Darin looked back at the fire, “My mother is beautiful. I don’t look like her at all.” Without even thinking about it her arms came to wrap around her bent knees, “She has the most beautiful deep brown curls. They practically reach her waist. Her eyes are a stunning green. If you believe the stories every boy in the village wanted to partner with her when she was younger than me.” Her voice was quiet and far away, “Everybody in the village loved her until my father left. Then they pretty much ignored her. They said she must have done something to drive him away. She didn’t though. Him leaving crushed her. That’s what I’ll never forgive him for. I don’t care that he left. I don’t care that his departure left us the village pariahs. He destroyed her. She’s getting better, but you don’t ever really recover from something like that.” Her fingers started to dig into her knees, “If, somehow, I run into him on this trip, I will do my ever living best to break his nose. He probably wouldn’t even know it was me. I might not be able to actually do it. I don’t care. I’m still going to try.”

Darin had no idea why her father left. Neither did her mother. He had left without saying anything. One night he was just gone. He had taken half of the supplies and their one horse. The last words he told Darin were words of love and pride. Then he betrayed those promises.  He had left her mother broken. For months Darin could see that it took all of her mother’s energy just to get out of bed. So, Darin stepped up. She taught herself to take care of the farm. By the time her mother had enough energy to realize what her daughter was doing it was too late. Even before that man left Darin and her mother had fought constantly about how Darin wasn’t more feminine. The arguments got worse. Darin grew more stubborn. Yet, despite the fighting her mother ahd supported her every step of the way. Darin hated that she had basically done what her father had done. She hated that she had to leave her mother. The only solace she had was that at least her mother knew why she had left.

Darin forced her fingers to let go of her knees, “Anyways, your tattoos, they all tell a story, right?”

She was still trying to figure out if she would every be part of the tale on Ridahne’s skin. Darin didn’t know if she wanted that or not. Humans didn’t tell stories that way. They wrote them down or passed them down orally. Darin still had a few of those stories in her head form when they were pounded in there by the village elder in charge of making sure all the children could read and do basic sums. They were mostly folk stories and legends. History proper was written down. Darin never cared much about history. She cared more about the future. Would it rain to tomorrow? Would next week’s frost kill her trees. How would the harvest go? She was starting to regret that. Maybe if she had paid more attention she would know more about The Gardener, The Tree, and The Seed.