Kira's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Six months old, and Kira wanted to walk. Not later. Now. Across the wide plank floor of the log cabin, her mother knelt with both arms open, waiting. That gap between them was the whole world, and Kira meant to cross it. She pushed her palms flat against the cool wood. She dug in her knees. Then she shoved herself up, wobbling, until her legs held her weight for one shaking second. "There she is," her mother said. Her voice was warm and low. She stayed on her knees, hands out, not reaching, letting Kira come. Kira leaned toward her. Her right foot slid forward an inch. Her knees buckled. She dropped hard onto her bottom, and the fall knocked a squeak out of her. She tried again. Up onto her hands. Up onto her feet. Her legs trembled like they belonged to someone else. She tipped sideways and thumped back down. Her chin wrinkled. A cry built in her chest. By the fireplace, the old Rottweiler lifted his gray muzzle. He had watched her from his rug all morning, calm and patient. Now he rose on stiff legs. He crossed the floor slow and heavy and stopped beside her. Kira grabbed a fistful of his thick fur. He did not flinch. He stood like a post, solid and warm, while she hauled herself upward hand over hand. Her feet found the floor. Her legs stopped shaking so hard. She was standing, holding the dog. Her mother laughed, soft and quick. "Smart girl." Kira looked across the room at those open arms. She let go of the fur with one hand. Then the other. For a breath she stood alone, swaying, her arms wide for balance. But standing was not walking. She could not make her feet move without something to grip. She reached for the dog again and missed. She sat down with a bump. Her mother stood. She stepped to the corner and rolled something across the floor. It was a bright baby walker, yellow and blue, with a padded seat and small wheels. She set it in front of Kira. "Here," her mother said. "You hold on. You do the walking." Kira grabbed the frame. She pulled. This time her legs stayed under her. The wheels rolled forward an inch, then two. Her feet stumbled to keep up. She was moving. But the floor was not flat. The wheels caught the edge of a woven rug and stopped dead. Kira kept leaning. The walker tipped. She lurched forward over the frame, off balance, her grip slipping, the whole thing sliding out from under her toward the hard wood.