"Thank you," Opal said as the bucket rested in her arms. Water sloshed around, but unlike earlier, none of it hit the ground. She and Tristan walked along in wet clothes, which would dry out soon with the sun's heat baking them. "I'm sorry again for getting you wet." She dazzled him with a toothy grin that made everyone smile, whether they wanted to or not.

"I shouldn't have scared you," he replied with a warm smile, not even noticing the damp chill. "It's my fault as much as yours."

"Either way, thanks for helping. Mother wanted it as soon as possible. Said she had something important to teach me today."

Yes, her mother, he thought to himself with a growing sadness. "How is she?"

The instant he said it, he wanted to take it back. Everyone in Ariel knew that Opal's mother, Lydia, was sick for over a year. To make matters worse, she was all the village had for a medicine woman. Tristan could still remember the first day of the year, the day of that horrible announcement. The aging woman heaved herself on top of Wingless Bird's Perch, being much shorter than everyone else.

"My family has a habit of meeting the gods early. As to why, I cannot say, "she had said. "You would think that healers would be given the longest lives possible, but we cannot understand their ways. I am far from being the eldest of my ancestors, yet the gods have decided that this is all I get." Her words fell on the town as if a giant rock hit their heads.

"Don't bother asking about a remedy. None exists. All we can do is look to the future." It was then that her daughter, Opal, stood up beside her. Tristan watched everything from the back. Even from his vantage point, he was certain that he would see uncontrollable tears flowing down her cheeks. No one could blame her. Who could stand up in front of a crowd while their mother admitted that her death was imminent? What he saw made his jaw drop, and the image was forever burned into his brain. Opal stood next to her mother with a gentle grin. Her eyes were calm, not even close to shedding a tear. She did not show the slightest hint of weakness.

"As to how much longer I will be among you, that is something that only the gods know," Lydia continued. "I have no final words of wisdom that I wish to impart. Never had the tongue for great speeches. All I have left to say is my appointment. My daughter will serve you just as well as I have. Please take care of her."

Everyone knew that it was only a matter of time before Lydia drew her last breath. In the meantime, she spent every waking hour training her daughter to master every trick their family knew. If he remembered right, the entire process was not completed long into adulthood. Opal had to learn everything before she was eighteen. He could not imagine how she had to feel.

"She's doing well," she said with a grin. "Claims that she's getting stronger every day. She won't get off her feet. Almost falls asleep standing up. Says that there's too much to do to sit around all day."

Tristan met her smile with a stony countenance. This was not how she felt. He knew the smile was phony, but he could not bring himself to say anything. "Mother said that she might be around long enough to bring my children into the world." As soon as those words dropped off her lips, the smile fell into a bitter frown. Tears welled up. Blushing, she stopped, looking down fast to hide her face.

He said nothing, standing next to her. His hands hung at his sides, wishing to reach out to her. They remained stiff and unmoving. He bit his lip, not knowing what to do. Everything always ended up this way, ever since they were little. When was the first time he met her? It was hard to say.

As soon as her quiet tears stopped, she raised her head with a grin. "Sorry," Opal said, wiping the tears from her face. "You didn't need to see all that." Her arms held the bucket tight. "I think I'm okay with everything, but all the emotions keep rushing back and I realize I'm not." She paused, looking at him with an intense need. "How did you deal with losing your parents?"

The question took him aback. "Well," he stammered, not knowing what to say. "Don't remember too much. I was young. Most of that runs together. Maybe it's because I was a kid." Rubbing his neck, he paused, wondering if he dared say more. "Or maybe, you get over it in time. Maybe you won't. I don't know."

To his surprise, Opal's smile widened until a short fit of giggles took over. "You have a way with words," she laughed, making Tristan blush. "But in a way, that's all I needed to hear." She paused, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. "There's a kind of security in knowing that everyone else is clueless as you, right?"

"Sure," he offered, not knowing what to say next. Opal had that effect on him.

"You know," she said, breaking the awkward silence. "We have a thread tying us together."

"What?" he exclaimed, looking around for a loose thread. Finding nothing, he gaped at her in utter confusion.

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"You can't see it silly," she replied. "It's invisible." His eyebrows raised in utter confusion. "Oh," she gasped, looking at the sun. "I'm late. Mother will be furious." She spun on her heel, grabbing the bucket of water. "See you later, Tristan. Tell Ur hi," she called, waving as she turned a corner and disappeared.

He stayed where he was, hands digging into his pockets. His eyes strayed to realize that once again he was under the Tree of Prosperity. Prospero's statue sat beneath its cool shade. It looked on the world with cold eyes, unaware of what happened in a village he was supposed to protect. He took a step toward it, and that was as far as he got. Someone slammed into him, hurling Tristan to the ground, with a small body landing on top of him. "Hey," a small voice groaned. A dark-haired boy with reddened skin hopped off him with ease while Tristan lumbered to his feet. The boy wore dirty breeches ripped off at the knee and a shirt with too many holes in it. He flashed an embarrassed smile as he took deep breaths. "Sorry about running into you."

"It's fine, Ur," Tristan replied with a sigh. "Is the story done already?"

"Just ended. Ran back," Ur replied, between gasps.

Tristan rolled his eyes. Why does the boy have to run everywhere he goes? With a warm grin, he ruffled his hair. Ur returned the grin. "Want to hear what happened next?"

Though not interested, he widened the grin. "Tell me all about it."

The little boy's face lit up in excitement, nodding. "It was amazing. The King fought maybe a dozen monsters with his magic sword." He waved one balled fist about, displaying the slashing of an imaginary sword. No matter what Tristan felt about Herodotus's tales, he could not help but smile at Ur's passion. He loved stories of heroes and gods. To him, all of it was real, as if he himself could join the tale. Retelling the story, there was a spark in the child's eyes that made Tristan long for years long gone.

To his surprise, Ur paused, his smile curving into a frown. "But it was sad too," he admitted.

"Really?" his older friend asked, with the same demeanor a man uses to deal with a child's concern. "Well, don't think about it too much. It was just a story." The little boy nodded, a smile creeping back on his face. "Opal says hi, by the way."

"You saw Opal?" the child exclaimed in delight. "Did she say she could play sometime?"

"No," he answered in blunt honesty. If there was one thing he could not bring himself to do to Ur, it was lie. The child's shoulders sagged in disappointment. Good thing it took little to lift the boy's spirits. "Hey, want to fight?" At once, the child perked up. Was that even a question?

The pair armed themselves with wooden poles. In Ariel, there was no military and no need for anyone to learn any fighting techniques. Who could hurt them deep in the mountains? Still, that did not stop the children from spending their time swinging sticks at one another, pretending that they were legendary warriors. Tristan and Ur were no different.

Both wielded a pole as tall as himself. "Don't go easy on me," Ur challenged, holding his staff in a double-fisted grip like a long sword. His little arms were stronger than they looked. Everyone saw Ur as a wide-eyed child, loving to be everyone's friend. They did not see what he was like when he played at fighting. His eyes narrowed, revealing a savagery hidden to all but Tristan.

He knew what Ur's warning meant. I won't hold back on you. As always, Tristan would have to do his best to not leave covered in bruises. "Hey, if I lose to a child, I'll lose what little pride I have left," he replied with a smirk, holding his staff out on both ends in a defensive stance. Without further ado, the battle began.

Ur swung fast strikes at Tristan, aiming for his head. "Watch it," Tristan barked as he deflected each strike. He knew the child's style well. All attack and no defense; rain blows at the head until he overwhelms his enemy, Tristan. Still, knowing his methods did not make it easy to maintain a strong, lasting defense. Ur could keep this up for hours, and he never slowed down. It was all Tristan could do to keep up.

"Let me hit you and I'll stop," Ur cried with a laugh, swinging his pole around wildly. It was all Tristan could do to avoid the child striking his fingers. Without warning, he changed his target, swinging at Tristan's legs. A block was attempted, but it was too late. A resounding thwack cried out as the pole left a painful throbbing beneath his knee. Yelping, Tristan limped back, avoiding a matching bruise on the other leg. Ur did not let up, attacking him with a wildcat's hunger.

He did his best to keep the child at bay as much as possible while letting his leg recover. Ur focused his attacks toward his injured leg. Have to break his rhythm, he decided. Spinning on his heel, he rammed into the child, bringing his staff around to strike. Ur staggered, knocking the attack aside, bringing his pole against Tristan's unprotected forehead. His vision blurred for a second as the pain rattled through his head. When it cleared, he found himself in a heap on the ground.

Ur pounced on top of him, placing his pole against Tristan's throat. "You lose," he cried in triumph. "Say it."

With a pained sigh, Tristan recited, "Oh great Ur, I bow to your greatness. Please show mercy on this pitiful soul."

"Very well," he answered, casting his weapon aside. Springing to his feet, Ur threw his hands in the air, clapping them together. "That was my best time yet."

Dusting himself off, Tristan agreed. "You're better than last time. Guess I'll have to get better to beat you. I'll get you next time."

"You can't," Ur replied with a strange severity.

"And why is that?"

He turned away. "Can't tell you that. Figure it out yourself."

With a laugh, Tristan said, "Why you little..." A bell rang, calling the workers back to the field. At once, he forgot their conversation. There were more important things in life than childish fights. For instance, working for one's supper. Stretching his muscles, he headed towards the field. "Come on Ur. Let's get back to work."