Elara Tidwell's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Elara Tidwell pushed open the warped front door and stepped into the cottage where she grew up. Dust rose in a gray cloud. She was small and old now, her hands spotted, her back bent. But she had come back to save this place. Her family had abandoned it decades ago. She meant to scrub it clean and make it shine the way it once had beside the stream. She could not even see the floor. Broken chairs lay in heaps. Crates teetered against the walls. Mold crept up the window frames. Elara wanted to check the beams and the hearth for rot. She could not reach them. The clutter blocked every room. Until she cleared it, she would never know how much damage hid underneath. She gripped a crate and pulled. It did not budge. She pulled again. Her arms shook and she sat down hard on a dusty trunk, breathing fast. The work was too big for one old woman. A boy appeared in the doorway. He looked about twelve, with messy brown hair and a rope slung across his chest. His boots were caked with mud and straw. Elara knew him by sight. He was the orphan who slept in the empty stable down the lane and did odd jobs for scraps. "That trunk's heavier than you," the boy said. "I'll shift it." "I can't pay much," Elara warned. "A hot meal," he said. "Finn Ashwood works cheap." He grinned and set his shoulder to the crate. Together they worked through the afternoon. Finn carried the heavy loads. Elara sorted the rest. They hauled broken furniture into a pile outside. They swept years of leaves from the corners. Dust turned their faces gray. Finn never slowed, and Elara felt the rooms open up around her. Something small shot out from under an overturned cabinet. Finn yelped and jumped back. Elara saw orange fur, then wings. A little striped cat spread feathered wings and glided to a windowsill. It folded them neatly and stared at her with green eyes. "It's been living in here," Finn said, amazed. By dusk the floor was clear at last. Elara stood in the empty main room and finally saw the truth. The grime had hidden it. The central beam above the hearth was split end to end. Black rot ran down one wall. The floorboards near the window sagged soft under her boot. Her chest tightened. The clutter was gone, but the cottage was hurt far worse than she had feared. Clean walls could not fix a broken beam. Finn wiped his hands and looked up at the sagging beam. "That won't hold much longer," he said quietly. Elara nodded. The winged cat watched from the sill. She had cleared the mess she came to clear. Now she faced a wound that scrubbing could never heal.