“My father wants me to start working,” Lillie said to me one day while we were sitting in the meadow. She was sewing a pair of trousers with a small needle, and a pile of various clothes lay next to her. I noticed her hands worked fast and efficiently as she mended the torn trousers, often mesmerized at how quickly she could move the pointed thin object through the thick material.
“Okay,” I replied. I truly had no concept of the idea, only that I thought Lillie already did so much work in her daily life. I did not understand jobs or the need for such things since it was completely foreign to the way my culture existed. I sleepily listened to Lillie’s words as she continued.
“I’ve been studying so hard; I just wish he would give me more time and space,” she rambled.
“More time for what?” I asked while yawning, and switched my extended crossed legs, bouncing my right boot.
“More time to learn, of course! Like with my reading and writing lessons. I feel like I’m expected to be perfect at everything I set out to learn. I just wish they would give me more space. I wish I had more time to read and write.”
“Then ask.”
“Ha! You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Lillie scoffed, and dramatically rolled her eyes.
“Okay.” I shrugged, for I did not understand her situation, nor did I fully comprehend why she could not just ask for more time—and space—from her father. As I watched her hands swiftly repair the trousers, I noticed her demeanor turning sour with frustration. I began to feel uncomfortable and slightly helpless as Lillie grew angrier.
“Ouch!” Lillie exclaimed and waved her finger around after pricking herself with the needle. “Stupid trousers.” She threw the item away from her, then held her finger close to her chest. Lillie breathed heavily, trying to restore her composure. I stood up from my relaxed position and walked over to the pants lying in the long, swaying grass. I grabbed it, looking intently at the pair of trousers. Large, made of brown pliable leather, I assumed were her fathers since I had never seen Lillie in trousers before. I looked down at my own pants made of black wool, comparing the two different types of material. The leather pants were thick and heavy; mine were lightweight and flexible. Placing the trousers in front of me, I turned around and faced Lillie. Her green eyes widened, and a smile crossed her face.
“I think they look great,” I said while striking a pose.
“Give them back,” Lillie said and extended her hand with a flick. “Those are too big for you.” I returned to her side and handed the item to Lillie. She continued her mending quietly, still smiling with amusement. The pile of clothes next to her felt overbearing. I wanted to help lighten her load; I wanted to help her feel better. I did not know how to use a needle or thread, but I did know Lillie loved to talk and explain things to me.
“Tell me about these clothes,” I said, and sat on my knees next to Lillie, sifting through the stack of textiles. The clothes were mainly large leather trousers, covered in dirt and extensive tears. The dirty items wafted a strange earthy smell, something I did not recognize—small details that could have helped me immensely in my future endeavors.
“Tell me about yours first,” she said, and she peered at my torso with a curious expression.
“Mine?”
“Why are your sleeves unattached to your tunic?” Lillie pointed at my arms. I followed her gaze and looked at my sleeves. I had never given much thought to the structure of my clothes except when to clean them in the river and change into the other items I had been given by the Sage. However, upon observing the difference in the clothes Lillie worked on and my own personal items, I began to wonder about the differences too.
“The sleeves are easily removable for the Aging-Ritual,” I said. My arms were covered in a pair of dark gray, thin sleeves that came over my shoulder, tied together with a thick, braided cord at the front of my chest. For my upper body, I wore a black, high-neck, sleeveless tunic that opened in the back for my wings with bone buttons that secured the wool material from the back. Each item had been given to me by the Sage. I could only assume that it was them who made the clothing—would I eventually also learn to make my own clothes?
“Aging-Ritual?” she asked as she tilted her head. Her hands stopped moving and she tucked a few loose strands of hair behind her ear.
“Every year, a Teragane receives a new tattoo on their arm.”
“Tattoos? You? You have tattoos?”
“Yeah, look.” I hurriedly untied the cord securing my sleeves. I pulled down the left sleeve, revealing the markings on my arm. The tattoos were simple triangles with a horizontal line drawn across the upper point. Lillie leaned close to me, her green eyes widening and pointed ears perking up with great interest.
“They look like little mountains!” she exclaimed, then her eyes moved up. “But, why?”
“Each marking represents the year I passed over the mountain,” I explained. “Each year signifies my return to my home on the mountain peak. I think, at least, that is what the Sage tell me. Each year, they always say: Sable von Hira, remember to always return to the mountain. And—uh—something else, depending on what is expected for the new year.“ Lillie counted my tattoos, her finger slightly touching my skin, causing a slight shiver to run down my spine.
“Fifteen!” she exclaimed.
“Yeah, but in winter I will receive another.” I felt a sense of pride overcome my heart. I never thought much of the rituals, only the expected obligation to present myself to the Sage each year. Lillie’s interest sparked a new sensation deep within my heart. Perhaps the tattoos were more than just a mere resemblance of my age. Perhaps the way of the Teragane was rather interesting.
“Cool. What an interesting way to keep track of your age. Does it hurt?” Lillie looked up at me, but her finger still lingered upon my skin, causing a new fluttering in my heart, especially as her green eyes continued to glisten.
“No, they heal quickly.”
“No, silly, the tattooing process?”
“Oh, yeah. Maybe a little. But I’m used to it now. Nothing worse than that prick on your finger.” I pointed to her needle. “Just imagine that a thousand times in a row.”
“Doesn’t sound very pleasant.”
“Yeah, well, that’s just part of the process.” Lillie finally removed her hand from my arm, and I pulled up my loose sleeves, tying the cord once again across my chest. I had never thought about showing Lillie my markings. It was part of my culture—something sacred and diligently upheld every year. Yet, I only thought about it once a year, during the winter, when I was required to attend the ritual. My mind began to swirl with new concepts about the importance. But, also, a sense of guilt for revealing the traditions of my people to a forest-dweller caused my neck to slightly tense. Was I revealing too much?
“Cool! Thanks for showing me your tattoos,” Lillie said. She returned to mending the trousers while smiling, her demeanor once again at peace. “Thanks for trusting me.”
Perhaps it wasn’t too much. What harm could it cause, anyway?
***
Lillie had become busier than ever in her daily life. She had officially started her new job—whatever that meant. With the amount of projects she was always working on in the meadow and what she talked about at home and with some other people—which I did not understand at the time—I initially thought it was sufficient. She had many responsibilities required by her parents around their home. Lillie was often cooking, cleaning, and sewing, and she also told stories about gathering items like plants and wild food for others, something I could understand as a self-sufficient person. She liked to read and write, but often complained that she had no time to do such things anymore—yet, I knew the truth was that her parents hardly allowed her the time and space. However, she told me that she started an “official job,” working with her father. She did not elaborate, nor would I have been able to understand if she did tell me—or perhaps she did?
Winter was fast approaching. We would both be entering our 16th year. I did not necessarily know how her new obligations would affect our friendship, and only assumed that we would continue to meet once a fortnight, which was sufficient for me. Lillie’s life was still foreign in my mind and seemed to only consist of ceaseless work and infinite problems. I noticed her struggle to enjoy the pleasures in life while balancing all the responsibilities required of her. Lillie’s life confused me at times with its complexities and never-ending demands, allowing me to appreciate the simplicity of my life, regardless of its loneliness. If living in a busy village with many people only caused endless work, perhaps the limited interaction with others wasn’t so bad. However, I accepted Lillie as she was and only anticipated our next meeting in the upcoming spring season, regardless of the endless complaints. Perhaps it was the sense of helplessness that caused me to wonder only to myself. For, what reason did I have to bombard on her way of life?
I had my established routine during the winter: plenty of stored foods, the warmth of the eternal fire, and the anticipated visit from the Sage, who would grant me my aging tattoo. I had survived many winters before; however, when the final goodbyes of the valleys below became official and the freezing temperatures arrived, I found that winter quite different. During the solitary days of winter on the mountain summit, new impenitent emotions overcame me. I missed Lillie’s smile, her silly stories, and, most of all, her willingness to share her time with me. I knew that her time was valuable, often stretched thin amongst her daily responsibilities, which only made it feel more special that she would still meet with me after four summers had already passed.
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When I was visited by the Sage, who would do my ritual tattoo, symbolizing the start of my 16th year in the province, I remembered Lillie’s curiosity of my markings and I became curious, driven by boredom and loneliness.
“Could I get another type of tattoo?” I asked the Sage when they were nearly finished.
“Quiet, fool,” they hissed, and continued to mark my left arm, shifting the pressure into more malicious movements. I slightly twisted my neck towards them in an attempt to watch the process.
“Look forward,” they once again demanded in a snake-like voice, sounding disgruntled. I turned my head in obedience, wincing at their increased pressure, noticing their voice sounding unusually irritated that winter. I knew that they were attending the others in the colony for their rituals and wondered if they saw the ritual as an annoyance. Or was I simply stepping out of line of expectation?
Upon finishing the ritual, the Sage left my home with a traditional reminder to always return to the mountain and remember the ways of our people. The Sage were mysterious and rarely spoke, only when required for passing information or instructions. They wore a bone mask shaped like an owl, hiding their identity and any defining features. They wore a black robe with wide sleeves over a tunic and trousers like my own traditional clothing, but their black leather waist belt held many strange ornaments and pouches, most likely filled with their tools and the source of the strong herbal scents permeating from their figure. In the winter, they also wore woolen cloaks with many layers that draped evenly over their shoulders and between their wing-blades, giving their figure a rather bulky appearance. They were obviously adults, referred to as elders, at times, and, besides the parents of the others in the colony from our early years of training, the only other adults who would occasionally visit Mt. Hira.
Although I interacted with them for the purpose of the ritual or occasionally in passing after they would come with new clothes and boots as I was growing, one of the colony members was training to become a Sage, which meant sometimes the Sage could be seen in the valley during his training. His name was Cami, someone who I had considered a neighbor-friend, if I were to use the terms often used by Lillie.
After the Sage had left my home, I visited my friend, who had also received his 16th marking, in hopes to drive away the boredom and explore some new curiosities welling within my heart.
“Would you be willing to mark me with a different type of tattoo?” I asked upon arrival at Cami’s residence. Cami was chosen to become a new Sage at a young age, and he was often required to observe and learn how to properly conduct the ritual during his training. However, for whatever reason, he had not visited with the Sage that year—I never understood his training anyway. His life was just as mysterious as the Sage themselves. But he was the only one from the colony who I could even call a friend. Perhaps it was because he was the only one willing to speak with me longer than a single sentence.
“That is not the way,” he said, and raised his dark brown eyebrows.
“I know, but it could be interesting,” I said. My heart felt excited as I waited for his response, and I held my breath as Cami pondered for a moment.
“I find this to be foolish behavior,” Cami stated, as he stroked his narrow chin. “Why are you asking me?”
“I thought it interesting, like I said, yet possibly useful for your training. I want to understand more about the process of the ritual and basic tattooing.”
“Hmm.” Cami’s brown eyes darted as he continued to ponder. The reflection of the blue light from the eternal fire bounced on his brown skin as he deeply thought about my request, and he began to adjust his curly brown hair in systematic movements. Although I was motivated purely by my selfish curiosities, I was, in fact, interested in the process. I did not intentionally want to disturb the balance of our way of life. However, that day, I felt bored and curiously wanted to try something different from the habitual status of life. The Sage were quiet and expected silent compliance. At least, with Cami, I could watch without being told to look away. Cami was studying to become a Sage, and I knew he had the tools to perform such rituals. I did not know how or even when he practiced or how his training was performed, yet that day I wanted to retain his abilities to appease my own curiosities and boredom.
“Okay, but nothing obvious,” he finally said. “It would be good practice before my final conversion and good education for you. Then you won’t annoy the Sage again with such requests.” I rolled my eyes while Cami brought out his small tools used for traditional tattooing: a bone-needle attached to a stick, a smooth rock, and a stone-bowl filled with a dark powdered substance. He began preparing the powder to make ink and eventually ignited a stone bowl of plants that created a strong aroma of burning herbs, filling the air with its strong fragrance. Then, he wrapped the dark robe of a Sage around his body and maneuvered his slim hands into black gloves.
“Oh—where should I mark?” Cami asked while turning towards me and he motioned for me to sit down with his gloved hand.
“I want a tattoo—uh—here.” I pointed to my neck, just below my right ear. The thought of Lillie seeing it immediately when we would meet again caused a fluttering sensation to fill my heart, and I grinned, yet Cami only scowled.
“No! Anyone can see that!” he exclaimed, causing the fantasy to enhance even more in my mind. “I said nothing presumptuous.”
“Fine, the back of my neck.”
“No, that can be problematic when you become older. I don’t want the Sage to be angry with you—or with me.”
“Okay, where would it not be a problem?” Regardless of the exciting idea of impressing Lillie, while Cami examined my figure intensely with his narrowed eyes and grimacing expression, I knew that we were already partaking in something against expectations, something possibly needing to conceal from the eyes of our teachers. The older Teraganes often had tattoos covering their arms and backs, encircling their shoulders and wing-blades. Sometimes the older generation even had their chests covered. I didn’t remember my own parent’s having extensive tattoos, but I did recall a parent of another colony member having impressive trailing markings along their body. However, Teraganes did not often showcase their bare skin to others; only during rituals performed by the Sage did they reveal their markings or when bathing in the rivers. Yet, even that was more private and only something I had been exposed to in passing. Although I was still young, Cami’s concern for my future was evidently to prevent problematic situations to arise if a Sage were to ever discover something as unnecessary as a tattoo for fun. Cami reminded me that I still had the future to think about.
“Your leg?” he finally suggested while darting his eyes.
“Perfect,” I replied, and I sat down on his stone bed, folding my wings behind, and situated my leg, lifting my black trousers to expose my calf after taking off my leather boot. Then, I pointed to my leg. “The ankle, right on the side.”
I smiled with glee, excited that my friend finally accepted my request, and Cami kneeled between my legs and began tapping the inked bone needle with a stone hammer. However, the excruciating pain of the needle piercing through the skin on my ankle caused me to instantly regret my decision. This pain was vastly different from that in the upper arm area. He studiously focused on the process like a true Sage while I struggled to keep my expressions from revealing my obvious pain, afraid to disappoint him after I had convinced him to partake in what he could call foolish antics. After the session, I decided to never ask for another random tattoo. That day, I discovered that not all curiosities should be explored.
The winter months passed, and, at the end, I sensed the change of the season. Normally, I only focused on the mere depletion of my winter food supply, considering my stock of food and when I would absolutely need to leave my mountain residence. That year, however, was different. When I detected the change in temperature and sensed an improvement in air currents rushing through the feathers of my wings, I grew excited but anxious to return to the meadow. In the past, I had previously revisited the meadow to see Lillie during the beginning of the spring season. Sometimes I had to delay my initial departure due to late winter storms—or just pure laziness for flying in the cold for long periods of time was rather unenjoyable. Often, I did not care if I had to wait due to my unwillingness to fly during the freezing temperatures. I was always excited to eventually spend my time with Lillie in the meadow; however, for some reason, that year was different.
“I must be excited to show her my ankle tattoo,” I said out loud to myself. I chuckled, imagining her face lighting up upon revealing to her my new marking. Although I still had plenty of food in my storage, I felt the shift in weather as well as a slight change in my own demeanor. The smell of melting snow traveled through the air currents, and the muscles in my wings did not freeze up, nor did the wind pierce my ear with excruciating power. When the moment had finally come, I flew down from the mountain summit directly to the meadow, full of hope and excitement. The snow was patchy, the short green grass was visible, and small white and purple flowers were beginning to bloom. I waited all afternoon in the clearing, slightly shivering and tucking my hands under the layers of my cloak, but Lillie never emerged from the woods.
It is just the beginning of spring. No need to worry.
I visited the meadow every day, checking for signs of her anticipated appearance. On one of those fateful spring days, she arrived, happy to see me, but I noticed some things were different about her. Her lavish brown hair was fading into a lighter color, and her stormy gray skin looked paler and did not shimmer with cool undertones as vibrantly as it once did. However, her cheeks still had their rosy complexion, and her spirit was still as lively as ever. She carried her basket, storing her blanket, snacks, and projects to work on, reminding me of the complexities of her life. However, for once, I had my own exciting occurrence that winter, and I eagerly told her about my Aging-Ritual with the Sage, the tattoo I received, and, most importantly, the spontaneous adventure of receiving a random tattoo on my ankle.
“Really?” she said. “You did something totally random?”
“Yes! Look!” I pulled up the leg of my trouser, removed my leather boot, and exposed my ankle.
“It’s a little clover!” Lillie exclaimed while clasping her hands together.
“Yes!”
“It’s so cute! But,” she said, then looked up at me, “why a flower?”
“I—Uh.” I had not thought nearly enough about this. When Cami had asked what I wanted, I just blurted out a flower. He never asked why or what kind of flower, only slightly raised his brow and cast his usual disapproving expression. It was a simple clover, one seen growing anywhere in the mountains—a flower I often observed bouncing in the grass as the winds blew around during the warmer months. A pink flower with sharp edges found along the grassy lands in the valleys. A common flower found in the meadow. Perhaps it resembled something deep within my heart: my deep loneliness amidst the top of the mountain, and my yearning for the meadow—my yearning to be with Lillie. But why did Cami choose a clover? Did it mean something for him?
“I don’t know,” I replied. I did not want to admit that I was simply bored and begged my friend to entertain my idle behavior, nor could I begin to think of a way to explain the procedure of Cami’s training when I hardly understood it myself. I was curious, yes, provoked by appeasing my boredom at random. Or was it something deeper?
“I think it is brilliant!” Lillie said and began bouncing up and down. “I think it is wonderful!” Her excitement caused a rush of emotions to fill my heart as I watched her fading brown hair bounce with her movements. The initial fantasy of her seeing a new tattoo was nothing compared to living it. She had been impressed by the ritual tattoos the year before, but the simple clover now stained within the skin of my ankle evidently brought true joy into her heart. Her simple happiness became my happiness. I had not realized how cold and lonely the winter was until I felt the warmth from Lillie’s smile, and her sweet gestures filled my heart. The fascination of her seeing something new on my skin seemed like a silly fantasy during winter. Yet, in that moment, the reality of her joy ignited a new fire within my heart. I became proud of myself for asking Cami to create a tattoo on my ankle, even though it was extremely painful. I experienced an overwhelming sense of achievement by pursuing something random that I had thought about all on my own.