Her skirt blew along with the lavender-scented winds as she made her way down the cobblestone path. The small bells of her anklet chimed with each step. The basket balanced against her waist rubbed against the sliver of skin exposed between the end of her blouse and the waistband of her skirt. She winced as the decorative chain secured there dug into her skin.
She stopped briefly to readjust the basket which kept slipping down and ran her hand through her long black hair that was displaced with the wind.
A cheerful melody spilled from her full lips as she passed various merchants lining the streets. Her hips swayed with each step.
Townspeople bartered and eyed the goods on display, eager for a good deal. She continued past them, gracefully maneuvering through the throngs of mostly women and children and the occasional pup that had escaped the governance of its parents.
Dozen apples for a silver! Freshly harvested today! At the peak of their season!
New cloth's from abroad. Have them stitched with us for a discount! You won't find fabric like these anywhere else! Get them before they're gone!
You look like you need some guidance; come have your fortune told! The spirits led you here today for a reason!
The woman avoided eye contact with the various sellers offering their services and continued forward with her chin held high. She had missed the town. She missed the hustle and bustle. She missed the gardens.
She breathed in the salty ocean air, which became more and more overpowered by the scent of flowers as she approached her destination.
The King's gardens were open for all to visit and take mementos from. His sister, the princess, loved all flora, especially flowers. The garden was her pride. Any time she had time free from the country's matters she spent it outdoors tending to her plants. The kingdom made sure that the garden thrived in her memory. She had passed several years ago during the same plague that took my parents. Princess Anya was well-loved by the people. The palace was even renamed after her.
Even though the youth of the country have never laid eyes upon her person, the elders had. They sang her praises-- touting that she was the reason for the glory of the kingdom today, for the harmony between werewolves and all other creatures. The king maintained the peace but she was the one to introduce the idea to begin with and her brother convinced the figureheads of the other species. The elders knew what life was like before; they knew how precious and important this peace was. They remembered what life was like before the Great Union.
Their eyes would glaze over as if reliving a nightmare. Their voices dropped to whispers as they recalled the fear of fending for their lives. They spoke of attacks in the dead of night. Endless war. Rations. Droughts. Famine. The normalcy of the deaths and disappearances of loved ones. They cherished the changes in our society the most. For the rest of the living generations were fortunate enough to have been born during the era of New Tidings. An era free of the horrors of war.
Sanara walked through an arch woven with roses and vines into the gardens on the outskirts of the palace grounds.
She nodded in greeting toward the guards along the palace boundaries. They stood equidistant from each other in their wolf forms, for as far as the eye could see.
"Please show your mark," one gruffly requested through the mind link.
The woman extended the hand that rested atop the basket. She shook her hand, adjusting the bracelets until the small mark on her wrist was exposed. Every werewolf had that mark. The outline of a crescent moon with a small howling wolf standing on it. Though the location of the mark varied from family to family. In her family, the marks were on the inner edge of their left wrists.
The guard gave a rough nod and stepped aside to permit Sanara access into the lush, neatly arranged gardens. It looked just as she remembered.
Rose bushes extended on either side of her, flanking the walls of the entryway. A paved path went through the center where a large statue of the moon goddess, Luna, stood. She walked up to the statue and paid her respects by touching the statue and then pressing her hand to the top of her head followed by her eyes and heart. She prayed that the goddess kept her brother and herself safe, happy, and healthy.
Feeling a sublime sense of calm and peace from channeling Goddess Luna's grace, she proceeded to walk through the gardens and pick some flowers. Slender fingers hovered over the fragrant blooms. The roses were damp as if they had been recently watered. She bent closer and inhaled the sweet scent. She plucked a few of different colors. Some white, some yellow, some pink, and some red. She walked over to the small patch of lavender and plucked a few stems. She waved the lengthy plant in the air in front of her and inhaled deeply. Lavender was her favorite scent. She even favored the oil to scent her baths, sometimes even adding some to her hair.
The thorny but beautiful plant reminded her of her mother. A beautiful woman who was loving and well-loved. But her sickness brought out the worst in her. And soon her father had followed. She hardly remembered them. It was her brother who had raised her for the most part. He was eighteen when they passed, and had already been learning how to live on his own. Sanara had only been eight.
She quickly flitted around the garden picking anything that tugged at her heart with its beauty. She must have been a fairy in her past life. She adored the outdoors. An innate love for plants and animals alike. Her friends even teased her for her small, pixie-like features. Sanara would simply address them with a coy smile, whispering that she was indeed a pixie. They would erupt in hysteric giggles at the thought.
Done with her harvesting, she gave another nod to the wolf guards and took the same route back from which she came. The market closed sharp at sunset. The streets were mostly empty as the vendors began packing up. Sanara slowly ambled home admiring the flowers that filled her basket.
"Welcome back my darling sister," she heard Liren mock as she opened the front door.
"Hello, Liren. Back from work I see." she dryly commented. "Dinner is on the table, as I'm sure you've already noticed and helped yourself to."
She peered into the dining area of their family cottage to see her older brother shoveling rice and meat into his mouth. She shook her head in amusement. Liren worked as a guard at the palace, like most men in their small town surrounding the palace. If they weren't stood like gargoyles around the castle grounds, they were training. Hence, the bottomless appetite. She swore most of his substantial monthly pay went towards food.
"Have you gotten a dress for His Royal Highness Nyx's ball tomorrow?" Liren asked between mouthfuls while Sanara arranged the flowers in vases around the house.
"I have decided not to go, brother. I am still quite tired from the journey back from grandma's." She looked at her brother, feigning exhaustion. The truth was that she just didn't feel like going.
"Fair enough," Liren stood up to wash his plate in the sink. "It's good to have you back, I've been eating with our old neighbors the whole time you were gone. Bless their hearts for their kindness but I think old age has warped their taste buds." He lamented.
Sanara laughed at his recollected discomfort. Sometimes their neighbors would bring them various treats whenever they made extra. Everything always tasted either too sweet, too salty, or too spicy. It was as if their taste buds had weakened over time and they needed copious amounts of something to taste anything at all.
She took a seat on a chair in the common room with a needle and thread in hand. Liren had needed his pants hemmed for the ball tomorrow. On the nights that there were balls, the guards would take shorter shifts so everyone had a chance to enjoy the festivities. Everyone would dress up in their most regal clothes, including the guards. Nothing of much importance occurred in the small village of Anya Helm so everyone would look forward to the King's balls.
Usually, she would, too. Samara loved parties and meeting new people. But something in her held her back. Not one to question her instinct, she faithfully adhered to it.
Her fingers deftly wove the string through the thick fabric. She heard the sounds of her brother fetching firewood from the back of the house to stoke the fires one last time for the night. Spring was just beginning and the rains brought the cold as company.
By the time Liren was done fiddling around with the fireplaces in each of their bedrooms, she had his pants ready. She had altered his and her own clothing so many times she could probably do it with her eyes closed.
"Can you check if the length is okay now?"
Liren held the slacks against his waist and assessed where they ended. A satisfied smile graced his face when they ended just at the top of his feet unlike before.
"They're perfect, doll," he lilted gratefully, "just perfect as usual. I think you're better than any of the tailors in the market."
She smiled wide. Her steady hands came as a great advantage when it came to sewing.
"Well, I'm off to sleep. Tomorrow's a busy day. You should retire for the evening as well, it's getting late."
The sun had completely set outside. If it weren't for the light of the fireplace, the cottage would have been shrouded in darkness.
She held a candle and made her way up the stairs into her room. She placed the candle holder on top of the bedside table and picked up her journal. Like most werewolves, she dreamt of finding a mate. Her brother had sacrificed his chance at having one since guards were not given mates. The danger of their work would cause any soulmate anguish and worry. So Samara avoided speaking of her hopes with her brother. He took this job in order to provide for the two of them, after all.
Instead, she shared her secrets with her journal. She wrote about the qualities she desired in a mate. She wrote about different scenarios. Various scenes that popped into her mind, and things she would like to do with her beloved. It was one of the daily entertainments she had for herself in this little village of guards and their families.
She had turned twenty-one Springs just a few months ago. She should meet her mate any day now. She asked the moon goddess to let them meet in her dreams. She was too curious to know who he was already. She had thought that she would meet him in Cresent City where her grandma lived. It was the capital of their country and much more heavily populated than Anya Helm where the King preferred to reside. But alas, she had returned home mateless. She wondered if that meant he was here.
Her last thought was that she could've walked past him countless times growing up and not even realized it.
Who was he?
Where was he?
***
A/N I wrote this a while ago and am planning for this to be my next story after I finish Dania. But before I explored this concept further, I wanted to see if people were interested.
Thus, I present to you Clair de Lune (working title). Hope you enjoy!
Lots of love,
Madhu