Darian woke up the next morning still bewildered by Talia's miraculous recovery. He lay in bed for a moment, staring up at the ceiling as the bright morning light filtered in through the small window. From the other bed came the sound of his little sister's soft, even breathing.

He turned his head to look at her sleeping form, half expecting her to vanish like some cruel illusion. But no, Talia remained there curled beneath the duvet, a bit pale but clearly alive and recovering. The sight made Darian's heart swell with relief even as confusion continued to cloud his mind.

The sound of activity elsewhere in the cottage stirred Darian from his pondering. His mother must be getting breakfast ready. He considered going out to help, but he was reluctant to leave Talia's side just yet. The irrational fear persisted that she might disappear if he let her out of his sight for even a moment.

So, Darian remained seated on the edge of his rumpled bedroll, content for now just to watch the gentle rise and fall of his sister's chest as she slept on. The simple, repetitive motion soothed his lingering unease. As long as Talia still drew breath, nothing else mattered.

Eventually the creak of the bedroom door announced his mother's arrival. Mara poked her head in, lips pursed in concern. "How is our little patient this morning?"

Darian glanced over with a smile. "Resting comfortably. No sign the fever is back. I think it’s gone for good."

It seems the Miriam's Grace flowers were as miraculous as the rumours proclaimed.

"Thank the gods for that." Mara placed a hand on Talia's forehead and nodded, apparently satisfied. She sat down on the edge of the bed and gently smoothed over Talia's bedraggled hair. The soft expression on his mother's face made Darian's throat tighten. He had to look away.

His mother didn’t know it, but they had lost little Talia. Seeing Mara's unrestrained relief now only sharpened the memory of her raw anguish those final hours at Talia's bedside, when all hope seemed lost...

Darian shook himself. There was no use dwelling on what might have been. Talia was here, growing stronger by the hour under their care. That was all that mattered now.

His mother glanced over, brow furrowing. "You're very quiet this morning. Is something the matter?"

"No, nothing," Darian quickly assured her. "Just...thinking."

Mara continued to study him for a long moment. Darian shifted under her searching gaze. His mother had an uncanny instinct for knowing when something weighed on his mind, she claimed it was a mother’s instinct. Normally he would confide in her. But how could he share thoughts that sounded mad even to his own ears? She would think the fever had burned away his good sense along with Talia's.

At last Mara said gently, "This has been a difficult time for us all. The gods have tested us but through their mercy they saw fit to spare your sister. That is blessing enough without needing to understand why."

Darian ducked his head. Once again it seemed his mother could read his innermost struggles as easily as words on a page. He nodded. "You're right. All that matters is Talia's alright now."

Mara squeezed his hand. "Exactly. The rest will sort itself out in time, I'm sure of it. For now, take comfort in having her still with us." She stood. "Come help me get breakfast on. Talia can do with a few more minutes' rest this morning."

Together they moved quietly from the bedroom into the main living space. While Mara busied herself slicing a loaf of brown bread and portioning out helpings of honey, Darian added kindling to the cooking fire. The familiar chores brought a sense of normalcy that settled his whirling thoughts somewhat.

Soon the cottage was filled with the welcoming scents of brewing tea and sizzling porridge. Darian's stomach rumbled, reminding him he had barely eaten the past few days in his worry over Talia. Mara pressed a steaming bowl into his hands.

"Eat up now, before it gets cold," she chided gently.

Darian readily complied, his appetite returning for the first time in what felt like ages. The hot cereal tasted sweeter than any honeyed cakes. For the first time since Talia fell ill, Darian felt a flicker of something resembling peace. Their family had weathered this storm against all odds and emerged whole on the other side.

Once the simple but filling meal was finished, Darian helped his mother tidy away the dishes and set out a portion for Talia later. He kept glancing towards the bedroom, anxious to check on her again soon.

Mara read his expression easily. "Go sit with your sister for a little while," she urged. "I can manage well enough here if she wakes."

Darian needed no further encouragement. He practically darted back to their bedroom. The sight of Talia still sleeping soundly untied the knot between his shoulders.

The movement must have awoken her because Talia began to stir, mumbling and burrowing deeper into her quilt. Darian straightened expectantly.

"Good morning, sleepy slug-a-bed," he teased as her eyelids finally fluttered open.

Talia wrinkled her nose at him. "Was dreamin' about candy trees," she mumbled. "Wanted to climb higher..."

Darian laughed aloud at that. "Well, no one can accuse you of not having a sweet imagination, even sick in bed."

He helped her sit up and drink some water, fussing over the pillows until she swatted his hands away. The return of her feisty spirit delighted Darian to no end. He had never thought he would miss her stubborn streak so much.

"Enough fussing, I'm not a baby!" Talia groused. But she leaned willingly against his shoulder when he settled onto the bed beside her.

"Babies don't know secrets about candy trees," Darian said. "You'll have to tell me all about that later. But first, let's get some food into you. Mother made porridge."

At the promise of food, Talia perked up. She wrinkled her nose again at the bitter herbal tea Darian made her sip first, but readily gulped down the sweetened porridge. Darian kept a steadying arm around her shoulders, afraid she might fade away again if he let go too soon. But his sister's appetite appeared as hearty as ever.

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

When her bowl was practically licked clean, Talia lay back with a sigh. Some colour had returned to her round cheeks.

A gentle rap at the door interrupted them. "Well now, it's good to see you awake again, my little songbird," Mara said warmly. "How are you feeling?"

"Hungry!" Talia declared. Mara and Darian shared a chuckle.

"That's the best news I've heard in a long while," Mara replied. She felt Talia's forehead and smiled. "Your colour is coming back nicely. We'll have you right as rain before long."

She glanced over at Darian. "Why don't you run along for a bit? I'll sit with Talia now."

Darian hesitated, what if something happened whilst he was away and he wasn’t there to save her?

Mara seemed to read his thoughts. "Go on now, get some fresh air," she coaxed. "You've been shut up in this room for too long."

When Darian still wavered uncertainly, she added, "We'll call if there's any need. But I think we're past the worst of it now, thanks to you bringing that flower. Some sunshine will do you good. Now off you go."

Darian nodded reluctantly. She was right – unlike them, he couldn’t just stay inside all day, he needed to go hunt.

"I won't go far," he promised. Bending, he planted a quick kiss on Talia's forehead, making her squirm and protest. But Darian saw her small smile.

Outside the brightness momentarily blinded him, Darian raised a hand to shield his eyes, giving them time to adjust. Then he set off aimlessly, letting his feet choose the path.

The village was just beginning to stir with activity. Here and there wisps of smoke curled from chimneys, which meant families were gathering for the midday meal. A gentle breeze carried the scent of baking bread, making Darian's stomach grumble. Perhaps he would visit the baker later and bring back a meat pie or two.

For now he was content simply to wander, breathing deeply of the fresh air. It was a mild spring day, the pale sun warm against his face. For the first time in what felt like forever, Darian felt almost light-hearted.

The families he passed smiled and waved, calling out greetings. "Good to see you out and about!" "Glad your sister is on the mend!" Darian returned their hails with more genuine feeling than he had been able to muster in recent days. Talia was recovering, his mother had hope again, and the world felt full of possibility.

Darian's steps slowed as he neared the village smithy. The steady ring of hammer striking iron rang out from within. He wavered, then turned towards the open door. There was something he had to know.

Inside, the burly figure of Breck the blacksmith stood framed by the forge's fiery glow. Iron sizzled as he removed a length of it from the flames and laid it on top of the anvil. His hammer rose and fell in a regular rhythm, sparks dancing in the wake of each blow.

Darian waited silently just inside until the older man glanced up. Breck's bushy brows rose in surprise.

"Well, back from the dead are you?" He gestured for Darian to wait before returning his focus to the stubborn chunk of metal.

Back from the dead? It really does seem like it…

Darian shook off the thoughts as he turned his attention to watching the blacksmith at work. The powerful strikes transformed the iron from a misshapen lump into something recognizable - a tool of some kind, though he could not yet tell what.

With a final few precise hits, the blacksmith turned aside and plunged the glowing iron into a nearby vat with a sizzling hiss. He waited a moment for the metal to cool before fishing it out and examining his handiwork.

Apparently satisfied, Breck set the finished piece aside and turned his attention fully to Darian. "I heard your sister is recovering. The whole village has been praying for her...and you all."

Darian nodded, throat tightening unexpectedly. After his last bitter encounter with the blacksmith, he had not expected such open kindness. "The gods heard your prayers. Talia is recovering."

Breck clapped him on the shoulder with one massive hand. "Good, good! didn't like to think of your mother going through such sorrow again so soon."

He busied himself hanging up various tools, then glanced sidelong at Darian. "So, what brings you here, then? Don't suppose you've taken up metalworking as a hobby these past days?"

Darian flushed, shuffling his feet. Now that he stood here, his reasons for coming seemed childish. But he had to know...

"That day we last spoke," he began slowly, "before Talia’s situation…worsened. You said some things that…troubled me. About me not doing a good job being the man of the household and taking care of my family?"

Breck's brow furrowed in confusion. "I don't recall saying any such thing, lad. When did we speak of this?"

Darian paused, mind racing. Of course, when he went back in time, that conversation never happened! He scrambled to cover up his blunder.

"Ah, I think I misunderstood then. I just got the impression you felt I wasn't stepping up enough, with father being gone..." He trailed off awkwardly. Despite Breck not saying it this time, it didn’t mean he didn’t think it.

To his surprise, Breck threw back his head and let out a booming laugh. He clapped Darian on the back again, nearly sending him stumbling.

"Misunderstood indeed! Let me set you straight, boy - you're more of a man at twelve than most grown men I know. The way you've looked after your ma and sister, keeping food on the table, tending to Talia when she fell ill...your father would be proud. As am I."

The blacksmith's words made a lump rise in Darian's throat. He ducked his head to hide the sudden sheen in his eyes.

Breck gazed off into the distance, shaking his head. "Truth be told, that father of yours never should have up and left you all in the first place, chasing glory or what have you. Adventure's all well and good for a young buck, but he had responsibilities here."

The old resentment churned in Darian's gut, but he pushed it aside. There was no changing the past. All he could do was step up in his father's absence.

"I'm just trying to do what's right by them," Darian said quietly. "Talia and mother... they're all I have left."

Breck squeezed his shoulder. "And a fine job you're doing of it too. Don't let anyone tell you different, ya hear? Not even a grizzled old goat like me."

Darian's breath left him in a rush. Hearing the blacksmith validate him that way loosened the last knot of anger left in his heart. He may have never said it out loud, but he cared what the blacksmith thought of him. Without his father around, he couldn’t help but look up to a strong family man like Breck as a father figure.

"Thank you for saying so," Darian managed a faint smile.

Breck waved a dismissive hand. "Think nothing of it.” He then leaned forward. "Between you and me, we elders can afford to learn a thing or two from the youngers' resilience. You and your family are an example to us all."

Darian ducked his head, unaccustomed to such frank praise. But it filled him with a glow of quiet pride to have won over even brusque Breck's respect. They clasped hands before Darian took his leave.

On his way to the forest, Darian found himself passing by the village temple. Inside, he could hear one of the priests beginning the morning chants to Kreya.

Despite his snares waiting for him, he felt drawn in by the hymns.

On impulse, Darian slipped through the heavy wooden doors. He had never been especially devout, but after yesterday’s impossible events, he needed to seek answers from the gods.

Darian sat down on a bench beside an elderly woman and her granddaughter, nodding respectfully when they glanced his way. He fixed his gaze on the priests in their black robes as they lit incense and sang the traditional prayers.

Wisps of sweet smoke reached Darian’s nose, along with the priests’ sonorous chanting.

“Kreya, mother goddess, you who shepherd all souls into life and lead them gently forth again. Open our hearts to accept your divine wisdom...”

Despite himself, Darian felt tears sting his eyes. Whether it was Kreya or one of the other gods, he wanted to thank them for returning his sister to his family. Not to mention the guilt he felt for the blasphemous thoughts he had during the burial…

The head priest's voice rang out, scattering Darian's thoughts. “May Kreya’s peace abide in all hearts on this blessed day."

The service concluded with a final blessing. As people began drifting from the temple, Darian lingered in his seat. A young novice came to snuff out the candles nearby, Darian steeled himself and approached.

"Excuse me, but can I speak with one of the priests? I have some...spiritual questions."