houses all around Lasko, but my father’s money had found its way in. There was running water, a cast iron stove, and exquisite wood furniture. My grandmother still used candles, but there were plenty of glow stones about, a pair humming above my bath. The bathtub itself was much finer than any other found in town—which wasn’t really saying much, considering most people just used the hot spring. Still, the wood was smooth, and it only took a few kettles of water to warm. Despite the niceties, my grandmother’s hand could be seen in everything. The chairs in the main room were covered in handmade blankets, the drapes were all hand sewn, and the walls were covered in paintings.