.
What remains of the sunset shines on the four brass hoof-caps left on the front porch. At my back, the horse I borrowed from the Holt family's stable buries her face in my rucksack and munches on my leftover travel snacks. So low on my list of priorities it might as well not even make an appearance. I shrug my shoulders to let the backpack fall to the ground and spill whatever is left. With a sigh, I stick one hand in my pants pocket, assuring myself for the thousandth time that the crumpled letter is still there.
The weather throughout my three days of travel fluctuated so dramatically that there was never a moment of comfort as spring struggled awake. Warm enough to need the breeze but so rainy I had to keep my hood up. So bitter cold that I rode blind, eyes squinted shut against the sunlight shining off spikes of frost coating every early green shoot. I tug the fabric of my thin blouse away from my sweaty skin and adjust the heavy peacoat where it droops over my arm. With no time left to put it off, I suck in a deep breath and go on.
Tears of tentative relief prickle my eyes when I enter the familiar house. The warm, soothing fragrance of spiced sugar and tart apple, with the earthy undercurrent of wood being split and shaped in the workshop. Legs folded atop a thick blanket before the hearth, firelight makes the gold color of Andrius hair and fur nearly glow. The light shines through the pointed cartilage of his ears as he turns his head to face me. His beauty lodges my meant-to-be-steadying breath in my throat and I wonder if I should have gone somewhere to freshen up before seeing him. But it's too late now.
"Hi," I croak. Before he can stand, I cross the space between us and kneel between his forelegs. "I need to give you something. Before anything else."
His smile wilts, but the tension in his eyes remains the same. He was willing to pretend for me that nothing is strange between us. The knowledge spears my heart. Andrius purses his lips and nods, setting his sketchbook beside us. I nod back and take the wrinkled note from my pocket. He watches, curious and silent, as I bring one of his hands between us and press it open before placing the letter in his palm.
When I don't speak soon enough, still fighting the tightness in my throat, he asks, "Um. What is this?"
"It's the letter I sent to you. It was still in the sprites' archives." His fingers begin to curl over the note, but I press my hand flat over his, keeping it open. "I need to talk to you first.... I want to be with you. Whether you decide to read this or not, there's no one else that I want to be with. But I was... emotional when I wrote this. And I was so afraid that I would never get to see you again. That I would never know any more about you or about how you make me feel. I don't think I like how I said the things in this letter. But I know you've been through a lot so... whatever you need to do, it doesn't change anything for me. Whether you read it or not, I still want this. I just wish I could say those things differently, in my own time."
The aureate sparks in Andrius' irises glow and go dark in a flickering dance as he watches our hands until I finish speaking. As my hand releases his, I let out my held breath and turn to watch the flames while he makes his decision. Paper crinkles between us as his hand closes around the paper, then reopens. And again.
I flinch backward as something flies by my face and into the fireplace. The ball of crumpled paper is swallowed in fire that curls the edges open as it burns. Mouth agape, I turn to face And. He sighs at the same sight before turning toward me and bowing. His forehead presses to mine as his hands affectionately wrap around my middle, sealing me in careful warmth. "I trust you," he whispers.
I want this. With him. But it's the only want I am certain of as I watch the words turn to ash.
.
The lingering smell of varnish makes me crinkle my nose as I finish sweeping the space around my finished attempt at building a shelf for my height. Twirling dots of sawdust drift through the beams of sunlight shining through the high windows. I pull off my protective glasses and ruffle the space where the leather strap pressed my sweaty hair down.
"Okay, you can come see now!" I call toward the entryway to the other section of the workshop.
The sound of Andrius' hooves echo throughout the balmy, radiant space as he enters to inspect my project. Since I returned several days ago, we haven't discussed the letter. I struggle to decode whether he's a gifted actor or if he genuinely has let go of his worries. If it is the latter, I wish I possessed the same talent. At night, I toss and turn as my mind is flung between relief and regret over the vision of the letter burning.
When he comes close enough that the dessert-like scent of him fills my nose, I tear myself free from my brooding. A loose tendril of silken gold slides over his shoulder as he tilts his head at my shelves. I stand on my tiptoes to tuck it into the leather tie holding the rest of his hair up. He bows to let me reach him and uses the closeness to kiss my forehead before he goes back to walking around the pine shelves.
"Are you sure it's even?" And asks as he circles back to me.
"Definitely." I pick up my drinking glass from one of the work tables behind us and go back to set it on the top shelf. "See it-" The sound of the glass sliding down the wood plank before it drops off the edge and shatters cuts me off.
Andrius sucks in his cheeks as he tries not to laugh.
"How is that possible?!"
"You used the level while you were working on this, right?"
"Of course I did." I grab the wooden level dotted with bubble-windows encircled in brass from the dusty floor. "I checked with the level like a hundred times and-" The level takes the same path and drops into the pile of glass shards.
Behind me, Andrius can no longer hold back and chuckles. "It's not bad for your first time, really. Those little accents you did in the corners came out really nice."
"Thanks," I mumble. "I owe you a new glass."
"Don't worry. I think business is good enough that a broken drinking glass won't bankrupt me." As he reassures me, he tilts his head and walks around the shelves once more. Then he bows and tugs the canvas tarp under the project. A hidden fold of excess fabric flops out when he pulls and the shelves plop down, making the unevenness of my work painfully obvious.
I stare with my mouth hanging open until I can muster a frustrated groan. "I can't believe I was betrayed by a tarp!"
Andrius laughs and pulls me close. "The good news is it's fixable, if you want to spend more time on it. Lots of wiggle room to do some sanding and- What is that noise?" One of his sharp ears suddenly twitches as he turns away from me.
The sound of rough scratching against wood pulls my attention and I peek around his waist, looking to each end of the workshop for the source. "Yeah, I hear it too."
His long, flaxen tail swishes back and forth as we both listen. A milk-white face wreathed with candyfloss peeks around the doorway before she flies the rest of the way in, her glow turned low. The excited greeting I would usually give the sprite wilts beside the memory of how distraught I made her the last time we saw each other. Quince lands on my shelf, then flinches and flutters her wings to catch herself when she begins to slide.
"Schedule time already?" I ask uncomfortably.
