City of Snowy Valley,
Ancient Gremen.
Year 1155 of the Era of the Sun.
The crackling of the fire echoed loudly as Zinnia paced back and forth in front of the hearth inside the hut. As she walked and turned, her beautiful yet furious features became visible. Her fiery red hair, loose and damp, floated around her in thick strands. Her irate blue eyes brimmed with tears that ran down her flushed face, her chest rising and falling as she spoke. When she turned to look at the flames, her tall figure became a dark silhouette before Simara's eyes, her younger sister. The fiery light cast massive, shadowy shapes on the clay-covered walls, the wooden shelves, and the wicker baskets filled with skeins of wool. As Zinnia passed by her younger sister, the orange glow of the fire illuminated and accentuated the vibrant colors of the flower vines Simara had painted onto the shelves and the large wooden table with two long benches on either side.
Simara set aside the two wooden knitting needles she had been working with and brought a hand to her brown knitted cardigan. She carefully unfastened the top wooden buttons at the neck, revealing the fabric shirt beneath her petticoat, immediately feeling relief from the oppressive heat inside the hut. She felt a pang of guilt, as though she were ungrateful for the warmth that kept them alive. Yet, the stifling heat and her own perspiration were overwhelming. Their mother, Nubia, always told them it was better to endure the heat inside than freeze to death outside in the snowy mountains, but Simara couldn't help but wish to lower the fire in the hearth. She restrained herself from unbuttoning further, leaning back in the wooden chair she sat in, and resumed watching her elder sister pace in front of the fire. The hem of Zinnia's dress swept up ash from the fireplace, which scattered onto the flat stones of the floor as her wet leather boots left damp traces behind.
Simara could hardly believe Zinnia was still alive. Just fifteen minutes ago, she had been drenched in snow from the blizzard outside the stone-and-clay hut. Yet, somehow, she always survived the grueling outdoor tasks in the winter cold. By now, Zinnia's clothes were no longer completely soaked but remained damp, steaming in the heat of the fire. The blue wool of her dress appeared darker from the moisture. Seeing her sister's wet woolen clothing clinging to her body in the stifling warmth of the hearth made Simara uncomfortable. She averted her eyes back to her knitting. She despised the sensation of wet clothes against her skin.
She focused on her knitting needles maneuvering the yarn while listening to the rhythmic clicking of needles from her other sister, Olimpia, and their mother, Nubia, who were also knitting garments. Their collective silence was broken when Nubia spoke softly over the sound of her own needles.
“Please, stop fighting…” she murmured.
Tears streamed freely down Zinnia’s face, while Simara tightened her lips in a grimace of frustration and restrained anger, glancing up from her knitting to her sister with biting acidity.
“Look how freezing I am! Nobody cares. As long as idiot Zinnia runs errands, tends to the sheep in the barns, shears them, and works the rest of the day in the snowy shearing shed, everything is fine. Meanwhile, you all keep knitting by the fire and…” The veins in Zinnia’s temples bulged, pulsing in time with her rapid heartbeat.
“I work my fingers to the bone and strain my eyes knitting and spinning wool in this dim hut, and I also manage the stall…” Simara’s voice didn’t rise; her words simply flowed out with a quiet intensity.
It was true that she strained her eyes. Since oil had become more expensive, they tried to save it by alternating the days they lit the oil lamp. Tonight, the lamp remained unlit, and they worked in near darkness. As a result, Simara could barely see her stitches, and the effort left her eyes aching from the strain.
“Oh, sure. You’re just breaking your back knitting comfortably here in a chair by the fire,” Zinnia retorted with venom.
“I do my share of the work. And do you think your task is the only hard one? It’s not easy for me to knit with so little light; my eyes hurt…” Simara set down her knitting for the umpteenth time that evening to glare at Zinnia. Her sister’s face, illuminated by the fire, was cast in sharp, fiery hues and shadows.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
“Oh, yes. Knitting here is such a sacrifice,” Zinnia scoffed, rolling her eyes sarcastically. “I’m the one stuck with the worst of it! I can’t even find time to rest or do something I enjoy.”
“Don’t be unfair, child,” Nubia said, setting her knitting on her lap and directing her blue eyes toward her eldest daughter. “My back only allows me to knit, and Simara and Olimpia do their part spinning, knitting, and selling. But you’re doing more than you can bear. That’s why we hired Oren—to handle the heavy work of tending and shearing the sheep. There’s no need for you to do it.”
“It’s too much for Oren; that’s why I help him. The workload is overwhelming. If I didn’t assist, we wouldn’t be able to shear and prepare all the wool we need to sell at the market.” More tears spilled from Zinnia’s eyes. Her fiery hair clung to her tear-streaked face. “I never complain, but I’m tired. Every cold day, I exhaust myself caring for the sheep. I clean the barns, shear the sheep, do the carding, dyeing, and all that on top of maintaining and cleaning the hut. And I still knit and sell clothes, help with dinner at night, and watch over my sisters when they go to town. I’m… tired.”
Nubia, Olimpia, and Simara all watched Zinnia as her words poured out. Their mother looked at her with sorrow, sensitivity, and weariness. Olimpia had had enough, while Simara confronted her with a cold exterior that masked her inner fury.
"I didn't realize it was too much for you, I didn't know..." Nubia exclaimed, tired, as she passed a hand over her face, with deep wrinkles that denoted her age.
"Why don't you say what's really bothering you? Why don't you say that Olimpia and I are bothering you? Spit it out!" Simara crossed her ankles and moved one foot repeatedly, tapping her heel on the floor.
"Fine, I'll spit it out. I break my back working all day, and the rest of the time, I have to take care of you and Olimpia. At night, I can't sleep because of the pain in my waist and back from being hunched over and exerting myself, but nobody cares as long as the roof is fixed by the end of the day... Sometimes, at night, my head hurts a lot just from exhaustion and worry that when the three of us go out, Olimpia and you will be thinking about what you have to do, but I'll be thinking that whatever happens to the three of us will be my responsibility alone… " Zinnia seemed to choke on her own words, looking overwhelmed as she moved her arms.
"The streets of the Snowy Valley are dangerous for us, you know that. It's already dangerous that we have to go to the city, but we must do it to work. Knowing that we must go, the worst thing we can do is go walking alone, that's why you always go with them. You're the oldest of the three, you must take care of them..." Nubia tried to reason with her, looking at her with pain through her gaze. "That's why I always asked you to take care of your sisters, I always thanked you for doing so. Go, change into dry clothes before you get sick…" Zinnia remained silent, looking at Nubia with anguish, her tears caressing her freckles until she finally spoke. And when she did, she didn't shout, she didn't even raise her voice. She just spoke with pain, with the anguish of a little girl with... fear.
"And who takes care of me? Who took care of me? I'm also afraid..." They just looked at each other. "I bet you never thought of that."
"You're worrying Mom with your complaints, cauliflower head," Simara said, her head hurting badly, and the last thing she wanted was to stay up fighting with Zinnia and ensuring a night of migraines. "Stop it already..."
"Shut up! You don't know how I feel! Besides... your painting oils are very expensive, and you're the only one who allows herself such an expense in this house."
"I buy my oils with my own work money! I have every right to do so!" Simara slammed her fists on her lap.
"Enough, stop fighting... Daughter, if you need it, we can call another boy to help you and Oren with all the chores. We can ask Nyro if he wants to work here," Nubia said, not knowing what else to offer to stop the fighting and insults.
"We can't afford it," Zinnia said firmly, wiping away her tears with a swipe of her hand and shaking her head before taking a deep breath. Suddenly, she headed towards the wooden coat rack by the main door. As she passed by Nubia, Zinnia sighed.
"What do you want, then?" Simara raised her voice for the first time, but Zinnia didn't look at her. She just passed by Nubia while her mother took her hand as she passed, holding it back, and simply stared fixedly at the door.
"Wait, baby. Mom loves you, you know? Don't go out alone, you know it's dangerous," Nubia said, looking at her with a pleading expression.
Zinnia didn't return her gaze, remained silent, and then walked towards the door, letting go of her mother's hand and snatching her cloak from the coat rack.
She didn't respond to her mother.