𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔏𝔞𝔰𝔱 𝔇𝔯𝔬𝔴𝔰

part ii | chapter ii

Sleep dispersed to the birdsong that serenaded dawn. Winona stretched, momentarily disturbing Keesog who was cuddled up beside her. Shucking off her comforter, she padded to the window. Witnessing sunrises was a ritual that only she continued to partake in, in the Silverheel household. She never liked the sun later in the day; the heavy sunshine was druglike, making her lethargic and slow. But the sun of daybreak, the one that painted the clouds in a sublime jaspé of peachy-pinks and rosy-reds, she could love.

If only it stayed that way.

After cleaning up and making her bed, Winona set down breakfast for the dogs first and then got to cooking for the other members. She'd just finished setting the table by the time Donovan emerged from his quarters, ready for work. He shoveled the toast and eggs in a hurry as he always did, dropped a little kiss on Winona's forehead, and was off trailing sawdust from his workboots behind him.

Since her shift started after noon, Winona had time to straighten up around the house and make some progress on her painting. But before that, her hair needed care. She undid and redid her braid, combing out the tangles, smoothing out the waves that reached the small of her back. A strip of leather held the end of the braid together with fallen feathers from a northern harrier and five bone beads, one for each member of her family. Then she fixed her easel and mounted her current project – an image of a Seneca scout releasing a bald eagle to the skies. Winona was dangling between naming it either Brother Eagle or Taking Flight, but she wasn't too concerned about it. A consultation with her father and sister would sort that.

At half-past ten, the postman dropped by. Wiping her hands on her apron, she went to collect their post. One very scarlet, very ornate envelop caught her eye. Addressed to Meda, it was from the Institute of Chicago. Deeming that it was important, Winona knocked on her door. She got no answer, so she opened the door a crack and peeked to find that Meda was still asleep.

Winona let herself in and settling down on the edge of the bed, she gently shook her sister awake. "Meda," she called, low and soft, "Meda, wake up. There's mail for you."

"What?" Meda sat up, rubbing her eyes groggily; Winona handed her the envelop in response. As soon as she registered who the sender was, she was wide awake. She ripped open the top of the envelop, nearly tearing a part of the letter out in her excitement. After she scanned it, she whispered, "oh my god."

"What is it?" Winona reached for the letter. "Let me see."

Meda snatched it away. "Wait!" She reread it, then exclaimed, "oh my god! I made it. I made it into the School of Arts." She launched herself at Winona, grabbing her in an exuberant hug. "I join this July! I made it, I made it!"

Winona hugged her back. "That's wonderful! I'm so proud of you!"

When they separated, Meda let out a victorious whoop. "I can't wait for summer!"

Winona couldn't help the giggle that bubbled forth. "But you hate summer."

"Not this year," her younger sister told her, eyes sparkling like amethysts under firelight. "This year I'm finally getting out of Andover. There's nothing to keep me here anymore."

Hurt prickled at Winona's heart, inexplicable but persistent. "Really," she said, her voice flat, "nothing? Are you even sure you wanna move all the way to Chicago?"

"What, I'm not moving forever. I'll still come visit you guys..."

"Considering that there's nothing keeping you here," said Winona resentfully, "I wasn't sure you were going to."

"I didn't mean it like that..." Meda seemed taken aback. "I—where's this coming from? Are you mad at me?"

Winona sighed. "I'm not mad." Ensuring her tone was level, she added, "I'm just wondering if you know what you're doing. It's tough out there, especially for artists. And if you don't make it... well, let's just say we can't afford that."