Lyr Thornwright's Arc

Chapter 1 of 8

Lyr Thornwright bent over her workbench and told her hands to stop shaking. They would not. The curse under her furs flared again, a hot band of pain across her ribs, and the tiny file slipped from her fingers. It clattered onto the pendant she had spent three nights carving. The stone cracked. She swore and pressed her palm to the burn, waiting for it to pass. The curse always woke when she worked late. That was the cruel joke of it. She needed the pendant finished to break the curse, and the curse ruined her hands before she could finish. Every failed attempt cost her silver she did not have. Adventurers paid well for her blades and jewelry, but none of it mattered if she could not hold a tool steady. She looked at the cracked stone and made a choice. She could not fix her hands, so she would find something that worked without them. She had heard the old stories. A willow that glowed at night. Sap that steadied what was broken. Lyr wrapped her furs tight and left the cottage. She found the tree past the last of the desert scrub. By day it would look like any willow. Now its long branches hung down and gave off a pale light, soft as a candle behind cloth. She pressed her cracked pendant against the bark and waited. The pain flared worse than ever. She dropped to her knees. A small weight landed beside her in the grass. A fox sat there. Orange, with dark legs, a jeweled collar at its throat. It carried something in its mouth and set it down at her feet, gentle as a cat. A sliver of pale willow wood, still glowing. Lyr stared at it. "Why would you give me that?" The fox tilted its head. It watched her hands shake, then nosed the wood closer. She picked it up. The moment the willow touched her skin, the burning under her furs cooled. Her fingers went still. For the first time in weeks, they did not tremble. Lyr laughed, short and surprised. She pulled her cracked pendant from her pocket and pressed the glowing sliver against it. Her hands held steady while she worked the crack smooth. The stone drank the light and kept it, faintly glowing now, like the tree. She understood then. Ordinary silver would never break this curse. The pendant needed willowlight, and the willow only gave its wood to the fox that gathered it. Lyr looked down at the fox. It had already curled up against her boot, pleased with itself. She was not a woman who liked company. But she needed this creature now, and it seemed to have chosen her. "Fine," she said. "You can stay. But you bring me more of that wood." The fox yawned and did not argue. Lyr wrapped the glowing sliver in cloth and started the long walk home, a plan forming. She had her cure. Now she had to earn its keeper's trust.