Lyk yawned. She hated this time of year most of all; when the sun above stopped in its motion, and the seasons changed from spring to summer, and Ir was cast into a perpetual day. It was hard to sleep with the constant night. It would last for one more day, and then the cycle of day and night would return, and she would finally be able to get a good night’s rest. She unwrapped the pillows from her pointed ears and blinked large, bright silver eyes to shake the crust that had built up in the corners of them out.

“Lyk! Breakfast is ready.” Her mother called from the kitchen.

“Okayyy.” Lyk called back.

She tossed on a light blue tunic — blue complimented her eyes, or so she’s been told, and a pair of loose-fitting black hemp trousers. She rolled the hems of her trousers, so they didn’t drag against the ground, tucked her tunic into her pants, wrapped a leather belt around her middle to hold both in place, and then left her room; tucking her tail around her leg as pulled the door shut.

Her mother was already seated, and dipping a spoon into her wooden bowl. White steam curled from the tip of her spoon, and she blew on it; her long, gray whiskers twitching as she did so.

“Dad’s not here?”

“No. The Temple called him in early this morning. Something urgent must have come up.”

“Perhaps old man Minth finally croaked?”

“Lyk! Minth is an honored elder.”

“He’s mean.” Lyk protested.

“Lyk. He’s been through a lot, okay? The world wasn’t as kind to him as it has been to us.”

“So? He’s still mean.”

Lyk took a spoonful of the stew, as her mother sighed.

“What are your plans for the day, Lyk?”

“It’s the Still, can’t I just stay home and try to sleep?”

“No. So you don’t have plans? You’ll go help Minth with his herd.”

“But, Mom!”

“No buts, Lyk.”

“Fine.”

Lyk scowled as she ate the breakfast her mother had prepared — a deep broth of maple and butter and pig fat. It was good, but she wouldn’t show her mother that. Despite her scowl, she still finished her bowl and set it in the wash basin near the fireplace.

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“I’m going!”

“Have fun, Lyk!”

“Hmph.”

She pushed through the door, and into the warmth of the ‘morning.’ She yawned as the lukewarm wind licked at her face, and rustled her fur. The tops of the Black Pines in the distant forests echoed her bristling.

There was something in the air that day. Something that bristled her fur the wrong way. As if someone was watching over her shoulder. As she passed through the town, and toward old man Minth’s house, she constantly turned her head. Hardly anyone was out. A few of the older Ir, but all of her friends were probably curled up, with their heads buried beneath layers and layers of blankets, fast asleep.

Perhaps it was this persistent...something that kept her from sleeping? She hadn’t had this much trouble during the last Still, but all of the time she had been laid beneath her covers, this feeling remained. As if something was waiting in the shadowed corners of her room; ready to pounce.

The walk to Minth’s house was a short one. The Ir hamlet of Brin lay on the very edge of the continent of Vor. Very few people lived here. It was a farming community, with one temple dedicated to the Irian goddess Athet. She was the goddess of adventurers and nomads, and as such, temples to her were rare. Indeed, the one in Brin might as well be the only temple dedicated to her in existence. Those who worshipped and prayed to her normally did so at roadside shrines. The town mostly subsisted on the lumber made from the black pines, and the flock of Lho that Minth kept.

The Lho were a kind of four-legged bird that grew to be twice as tall as even the tallest Ir. They gave eggs that could feed a whole neighborhood for a week, and their meat was tender and succulent. Their feathers — as colorful as the rainbow, were strong and durable enough to be used in a thread and woven into sheets of cloth.

The young Ir in the hamlet either worked at the mill, helped Minth with his herd, or hunted for game within the black pine forests, while the older Ir, like her mother and father, worked as priests, carpenters, and farmers, and a dozen other professions that she would look into when she was old enough in another three years to start her apprenticeship. She wanted to become a member of the Wandering Sisterhood; the priests of Athet who maintained the shrines and kept the roads free of bandits and beasts to help with trade and travel. To do that, however, she would need to apprentice at the temple.

Old Man Minth was already out in the morning. Fifteen heads of Lho followed him as he headed to the gate. As if he had heard her approaching, the old Ir turned his head; his torn ears twitching.

“What brings you here, Little Lyk?”

“I’m not little.” She harrumphed.

The old man laughed.

“Yeah, you are. What brings you here?”

“My mother told me to come help you with your stupid Lho.”

“Stupid Lho? Are those her words or yours?”

“Mine.” She stuck out her tongue.

“Little Lyk, why are you being so mean this morning?”

“Stop calling me little!”

The old man laughed. His bright green eyes sparkled like a kit’s as he grabbed hold of his crook and leaned against it. The laughter faded, but the sparkling remained within those orbs. He stared at the sky fade away.

“No, Lyk. You’re little now, but in the future, you’ll be big. Bigger than anyone who had ever come from Brin. So big that Ir from all over the world will know your name.”

His bushy, gray, and white fur bristled as he shook his head. Something about his words sat with her and seemed to sink into her like the haunting melodies of the hymns sung by the Wandering Sisters when they neared the town. His great green eyes snapped back from the distant horizon and sat once more on her.

“What are you doing here, Little Lyk?”