Myastar's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Two days later, Myastar had sold four more drawings. But her paper was almost gone. She counted the sheets on her mat and found only three left. Each animal took one sheet. Three sheets meant three animals, then nothing. The store in town sold paper, but a whole pad cost six dollars. She had four. Without more paper, she could not make enough to sell before the council came. She pressed her fists against her knees and tried to think. Her mother coughed from the mat by the wall. Myastar knew she could not ask her for money. So she rolled her three sheets under her arm and walked out to find another way. She went to the cheerful yellow-and-white cottage down the row, the one with flowers spilling from every window box. An older girl lived there. Myastar had seen her sketching by the water once. The girl opened the door before Myastar could knock. She was tall, seventeen, with long black hair and a purple dress. A pencil sat tucked behind her ear. "You're the one selling animals," Connie said. She did not smile, but she stepped back to let Myastar in. "My little cousin has your rabbit taped to her wall." "I need paper," Myastar said. The words came out fast. "I'm almost out. I can't buy more. I have to sell before we all leave." Connie studied her for a moment. Then she crossed to a shelf and lifted down a thick stack of white sheets. She set it on the table with a soft thump. "I used to draw," Connie said. "I stopped. My hands got busy with other things." She pushed the stack toward Myastar. "Take it. All of it." Myastar stared. The stack held more sheets than she could count. Fifty, maybe sixty. Weeks of animals. "I can't pay you." "I didn't ask you to." Connie folded her arms. "But I want half of what you make selling them. We're all trying to keep our cottages. I'd rather split money than watch you starve for paper." Myastar hugged the stack to her chest. Half was less than all. But half of many was far more than all of nothing. "Yes," she said. "Half." She carried the paper home and spread it across her mat. The sheets glowed white in the afternoon light. She sharpened her pencil and started a fox before she even sat down all the way. But as she drew the first line, a new worry pressed in. Sixty sheets meant sixty animals to finish, and the deadline had not moved. Connie's paper solved one problem and handed her a bigger one. She had the supplies now. She did not have the hours. To fill even half the stack before the council came, Myastar would have to draw faster than she ever had, and she would have to find far more people willing to buy.