Lyr Thornwright's Arc

Chapter 3 of 8

Lyr set down the gouge and looked at the pendant taking shape. The willowlight glowed faint under the tool marks. But the piece was too small. A pendant needed more wood than this sliver. She had shaped it well, and it would still not be enough. She turned to the door. The fox should have brought more by now. It had not returned in two days. "It's beautiful," Finn said. He leaned closer over her shoulder, watching the wood. She had almost forgotten he was there. He had not said a word in an hour. "It's not enough," she said. "I need three times this much. The fox brings me the wood. It hasn't come back." Finn straightened. His sunny face went still. He crossed to his carved chest and lifted the lid. Inside, among the gouges and the paper plans, he dug out a small cloth bundle. He carried it to her bench like it might break. "I trade the fox trinkets," he said. "It gives me light from the tree. I've been saving these." He unfolded the cloth. Three pieces of willowlight lay inside, each larger than her sliver. They glowed against his rough palm. Lyr stared at them. She had not asked. She had not wanted to ask anyone for anything. "Why give me these?" He shrugged and looked at the floor. "I want to see the pendant finished. That's all." His ears went red. He would not meet her eyes. She took the wood. It was warm. Enough now, with what she had, to carve a whole pendant. Her chest felt tight in a way she did not like. "I can pay you." "You don't have to." He said it fast, then went quiet again. Lyr laid the three pieces beside her carved sliver. She fit them in her mind, edge to edge. The shape held. The plan worked. For the first time since the curse took her hands, she had all she needed to begin the real work. Then the door rattled. The fox slipped through the gap. Its jeweled collar caught the light. It carried nothing in its mouth. It ran to Lyr and pressed against her leg, shaking. A thin rope trailed from one hind foot, cut clean, as if chewed through. Finn knelt beside it. "Someone tried to trap it." He touched the frayed rope. His sunny look was gone. "This is snare cord. A hunter's." Lyr looked down at the fox. It had brought her wood every night for a week. Now someone in this town wanted it caught. If the fox died, no more willowlight would ever come. She had enough to carve one pendant, and not one scrap more. She closed her hand around the three warm pieces. "Then I finish before they catch it," she said. "And I find out who set the snare."