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Keep Alive the Memory  by Celeritas

Chapter Eight 


“We’ll set up at noon,” said Mother on Midyear’s Day, “so you’ll have enough energy for tonight.  That’s when the Burrowses are heading in, anyhow.” 

So at noon Kira and her mother walked across the field behind their smial to the Burrowses’ house, and climbed into the crowded cart along with Roly, Daffodil, Mrs. Burrows, and Gammer and Gaffer Burrows (the relations who pinched Roly’s cheeks so). 

“You can let Tom do the grand tour this time,” Kira told Daffodil as they rode up the path to town.   “I think he’s miffed that he never got the chance to yesterday.”  And she explained the events of the day before. 

“Another Brandybuck?” said Daffodil when Kira had finished.  “What sort of a hobbit are you turning into, Kira?” 

“She is a nice person, Daffy.  And be careful who you’re talking about—I have Brandybuck cousins, you know.” 

“Well, they’re exceptions.” 

“Look, it beat watching ponies circle the Event Field fifty more times.” 

Daffodil conceded her point. 

As the cart neared town, Kira could see there was evidently some sort of bustle along the western end of Michel Delving.  Several hobbit children, most of them younger than Kira, were hurrying towards the West Road, and a few adults as well.  Most of the grown-ups, however, were trying to catch their young ones before they were lost in the melee.  Mr. Burrows, who was driving the cart, took no notice of the commotion. 

Just as they entered town, Kira thought she could hear to her left singing, a sort of singing she had never heard before, coming from voices deeper than a hobbit’s could go.  The sounds were rich and rolling, with a steady rhythmic beat to them, but before she could make out any words they were drowned by the hubbub of the Free Fair.  “Do you know what that was all about?” she asked Daffodil. 

“You don’t know?”  Oh, that’s right, you wouldn’t have been allowed to the Fair four years ago.” 

Kira nodded and waited for Daffodil to continue. 

“Well, every fourth Free Fair they let Dwarves into the Shire for Overlithe.  Not that anybody particularly likes them or anything, but they’ll fix anything you’ve got, and even make a few simple things, for any hobbit that asks—for free!  Roly still has a metal puzzle of some sort; he gave up on it long ago.  Anyhow, I guess the whole thing’s worth the bother of putting them up, and everyone finds them likeable for at least a day.  That’ll be them entering and setting up tents, so that they can have all day tomorrow.” 

Kira looked back in the direction where the singing had come from, but they were too far ahead to hear anything more, much less see a Dwarf. 

“Oh, you’ll have chance enough to see them tomorrow, if that’s what you’re worrying about,” said Daffodil, seeing Kira’s anxious look.  “It’s nothing too special, though the last two times Roly and Tom couldn’t wait to get out of the house on Midyear morning.  They’re interesting and all, I suppose, with their beards and those great big metal boots of theirs, but they’re a little frightening for my tastes.  Are there any Dwarves in your tale?”  She thumped the leather bag that was resting on Kira’s lap. 

“Only one in this one—or I should say, in this part, since I guess the whole tale is really a continuation of the one I read in Buckland.  He’s best friends with an Elf.” 

“Well, then, I suppose it’s unlikely he was ever real, if his best friend’s imaginary.  Takes out all the fun of having a Dwarf in there at all, doesn’t it?” 

Kira rather supposed it did. 

*  *  * 

During the first few hours of the afternoon there was a good deal more commotion than there had been yesterday, and word came round that the Dwarves were setting up camp east of Michel Delving, instead of north beyond the Town Hole and Event Field as usual.  Further word indicated that they were not to share in the night’s feast, but would be dining in their own camp.  Kira wondered if this had anything to do with the conversation she had overheard yesterday. 

Once the excitement died down, business was usual, and around teatime Mother asked Kira if she thought she could mind the stand.  Kira readily agreed, and Mother went off to do some shopping at the fair. 

Things were pretty slow, as Mother had probably intended.  The first couple of customers were regulars, and all Kira had to do was hand them the herbs and put the bits of coin she received in the moneybox as they remarked how wonderful it was that she was selling on her own and giving her mother a break.  Tom only showed up once to bother her, dawdling as if he were going to make a selection but never actually doing anything.  Finally Kira had to get all business-like and order him off the premises if he wasn’t going to buy anything. 

There were a few people who required advice, as well.  Kira knew all the culinary uses of herbs by now, but when one desperate-looking lad asked for something that would relieve his mother’s splitting headache she had to admit she did not know. 

About half an hour into her foray at selling, Kira heard a sizeable amount of noise entering the market from the direction of the Road.  She leaned her head out and peered around to see what was causing it—a number of Dwarves had entered the market!  Instinctively she shrank back, but at the same time she felt compelled to see what exactly these strange creatures looked like.  She poked her head out again, trying to get a good look at them while remaining as inconspicuous as possible.  Daffodil was right about the great big metal boots (though in truth at least half of them were shod in leather that had been decorated with metal, not metal itself)—no wonder they clanked so much!  That, and they all had some sort of armour on, from chain vests to plate mail (which reminded her of nothing so much as a dragon’s hide).  One, she even saw, had a small but very dangerous-looking axe tucked into his belt.  She shrank back again, but when she could no longer bear her curiosity, looked out once more. 

She had heard a lot about beards—they seemed to come up in every story from her youth that did not involve hobbits—but it was still very strange to see hair sprouting from all the Dwarves’ chins.  And it was not just a small amount of down, either—they were long, glorious locks that had been plaited at points, and some even had gold or silver beads on them.  She dimly remembered from some old tale that a Dwarf’s beard was his glory, and she could see that, in that respect at least, the tale was right.  Getting the sudden notion that she was probably staring by now, and was being very impolite, she withdrew as quietly as possible and tried to pretend that this was nothing out of the ordinary. 

Alas!  Too late, for not less than two minutes later one of them walked right up to her mother’s stand.  Suddenly stricken with images of vengeful Dwarves defending their pride, she ducked down behind the stand, hoping that whoever her assailant was, he would leave and leave quickly. 

“Pardon me,” said a gruff voice from the other side of the stand.  It did not sound as wrathful as she had imagined it would. 

Reluctantly Kira got up, prepared to meet her doom.  “Yes?” she said, trying her best not to tremble.  “May I help you?” she added. 

Through the crags of eyebrow she perceived a look from the Dwarf, one almost of disappointment.  “As a matter of fact, yes—since this year we are asked to do our own cooking for tonight’s feast, we thought we would at least take advantage of the fine produce your people have to offer.” 

“Oh.”  Apparently he had not noticed her staring.  “All the cooking herbs are up front.  Just choose whatever you wish.”  She hoped he would not ask her for advice. 

There was no need, however, as the Dwarf rubbed off a few leaves of each bunch and laid them to his tongue.  Silently he chose two bunches of sage and one of basil. 

“Three farthings, please,” said Kira.  When the Dwarf did nothing, she repeated her request a little louder.  Again she was given that look—this time, definitely of disappointment, as he fished around in a leather pouch for one copper penny and placed it in her hand.  She rummaged in the cash box for change, but he shook his head.  “Thank you,” she said, and the Dwarf turned to go, herbs in hand. 

As he was leaving she remembered something.  “Sir?” she called out after him.  The Dwarf turned.  “I know the Master of Buckland—and a great deal of the Brandybucks, too—really wanted you to come.  Maybe if you talked to them they’d cook for you.”  The Dwarf gave her a quizzical look, then nodded and continued on his way. 

*  *  * 

Apart from that there was nothing interesting in the rest of Kira’s sales venture, and Mother returned at the end of the hour.  They continued selling until just before sundown, at which point they wheeled the cart back to the storage tunnels, dodging many other exhibits along the way.  Then it was off to the Event Field for the Midyear Party. 

Kira was quite famished, and was glad to see that the feast was in no danger of disappearing yet.  Her friends had already arrived, but were not (especially Roly) about to finish eating anytime soon.  The table they were sitting at was already crowded with hobbit children, but Daffodil scooted over so that Kira could have a seat. 

Indeed, Tom was quite engrossed with the Hornblower brothers, which was good because he could not bother Kira about yesterday.  Unfortunately it also meant he could not hear about today’s little adventure, and he was probably the one that would take the most interest in it.  Kira decided not to worry about it and concentrated on the greater matter of Food. 

While she was eating Kira scanned the table and the surrounding area for Merina, but there was no sign of her.  But the party was large, and surely there were other people from the Eastfarthing, or maybe just other bookish people, that she was with.  Ah, well—the Fair still had two more days. 

Gradually the table emptied itself of inhabitants as children finished eating and went off to play or dance to the music that was welling from one of the pavilions.  Kira was still eating, and so was Roly, and Daffodil stayed behind to accompany them both, but Tom had left. 

Kira sighed and decided that now was as good a time as ever.  “Did Tom tell either of you that I got to manage the stand by myself today?” 

“No,” said Daffodil.  “How was it?” 

“All right—but you wouldn’t believe who one of my customers was.” 

“Who,” said Roly.  “The Mayor?” 

Kira shook her head.  “No, one of the Dwarves!” 

Roly dropped his fork.  “What did you think?” said Daffodil. 

“Well, I was a little scared—and I think I was staring, too—so I thought he had come to chide me for my misbehaviour, or something worse!  I’m afraid I offended him or something, though; he gave me a very queer look when I asked him for the money.” 

“You did what?” said Daffodil.  “Kira, you’re not supposed to ask the Dwarves for payment!  That’s what we do in exchange!” 

Kira turned bright red.  “No wonder,” she said faintly, and wondered how badly she had insulted the Dwarf.  Then she felt a little ill as she realised what this had meant.  “I’ll have to return it to him, won’t I?” 

“Are you mad?” said Roly.  “Nobody gets in the way of a Dwarf, especially an angry one!” 

“Well, he didn’t seem angry—just… well, disappointed, I suppose.  But I don’t want him to stay upset at me.” 

“Kira, they’re leaving tomorrow.  I hardly see how one Dwarf’s good opinion of you matters.” 

Tom had sauntered back to the table, finding whatever pursuits had previously engaged him boring.  “What happened?” 

“Oh, not much,” said Daffodil.  “Kira had a Dwarf come up to the stand while she was managing it all alone, and not knowing any better she asked him for money.  Now she thinks she should return it to him.” 

“Oh, Dwarves?” said Tom, peering closely at Kira.  “They’re nothing special.  They won’t be angry with you, though, Kira.  Last time they were here I tried aggravating them in every possible way, and got next to nothing in return.  They all think we’re incredibly slow, is all.  Just keep the money and be glad they didn’t chop your head off.  Say, what’s gotten into you lately?” 

“How do you mean?” said Kira slowly. 

“All this Dwarf nonsense.” 

“I’ve never seen them before!” 

“But you’re nearly sixteen!” 

“That doesn’t matter; I still haven’t seen one.” 

“But now you have—and you want to see him again?” 

“Look, Master Adventurous, I don’t see what’s wrong in dealing with a Dwarf that walks up to your stand.  And I don’t see what’s wrong in trying to give him back his own money if I wasn’t supposed to ask him for it.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have at least three more butter rolls to eat before I’m finished.”  She took a bite from one of the rolls.  “You’re still upset about Merina, aren’t you?  Look, I told Mother I wasn’t going to let that happen again, and I’m sorry it did.  But you did stay for more races than you were supposed to.” 

“Well, then, I’m sorry for that, too.  Just no more of this Dwarf nonsense.” 

“I’m sure, Tom,” interposed Daffodil, “that all of the Dwarf nonsense will disappear along with the Dwarves.  And if you two will stop fighting for a moment, I’m going off to see if they’ve done the Springle-Ring yet.” 

And with that, Daffodil got up and left.  Roly, cramming a last bit of chop into his mouth, soon followed.  “Are you coming, Kira?” said Tom. 

“When I’m done eating.” 

Tom shrugged and hovered over her a little bit, the better to make her finish.  When she was done, Kira thanked him for staying, and picked up her crutch and bag as they walked over to the music tent.  She began to feel a twinge in her right foot, the first one she had felt all day. 

Daffodil was in luck; the Springle-Ring was the next song to be played.  It was played faster for children (the better to wear them out, the grown-ups said), but the steps were easier, too; and none of the children’s dances were for couples.  So Kira sat in a back corner while her friends joined in the merrymaking, and, for the moment suppressing her thoughts of what had gotten into Tom lately, opened the book again. 

Whenever any of her friends got tired they would come to sit by Kira, which would have been rather nice had it not interrupted her reading.  When she gasped at Boromir’s death, she heard a gentle “What’s wrong?” from her left, and was shocked to see that she had not noticed Daffodil’s presence beside her. 

“Nothing,” she stammered.  “Why didn’t you tell me you were here?” 

“I tried, Kira.  You were too caught up in that silly book of yours to notice, though.  I don’t mind,” she added at Kira’s hasty apology, “though it would be nice if you put it away for a bit.” 

Tom’s arrival at this juncture did not make things much easier. 

By the end it was one of the most miserable parties Kira had been to, and she was quite grateful to have her mother escort her away back home.  Torn between her book, which was fast becoming her remedy for all ills, and her friends, who were not being particularly friendly, she went to sleep with a headache and woke up with a heavy heart. 

*  *  * 

It was still Overlithe, however, and any ill feelings Kira had were easily dispelled by the sunshine and the cool breeze that wafted over the fields.  Now she supposed she must have been awfully selfish last night with the book, though it was still not quite fair for Tom to go on like that with her.  She wondered what on earth could be the matter with him, but put it aside as yesterday’s troubles.  Today, she had decided, she would return the money to the Dwarf, somehow, though she did not yet know just how she would manage it.  Mother was so pleased with yesterday that she let Kira mind the stand for two hours instead of one today, and then gave her the entire afternoon off to spend with her friends. 

They spent an hour or two just rambling the length of the Fair.  It became a sort of contest among them, in the shops and the people going by, to be the first to spot any object that was named.  At one point, when they were staring into the Ash River from one of the bridges (Daffodil was throwing in some crumbs from lunch for any fish to find), Roly called out, “Tree!”  Tom saw one on a rough sketch on display nearby, Daffodil strained her eyes to try and find one down the river outside town, and Kira was thrown out of the competition for pointing to the logs of the bridge on which they stood. 

“That’s not a tree!” said Roly. 

“Well, it used to be.” 

“It still doesn’t count.” 

“All right, then,” said Kira, “if you’re going to be that picky.  Sausage.” 

Roly’s thought immediately went, as Kira knew it would, to the sausage rolls they had so recently consumed.  “But they’re not sausages anymore,” he added, a crestfallen light dawning in his eyes.  “I guess that just means we’ll have to get more.” 

“Too late,” said Tom, who had been looking about at the food markets for a butcher’s stall, and had found a particularly large specimen.  “And that means I get to do two, now, since Kira took my last win from me.” 

And so on. 

Kira only bought small things for snack.  Mother had given her two whole pennies to last her for the afternoon, but she could only spend one.  She had not told her mother about the Dwarf’s visit—she didn’t know whether Mother would have her return the money or not.  More likely not, Kira supposed, given that she was not even supposed to associate with Brandybucks, and she didn’t want her mother’s injunction to keep her from doing what was right.  So when her friends went to yet another food stand and bought some enormous fried batter cakes, she contented herself with an apple.  The coin she had retained was not nearly as nice-looking as the shiny one she had gotten yesterday, but she supposed it would have to do. 

“Well,” she said, when they had finished eating, “I’m going to return that money.  Anyone who wants to come with me is welcome.” 

Tom groaned, a little more loudly than was strictly necessary. 

“I’m not abandoning you, Tom, so you can’t complain about that.  If you don’t want to help me find him, you don’t have to.” 

“Good,” said Tom.  Kira looked at the other two.  They shrugged. 

“If no one else will, I’ll help you find your Dwarf,” said Daffodil.  “But I don’t really want to talk to him.” 

Kira nodded.  “Thanks anyway.” 

And so the friends split their ways, the lads roaming the town some more and the lasses making their way up to the Event Field. 

What had been a racing track on Lithe 1 and a party field on Midyear’s Day was now a workman’s hall.  The ponies that still remained in the stables looked a little discomfited by all the clanging and the smoke that issued from small, portable blacksmith’s furnaces, fuelled by some strange kind of black stone that glowed red in the heat.  There were Dwarves everywhere, making and mending.  There were also a number of hobbits, more than Kira had expected to be there.  In one corner was a Dwarf looking at the back of someone’s old grandfather clock, which was full five feet tall and looked very grand.  Another area had a number of hobbit wives standing in line with various utensils and stove kettles that needed repair, and five Dwarves at five furnaces taking each request as it came.  Near the front entrance were a number of children working out the strange metal puzzles a Dwarf was churning out with astonishing alacrity, and very far in the back she saw one trying to polish the rust off a hobbit-sword that some poor soul had gotten into his head needed displaying. 

“So far so good,” said Daffodil, “but how do we find your Dwarf?” 

“I don’t know,” said Kira.  “He had a helmet in his hand that had some gold on it.” 

Daffodil glanced around.  “Somehow I don’t think that’s going to be much help.” 

“Well, this one was different.  It actually wasn’t that much gold, just three bits of it made to look like string that met in the centre along its rim.” 

“You saw him,” said Daffodil.  “I just hope you can recognise him beneath that beard.” 

The girls entered the field and wandered about in search of the helmet, and of the Dwarf.  Finally they found the helmet next to one of the furnaces used to do repair work.  Kira looked at the faces of all those working, and was fairly sure that, indeed, her Dwarf was there.  There was nothing to do but get in line behind all the hobbits that were waiting.  Daffodil bid her good luck, and left to find out what the lads were up to now. 

When Kira got to the front of the line the Dwarf was still busy, so she stood aside and let the person after her take the next spot.  It was another five minutes till he was available, and then it was time.  Ignoring the panic which so often grips the heart when there’s no turning back, Kira clenched the penny in her fist and walked up to him. 

The Dwarf recognised her, she could tell that much, by the look of “Oh, it’s you again” that greeted her.  She swallowed and uttered the apology she had prepared.  “I am very sorry for how I acted towards you yesterday, sir.  I didn’t know that we weren’t supposed to ask you to pay for the food, and if you please, you can take the money back.”  She held out the hand with the money in it, and opened it.  “I’m afraid the coin isn’t as nice as the one you gave me,” she added. 

The Dwarf picked up the coin, smelled it, bit it, and then oddly enough, broke into a smile.  “Thank you,” he said. 

“You aren’t upset at me?” 

“No, no.  You didn’t know, and I can excuse you for that.  Though if you were not a child, nor a hobbit, it could well have forged a grudge sturdy enough for generations.  You may keep the coin, if you wish,” he said, placing it back on her palm. 

“No, take it.  That’s why I came here.” 

The Dwarf took the penny.  “Thank you, then.  You are more considerate than many of your folk, and some of mine.  Though if you do not mind the indiscretion I would like to ask you why you hid when I first approached your stand.” 

Kira flushed and wondered if it would be a good idea to leave soon.  “This is the first time I’ve ever seen Dwarves, and I’m afraid I was staring when you and your people came into the market.  I… I thought you had come to punish me or something.” 

“No,” he said, shaking his head, “we are quite used to stares.  A pity, that we are such a novelty in your land.”  He turned to the forge. 

“Yes…” said Kira, not sure if she should wait to speak until he was facing her again.  “I am sorry about that.  The Mayor didn’t want you to come at all this year.  I don’t think he likes novelties very much.” 

The Dwarf chuckled as he began pumping at the bellows.  “Most hobbits don’t.” 

Kira thought about this for a little while, and decided he was right.  “Though I will say to you, sir, you’re a lot kinder than I expected.  You see, up till now I’ve only had stories people told me, or the things I’ve read.  Though, come to think of it, the things I’ve read haven’t said any of you were particularly mean, either.  Just terribly stubborn at times.  Say, why exactly do you do this, anyway?” 

“Do what?” 

“Come to the Shire every four years?” 

“Oh, we pass through your land more often than that—it lies between the Misty Mountains and the Blue, and we work in both of those.  We just don’t take the main roads.” 

“Do you camp in the woods, then?” 

“Sometimes.  There are still a few inns—and a few households—that are hospitable to us.  The Brandybucks, for instance—they did cook for us, by the way, and without anyone’s asking.” 

Kira was impressed. 

“But as for this event—we do it to thank you.” 

“To thank us?  What for?” 

“You said you could read, did you not?  You can find all your answers there.”  He had gotten out a very small hammer and was working on something.  “Many of the people in our company fought in the War alongside Dáin and Brand at Erebor, and we will not forget for a long time.  I myself was born afterwards, but I have spent many years at Aglarond, which Lord Gimli would not have discovered had he not been part of the Company.  All of Middle-earth is in a great debt to your people, though.  We are happy to repay it, or at least to express our gratitude, in any way that we can.” 

“I don’t think I quite follow you there, sir,” said Kira, “but thank you for it anyhow.” 

He laid down the hammer, took up a pair of tongs, and plunged his workmanship into a bucket of water.  He then picked up a very fine chisel.  “And who exactly are you, Miss?” 

“Kira Proudfoot.  At your service,” she added, remembering her manners. 

“Fírin son of Fólin at yours.”  He bent over the bit of craftsmanship for a few minutes with the chisel, working in silence.  Then he set it in the bucket again to cool, and wiped the sweat from his brow with a rag hanging at the side of the furnace.  Finally he picked up the tongs again, selected another, cleaner-looking cloth, and rubbed it round and round.  “Hold out your hand,” he said, and dropped the object into it. 

It was a ring, or at least a small, circular, ring-sized band of metal, with strange letters etched into it not unlike the ones she had seen on Kerry’s horn.  “What does it say?” she said. 

“‘Kira Proudfoot, Dwarf-Friend.’  And do make sure you keep it out of moisture, or it’ll turn green like so many of the other pennies you have.”  And Kira realised that this was the self-same coin she had given him. 

“Thank you very much, sir, though I wouldn’t consider myself a Dwarf-Friend.  Maybe a Dwarf-Acquaintance, but no more.  Almost everyone I know would have fits if they thought I was friends with a Dwarf.” 

“But you have shown me unexpected kindness, and I would consider you my friend.  And ‘Dwarf-Acquaintance’ would not have fit on the space that I had.” 

“Thank you for that, then, too, Fírin.  It was very nice to meet you, and I shall keep my gift somewhere where I can see it every day and be reminded of you.  And I’m very sorry that I was ever scared of you.” 

“You are quite forgiven, Miss Proudfoot.  May the hair never fall out of your toes!” 

Kira blushed at the compliment.  “And… may your beard always get longer, or something to that effect, sir!”  And with that, clutching the ring in her hand, she took her leave of Fírin, and wondered what Tom would have to say about the matter. 

*  *  * 

Indeed Tom would have said a lot about it, had he found out just then, or had he seen her all that day.  But it was not to be, for Mother found her first.  Hobbit children in the Event Field were a regularity; hobbit children in the Event Field not doing errands for their parents slightly unusual; but hobbit children in the Event Field not doing errands for their parents but nonetheless consorting with Dwarves, even talking with them, was bizarre.  And when a particular hobbit child was seen talking with a Dwarf for an extended period of time, and that child was easily recognised because she carried a crutch with her, and was seen not to be a Took, nor a Brandybuck, but a regular old sensible Proudfoot right from the area; tongues began to wag. 

And so it was that Mother caught Kira, who was still quite unaware that she had done anything wrong.  “Kira,” Mother said, “I have just received word from Mrs. Diggle that you were seen talking with one of the Dwarves.  Is this true?” 

“Yes,” Kira said, hanging her head. 

“You told me you wouldn’t let this sort of thing happen again, Kira.” 

“I didn’t leave my friends, if that’s what you mean.  I told them where I was going, and they all left me.” 

“They should have stayed with you and kept you from going!” 

“They tried,” Kira murmured. 

“And why didn’t you listen to them?  Why were you even there in the first place?” 

“One of the Dwarves stopped at the stand yesterday, while you were gone, and I asked him to pay for the herbs he bought, not knowing I wasn’t supposed to.  And I didn’t want to take any of our money out of the box, so I just used a spare coin from lunch, because it wasn’t right to ask him for money and I wanted to make amends.  I honestly didn’t mean to talk with him, though, Mum.  Not for that long.” 

“You should have told me about the money, Kira.  I would have set it right.  You must always tell me these things, love—no secrets!  Are there any other secrets you’ve been keeping from me?” 

Kira handed her the ring.  “He made this for me from the coin I gave him.  Daffy said that Dwarves usually give presents at the Fair.  Mother, I promise—” 

Mother shook her head.  “No more promises unless you can keep them, Kira.  Brandybucks are one thing, but Dwarves are quite dangerous, and you shouldn’t be associating with them.  I’m not talking about the stand; you couldn’t help that, but you should have told me what happened at once.  I think we should go home, Kira.” 

“But Mother—” 

“No buts this time, either.  Let’s go.” 

They walked home in silence.  Mother placed the book and bag in their storeroom along with the herb cart, and Kira was too despondent to protest.  When they reached home, they settled down to a quiet dinner, and Kira spent a quiet evening in her room.  The minutes seemed to ebb by, slower than they had ever passed before the book; until she was desperate for sleep just so that time would pass by.  But sleep was late in coming, and waking was even worse, for Mother informed her that they were staying home on the last day of the Fair, as much to punish as to prevent.  And Kira watched the day creep by, and did her chores, and much more besides, anything to escape from the inactivity, and to keep her pestering thoughts away from her.  A month ago she would have wondered at Fírin’s words to her about the debt owed her people.  Now all she could wonder was, What went wrong?





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