Erissa pulls the blanket up to her chin, snuggling into the thick fabric. Across the room, Alma is pulling the curtains shut, casting the room into darkness, save for the two lamps at the door.

Ata leans against the doorway, one hand idly fiddling with his wedding ring.

"Ata, tell me a story!" Erissa chirps. He crosses the room to sit at the edge of her bed. Alma sits down on a stool beside him, threading her fingers with his.

"A story, hla julikal?" Ata asks. "Surely you're old enough to get to sleep without a story?"

Erissa pouts, she's only six, that's not that old. "Pleeeease?"

He chuckles. "Alright, one story."

"Okay!"

Ata's eyes flick to Alma for a moment before returning to rest on Erissa. "Once," he says, in that sweet, clear language of his people, "there was a princess, dark as night and with eyes the color of the palest gold and hair the color of dark crimson. She was so beautiful that princes from distant countries flocked to her court to ask for her hand.

But she refused all of them for their hearts were black as the deepest depths of the earth and she could see that they desired only to possess her.

One day, as she looked out over her kingdom, she said to the wind passing by, 'Is there no one in the world who will be my partner in all things, who will love and be loved by me?'

Said the wind to her, 'There is one, lovely princess.'

'I would know who they are, that I might find them and ask for their hand,' the princess said, 'please can you tell me who they are?'

But the wind only laughed, saying, 'The beloved sun to your moon dwells beneath ancient oak trees before the summer's end. When the winter snows flood the valley, lovely princess, then will the flowers of passion bloom."

"What does that even mean?" Erissa asks.

"You'll see," Ata says, continuing, "The princess shut herself in her tower for many a day and night, trying to understand what the wind had said but could not make heads or tails of it. At last, she decided to travel amongst her people in disguise, that she might find someone who could help her understand the wind's words.

For nearly three years and through many hardships she traveled to all the wise men and women of the land, seeking their knowledge. But none could unravel the mystery of the wind's words.

Then, as she rested beneath an old oak tree at the edge of her kingdom, she saw a young woman with hair the color of wheat and eyes like glittering gems picking apples nearby.

The princess thought her very beautiful, and called out to her, 'Beautiful maiden, tell me, could you unravel the words that the wind once spoke to me? I have traveled far and wide and found no one who could help me."

The maid blushed for no one had ever called her beautiful and said, 'I can try, milady, for the wind often speaks its riddles to me as I work in the fields.'

So the princess told her the words the wind had spoken and the maid puzzled long and hard.

'Well,' she said at last, 'I can make neither head nor tails of it, but rest under my roof tonight, and I'm certain I can figure something out by morning.'

The princess thanked her and spent the night under her roof. When morning came, the maid had made no further progress on the riddle.

The princess thanked her for her attempt.

'Perhaps, you might ask the wind when it blows this way in a fortnight,' the maid said, 'surely it would give you a clue.'

The princess was willing to try. She had been traveling long enough and it was good to stay in one place for a time.

The wind did indeed blow by in a fortnight, and it laughed merrily as it fluttered through the fields.

'Wind, I ask for a clue to the riddle you gave me," the princess cried, running out.

The wind spoke to her, 'The beloved sun dwells beneath ancient oak trees before summer's end, princess. The sun remains only until the leaves fall.'

'What does that mean!' the princess asked, frustrated with the wind's twisting words.

'It means what it means, lovely princess,' the wind answered and swept away eastwards.

"Why is the wind so confusing?" Erissa interrupts.

"It is the nature of the wind to be confusing," Alma says, her eyes bright in the dimness of the room. "It likes speaking in riddles because it enjoys the chaos it causes."

"That's not very nice," Erissa says.

"It is the way of the wind," Alma says. "The gods did not create the world to be kind, hla julikal. Life is made to be difficult, for without struggle there is no meaning to it. Without that struggle, your father and I might have never found each other."

Ata gives the smallest of nods, smiling as Alma kisses his cheek.

Erissa sighs. "Is this something I'll understand better when I'm older?"

Ata laughs. "Yes, hla foyada. It is. Now do you want to hear the rest of the story or not?"

"Yes!"

"Very well," Ata says, resuming the tale, "The maid had watched all with bright eyes. 'Come inside, milady, and we can puzzle over it together,' she said.

'It's no use," the princess cried, weeping, 'I'll never find my love!'

The maid embraced her, saying, 'Fear not, milady, for I may know someone who can help you.'

'Who?' the princess asked, drying her tears.

'The powerful witch who lives at the end of the valley, she knows all things, even the secret things that the wind says. I am certain she will know.'

The princess thanked the maid profusely and set out.

The witch did indeed know all secret things, and laughed greatly as the princess finished relating her tale.

'Why ask me?' the witch asked, wiping away tears of laughter, 'you've already met your true love.'

It was then that the princess glanced sidelong outside the window, and thought it odd that the leaves had already begun to turn the bright colors of leaf-fall. It had been only mid-summer when she had entered the witch's house and she told that to the witch.

'Time passes differently here,' the witch said. 'Go back to your pretty sun, princess before it is too late.'

The princess dashed from the house, running as fast as her feet could carry her, back to the little cottage beneath the ancient oaks, back to the beautiful maid.

The leaves were falling as the princess reached the cottage.

'Beautiful maid,' she called, 'Forgive me for I am blind.'

The maid smiled at her, leaning against the tallest of the ancient oaks. 'How so, princess? You can see."

'I am blind to love, O beautiful maid,' the princess said. 'But I have found my love at last.'

The maid's smile faltered and she grew quite pale. 'Then go to them, princess. No doubt they are worthy indeed of your love.'

'O,' cried the princess, 'but it is you, beautiful maid, you who have my love. I am yours, until the ending of the world, if you would have me.'

The maid sighed, closing her bright eyes. 'I would, fair princess, but I am fading. The sun does not dwell in winter, but in summer and summer has passed. I have little time to give you.'

'Share my time,' the princess said and embraced her. 'I will share my life with you so that yours might not fade, that we might live and love together.'

The maid said nothing and it seemed for one long, terrible, moment that she would fade away completely so pale and silent was she.

Then the princess saw snow drifting down. It covered the valley, the cottage and the riverbank in mere moments. Only beneath the oaks was there no snow. The princess watched in awe as roses bloomed at the edge of the cottage, and the maid opened her eyes and smiled."

"And they lived happily ever after, right?" Erissa asks, yawning as Ata finishes his story.

He smiles. "Yes, Erissa they did."

"Good," she says, curling up under her blankets. Alma tucks the edges around her, kissing her forehead.

"I love you," Alma says.

"Love you, Alma," Erissa says, smiling sleepily. "Ata, could you tell me the story again tomorrow?"

"Maybe," Ata says, leaning over to kiss her cheek. "Goodnight, hla julikal. I love you."

"Goodnight. Love you too," Erissa mumbles and within moments is fast asleep.