Closing the door behind her, Priya left the comforts and safety of home. She could hear voices in the distance; too far away to identify who was out and about in the village that day. There were the higher pitched voices of children, giggling and laughing, and the deeper voices of the mothers and fathers that called after them.

She could see the tiny outline of Aaron in the distance. If she hadn’t been released from her duties of the day, she knew she would have been with him, delivering milk from their cows to the other families. They would spend the day churning the milk into butter or pressing into small rounds of cheese to be stored in the communal house for winter festivals.

In turn, the other families would provide Aaron and Priya with goods from their farmsteads or trades. On occasion, Aaron would bring his knives or spear to be sharpened by Asa or a cart’s wheel to be fixed by the carpenter, Josif. Gal and Galia would share free meat from a recent hunt. Zachael and Serah would bring wool from their sheep. There would be freshly harvested vegetables or gathered fruits to share. Samuel and Tahel, the older sons of Josif, would harvest honey and honeycomb from a rotted tree that a colony of bees lived in. The honeycomb would be cooked and melted. Some of which would be given to Tohki for medicines, while some would be turned into candles for the dark night.

Everyone helped each other. They supported one another fully as a community.

When Josif’s wife died, they all leaned in, helping his family. The mothers of the village helped by tutoring the younger children. The fathers of the village helped watch his household, fed and clothed his children, until Josif’s grieving had passed.

It was the same with Serah when her parents caught a fever and died many winters ago.

They were a family. All of them. Every man, woman, and child.

That was the path Eusou and The Mother taught.

So it was.

So it is.

And so it shall be.

Priya’s house stood on the far edge of the village, keeping the smells of the animals away, except when the occasional southern wind blew in from the mountains. On those days, when Priya was younger and the other children a bit meaner, they would call her all sorts of names. Some would rhyme with Priya and others would be crass descriptions of the smell that they would apply to her. But they would be quickly scolded by the other mothers of the village.

“Do you know why you have milk to drink? It is because of Priya and her family.”

“Who plows our fields when it is time for the growing season to begin. Priya’s father. They keep the animals, so we can keep the land.”

Priya didn’t mind the animals or the smells. They were good helpers, providing food and drink, and good companions for when Priya could find anyone to play with. Or, at least, anyone she wanted to play with.

Aside from Galia, Priya didn’t have too many that she would call a close friend. Thekla and Ami, Josif’s daughters, were too young. Priya would play with them, folding dolls out of dried corn stalks or braided flowers in each other's hair, but they weren’t much for conversation.

Serah was dearest to Priya, but now that she lived outside the village and was on the Path of The Mother, Priya saw a distance between them.

Even now, after her passage, Priya wondered how much longer Galia would be a close friend. As Priya began leaving behind childish things, would some include what made Galia such a good friend?

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What was the point of worrying, though? Priya thought. It wasn’t as if she could leave this vale. Mountains rose around them from the north, south, east and west. No one ever left and no one ever came. Everyone she had ever known had been known since her birth. This was the way of things since their ancestors crossed over the great sea. Which meant that if Priya chose the Path of The Mother, who she laid with and bore children with was already known to her.

Priya scuffed the dirt in the center of the path in frustration.

Josif’s sons were too young. Too young, annoying, and dirty.

Galia’s brother, Arcas, who was one of the trackers and hunters, was a year older than Priya. His hair was long and he had strong shoulders, but Priya still remembered how he would call her names.

The younger hunters and trackers would make an interesting match. They would come back to the village, carrying their kills and share stories of daring adventures and strange sights. Priya remembered sitting at the campfire a few moons ago and Kuji was telling about how he was tracking a great bear through the woods and up through the rocks at the base of the mountains, when a lion had lept on his back, bearing him to the ground. Kuji had dropped his spear during the attack and couldn’t reach his knife. Instead, he twisted and turned until he was laying on top of the lion, using his weight to pin the lion’s scrambling feet and claws to the earth, while pushing his forearm against the lion’s neck until it was still. When he was finished telling the story, he had pulled down the front of his robe to expose his chest and four long scratches that were etched there.

Even recalling the story now, Priya felt a thrill move through her.

Maybe Kuji would be a good match.

Perhaps seeing him without his shirt, just as Serah had seen Zachael, would help sway Priya’s feelings and help her determine her path. Perhaps Priya could happen upon the lake when Kuji and the other hunters were bathing and catch a glimpse then.

Priya felt her face grow warm at the thought.

Just keep walking. Just keep walking, she told herself.

The footpath ended at the edge of the woods. Cutting into the tall grass was a smaller, narrower trail that led into the forest. As Priya followed the trail, the trees began to grow thicker and taller around her until most signs of the trail disappeared and all that existed was Eusou’s and The Mother’s creation.

Gazing up, Priya could see the sun gazing down at her, trying to find her through the think branches. The branches curved upward and upward, laying on top of each other, spiraling. Prickly, sap-scented needles sprung onto the smaller branches, their spiked tips making them look like emerald green beasts—much scarier to the younger children at night.

This was the perfect spot to play Sleeping Fawn with the other children. The trees were large enough to hide behind and dense enough so that the Wolf could be extra sneaky, stealthily moving behind one tree to the next until he spied a young fawn and he would pounce causing the poor child to shriek and on some occasions cry.

Priya loved the way these trees smelled. At times, when Josif would shape these trees for wood for his carpentry, he would take the shavings, roll them in beeswax, and present them as gifts for the other families to burn during the winter’s solstice.

Some of the great trees of the forest had branches low enough and wide enough that the children of the village could climb them. Priya would climb the highest of all the village girls, up and up until she could see above all the other trees.

She felt free in the forest, amidst the trees.

While the trail had disappeared under a blanket of dried needles, Priya still knew how to find the spring. Her father had shown her years ago how to follow the small signs left by an animal’s passing: the overturned rock, the rough marking in the dirt of a hoof or foot, and the various scat and what it meant and what type of animal it belonged to. Priya had first found the spring by following the tracks of a forest rabbit. Then she had found it again by following the tracks of a fox. And now the trail was a familiar one.

Eventually, Priya reached the thicket that hid the spring from the other village children. She could hear the spring gurgling on the other side of the barrier. Bending low, she crawled through a small space where the brambles had been pushed to either side. It was barely large enough for her to fit through. After a few feet, Priya had to pause, untangling a strand of hair that had gotten wrapped around a thorny branch. And then she was through.

Standing, Priya opened her arms to the warm sun, gazing up towards it, through the branches of the trees that stood on either side of the spring.

But she wasn’t alone.