Fand’s eyes looked into his. Pyre’s vision was blurred by his tears. He could not see her clearly, but he could feel her breath, her blessed breath brush his skin. She was awake and she was alive. He had prayed for this moment not believing it would come. It seemed some prayers were answered after all. His vision began to clear. He saw her scars, her shaved head, and her lack of eyelashes and eyebrows. Her hair would grow back, as would her eyelashes and eyebrows, but her scars, like his own, would remain. What would she think if she could see herself? Fand had always had a degree of vanity. She was never one to primp but she had always moved with grace and confidence. Had she lost those things in the explosion? Regardless, she would always be beautiful to him. Deep down he knew what mattered most was that she accept herself as she now was. Fighting to get back what could never be recovered was a pointless endeavor. It stole life and made one forget the blessing that one still possessed.

Softly, Fand asked, “What?”

“It is just so good to look into your eyes and hear your voice.”

She struggled to speak, but only managed to say one word, “Same.”

The tears welled in his eyes again. What he most wanted to do was draw her into his arms and just hold her, but he dared not. In the past he had handled her poorly and selfishly, he would not do that now. Her hand had grown warm in his. Life was fighting inside of her for the first time, he felt it. He knew it. He knew something else too, no matter how hard he tried, he would never be able to stop loving Fand Geworden. For the rest of his days, inside the Council or outside of it, he would love her.

From his robe pocket he grabbed his clean handkerchief and wiped her eyes. Until she had spoken his name he had believed he would never hear her voice or see the light in her eyes again. He had prayed so hard that she would be safe and that her life would be spared. Hours, days and weeks had passed as he knelt on the cold stone floor, numb with fear that she would die. There were times he had been unable to remember a single prayer.During those times he did not plead with her to live, because he didn’t know what kind of life might lay before her. It would be unfair to ask her to stay if she wanted to go. He had thought she wanted to go, but here she was, staring up at him with her moon glow eyes, searching his face for what? He knew better than to question her. She was too weak to explain herself.

Her eyes closed and her hand began to relax in his. He started to pull away from her, but weak though she was, she tightened her grip on his hand with unexpected fierceness. She said one word, “Stay.”

“Of course.” He settle himself on the floor beside the cot with her hand still in his. How was he ever going to let her go again? He turned his mind away from such thoughts. He would not pollute this gift of time with fear or foreboding. Right now they were together. Right now he held her hand. Again her hand loosened its grip on his, but he did not let go. If only he could hold this hand until he was old, until the end of his life. If only she might let him.

Pyre leaned his back against the wall and studied the seamless door in the wall. Dr. Kran had instructed him to find him, if there was any change for good or ill in Fand. Though Pyre knew he should fetch Dr. Kran, Loren and Uncle Wert. Fand had told him to stay and that was exactly what he was going to do. He turned his attention back to her. For a long while he just watched her breath. Fatigue took hold of him and he felt himself drifting…

The smell of bacon was in the air. Sunlight filtered through the kitchen window. Pyre’s mother, Zolla, stood at the hearth frying eggs and bacon. Pyre was so hungry. He was dressed in his shabbiest clothes. He and his father would be plowing this morning. It was spring, the time of hope. At time when seeds were planted and dreams were dreamed about the harvest that would be.

Pyre heard steps descending the stairs. The kitchen door opened and Fand entered. She smiled at him. Her face was flawless and her hair was the color of a crows wing. She came to him and slipped her left hand into his. Her grip was strong and her hand was whole. She leaned her head on his shoulder. Contentment like Pyre had never known coursed through him. Just as he was going to turn to kiss her she disappeared.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

A cold wind ripped around him. It was so dark, he couldn’t see anything. He called out. The wind tossed his words away. Where was he? What was happening?

In the distance he saw a blue dancing light. It swirled and came closer and closer to him. As it swirled it took the shape of a woman, a woman who looked like Fand… The woman reached him. It was not Fand. She held out her hand to him. “Come,” she said.

“Where to?”

“You will see.”

“Tell me.”

The next instant Pyre was engulfed in blue light. It sparked around him. He felt himself being lifted up. Was he flying? It felt like he was flying and then like he was falling, falling fast. The landing was hard. Through his closed lids, he saw light. He felt warmth. He opened his eyes. He was at the Geworden farm in the pear orchard. On the front porch of the house was Uncle Wert, only he was much younger.

Out in the yard were two boys around four or five. One had reddish hair and the other had black hair. Pyre’s heart skipped inside of him. Was one of the boys Zog? Was the other, himself?

The front door banged open. A little girl appeared. Her face was smeared with pear jam and she clung to a grubby doll. Her dark hair was pulled back in a sloppy pony tail. She took the steps running. On the last step she tripped. She hit the ground hard. A terrible howl rent the air.

The dark haired boy went running. The other boy followed. Uncle Wert scooped the little girl into his arms and sat back down on the porch step.

Frantic, the dark haired boy asked, “Is she okay?”

Over the little girl’s wails, Uncle Wert said, “Aye, this ‘un has been blessed with a hard noggin’.”

The little girl was Fand and she did have a hard noggin. She was one of the most stubborn people Pyre had ever met.

The dark haired boy, who had to be Zog, patted her hand while Uncle Wert held her. The red headed little boy stood to the side watching. He looked like he felt left out. Little Fand lifted her tear stained face from her uncle’s shoulder. Her moon glow eyes were wet. Tears dripped down her tiny chin. She extended her little hand to the red headed boy and softly said, “Pyre.”

The little boy took that tiny hand in his own. Something shifted inside of Pyre. He felt the sticky hand in his. The voice of his childhood said, “Fand.”

Little Fand snuffled, “I hurt my head. Fix it please.”

The door sliding open pulled Pyre from the dream. He lifted his head and looked down at the sleeping face of Fand. If only he could fix her, but he couldn’t. The door slid closed.

A female voice asked, “How is she?”

Pyre turned and saw Renate. Worried he was about to be scolded for his selfishness, he confessed, “She woke up and she knew me. I know I should have told someone.”

A gentle light came to Renate’s moonglow eyes. Warmly she said, “No, what you did was the right thing. She awoke to you and that is exactly what you both needed. Being poked and prodded after living so long in pain and shadow would have been unsettling for her and you. Now, however, I think it is best you do go tell Dr. Kran.”

Though he did not want to let Fand’s hand go, he did. It felt more like a severing than a release. Honestly, he was afraid. Of what, he wasn’t sure, but the fear was alive and active within him. He stood and made his way to the door. With on touch of his finger the door slid open again and then slid closed when he stepped inside Dr. Kran’s office. As usual he the doctor wasn’t in his office. Out in the hall there were guards and nurses. Within the rooms men groaned, and cursed. There was a lot of pain in this place. Pyre asked one of the nurses, “Where is Dr. Kran?”

The young male nurse said, “He is with a patient at the end of the hall.”

“Thank you.” Pyre made his way down the hall. Through the open door he saw Dr. Kran. The patient on the bed had the sheet pulled over his head. Another death. Dr. Kran’s shoulders were slumped. Lost in thought he did not hear Pyre enter.

The eyes that Dr. Kran turn on him, were so weary. Pyre told him, “Sir, Fand has awakened and she knew me.”

The weariness in Dr. Kran’s eyes faded a little. “Ah, a bit of much needed good news. Go fetch her uncle. Hopefully, he has not been in his cups today. I will meet you in the room.”

“Yes, Sir.” Pyre turned and went to Petran’s Schon’s room. Uncle Wert was with him and sober.

Uncle Wert asked, “Is it Fand?”

“Yes. She woke up, and she knew me.”

“Course she did. Who could forget you! Can I see her?”

“Yes, come with me.”

“Aye!” Light shone in Uncle Wert’s eyes. He stood and gave Pyre a fierce hug. “Our girl has come back to us.”

The words, “Our girl,” echoed inside of Pyre.