On Fallen Wings by Jamie McHenry

that happen.
    I nudged Ophelie gently forward, but didn’t allow her to run. Racing back to the house would hasten the end of a day that I suddenly wished could last forever.
    Sean and I rode along the fence rails, chatting absently about friends and memories. I was nervous about his trip, and could tell that he was, too. Even when he laughed, Sean’s voice was empty and hollow. The day was passing and taking us into our future. Dusk and its violet shadows dominated the trees when we replaced the saddles and ropes in the stable. Then hand in hand, we wandered up the gentle slope toward the warm light of the dining room window.
    Amid smiles from my family, Cael addressed me as I entered the house. “We were discussing,” he said, “my promise to Sean. When will you need an escort?”
    “I don’t know. I need to prepare for the celebration,” I told him. I winced at my misspoken revelation.
    “Great.” Cael stood from the bench. “When should I take you to Stone Meadow?”
    I turned to Sean and gripped his tunic for comfort. He pleaded with his dark eyes.
    “I should practice here at home,” I said, turning to face Cael and my family. “It’ll be safer.”
    Sean nudged me in the back, and my heart pounded against my chest. Its beat was deafening.
    “Will you come at dusk,” I asked Cael, “on the eve of the Moon Season Celebration? You and Ethan can watch for the bandit while I practice outside. That will allow Leila a chance to help Mother prepare the food.” I looked around; everyone, except me, seemed to enjoy the torturing moment.
    “That’s a wonderful idea, Rhiannon,” said Mother, with a smile. “Cael, thank you for offering.” She turned to Sean. “And thank you for your kindness. This has been an unforgettable day.”
    I caught Leila smirking as Ethan nudged her under the table.
    “Sean,” said Father, wiping his beard. “Take a goblet. You should celebrate and warm yourself.
    I had always objected to the village tradition of extreme inebriation—mostly because of Father and his family. Normally loud and full of curses, the alcohol amplified their rudeness and made them unbearable. As Sean hesitated to approach Father’s offering, an idea caught me.
    “It’s all right, Sean,” I told him, “enjoy a drink with Father. I need to prepare something for you.”
    My fiancé looked bewildered. “For certain?”
    I prodded his ribs and whispered in his ear. “It’s okay. One drink. I’ll return in a moment.”
    Ignoring the stares from my family, I bolted from the dining room and skipped up the dark stairs to my bedroom. I lit the small orange candle on my windowsill, and watched as the shadows from the wavering flame danced on the angled wooden ceiling of my room. I waited for its warm glow and then retrieved a small uneven piece of parchment from my top dresser drawer. Using a quill and small glass jar of black ink that I warmed over the candle, I scratched a short note. Examining it carefully, I blew across the paper, waiting for my message to dry, before folding it neatly. With a final stroke, I wrote Abigail’s name on the outside and rushed to the dining room.
    Cael and Ethan were laughing at the table while Sean drank heartily from his goblet. Father was absorbed in his own cup, and Mother and Leila sat in front of the fireplace behind him, wrapped in a bear fur. After noticing my glare, Sean lowered the offering and straightened his smile.
    “Sean,” I asked, “will you do something for me?”
    “Of course,” he answered, wiping his mouth.
    I handed him the parchment. “Will you deliver this to Abigail Bree this evening, during your walk home?”
    Sean looked at the paper and opened the fold, revealing my inscriptions. “What does it say?” he asked. “You wrote faerie symbols.”
    “Anyone could read it if I didn’t,” I said. “It’s a note for her, concerning the celebration. Will you deliver it, please?” Employing a trick from Mother, I put my hand on his arm