Heather was mostly happy for the break. For weeks, she and Emma had been running non-stop, forced to keep up with patient counts that, sadly, only seemed to climb higher. It was tiring and discouraging, and Heather's nightmares had grown worse. But tonight, she could forget about that, tonight wasn't about the war or the pain. It was about the midsummer festival!
Emma was even more cheerful and up-beat than usual, even tolerating Jo's vaguely flirtatious remarks for longer than normal. While they bickered, Picket chiming in every so often with a smart remark, Heather's mind wandered.
She longed to curl up some place quiet with a book, not being obligated to talk to anyone. That sounded nice. Oh well. Tonight would be fun anyways. There would be fireworks and good food, and dancing, though Heather was hoping to avoid that at all costs. The very thought of being asked mortified her, but she wasn't so blind as to not know that it was a possibility.
Emma left Jo flustered and confused as Picket laughed at him, and ran to catch up with Heather, who had continued walking when they stopped.
"You've been quiet tonight." She commented.
"According to you, I'm always quiet." Heather countered.
"Fair." Emma shrugged. "But I thought you'd be a little more…"
"Excited?" Heather asked, raising an eyebrow. "We had midsummer's in Nick Hollow, Emma."
"I'm sure. But there's something special about Cloud Mountain's. Everyone says so."
"Then I'll learn all about it tonight." Heather smiled. They came onto the village green, and were met with such a pleasant scene as Heather hadn't known in a long time.
Children ran wildly across the grass, waving sparklers and squealing joyfully. Parents lounged on picnic blankets or sat on there front porches in rocking chairs, sharing sweet tea and carrying on eager conversation. Groups of younger rabbits stood or sat around the field, some playing games like kickball, some helping to organize the feast, and others just standing around, talking. Many were the younger soldiers that had been stationed at Cloud Mountain after the attack earlier that spring, like Jo. Heather didn't know more than half of them.
She pressed her hand into her pocket, in which she had a book. A book, she had learned, always provided a polite reason to not have a conversation. Heather glanced around, hoping to find anyone else she knew, but didn't succeed. Lord Rake and Uncle Wilfred were standing, having a conversation with a group of elderly rabbits, but apart from them there was no one.
She wondered where Smalls had gotten to. He'd told her earlier that he was going to be there. It was strange that Wilfred was present but he wasn't-since Smalls usually appeared whenever Wilfred did. Heather had the impression that this was not always a choice on Smalls' part. She wondered about there relationship from time to time. Wilfred seemed to be in a place of authority in Smalls' life, but Smalls had also shown that he wasn't afraid to disagree or contradict Wilfred at times. This hadn't always gone well for him, though, so Heather finally decided that Wilfred was likely Smalls' guardian.
With Emma locked into a conversation with another doe named Lila, and Picket and Jo preoccupied with dodging Helmer for some reason Heather wasn't interested in knowing, she was left to herself. She settled down underneath a tree and opened her book.
"I heard tell of a skirmish down at Kingston." Heather's ears perked at the familiar voice, and grimaced when she recognized it. Aidla, an old gossip who made it her business to know everyone else's business. Much as she didn't want to, Heather stayed and listened. "Went poorly-one of em' princesses or another was carried off."
"Which one?"
"Briony, I thought. The one that was stirring everyone up a few years ago."
"With that scandal?"
"Yes, that one."
"Poor child. Didn't know any better."
"She made a bad name for herself and only increased the north's dislike of the Royal Family."
"It's been like that for centuries, Aidla. One little girl's mistakes make it neither better nor worse." Aidla snorted at her companion's opinion.
"Rosi speaks the truth." Another remarked. "Whether we approve her actions or not won't change the Hollowers' opinion, nothing else has or likely ever will."
"Thank heavens they've kept their mouths shut recently." Aidla muttered. "But I ain't liken how Lord Rake is lettin'em in now, let em' stay up in their villages, keepin their noses out of things like they should."
"I'm a born hollower, Aidla." Rosi said softly. "Wouldn't have survived if Lord Rake hadn't taken me and my sister in."
"You've adjusted well," Aidla scoffed, "But I'm of the generation that still remembers the riots and raids, the injuries those barbarians inflicted upon us when they should have just submitted and been done with it. That's why Half-Wind's up here, in case you don't remember."
"Those raids only happened because you were starving us." Rosi countered hotly, obviously insulted by the use of a derogatory word. "Because my Ma couldn't feed her children."
"We was starvin' to! It was a war, course' everyone was starvin'."
"You had food." Rosi said irritably. "But the drought that year was so bad that it seemed half the town was dead by the end of it." Heather remembered her mother talking about that year, how terrible it had been for everyone. Heather had lived through hard years herself, and she remembered being hungry. She remembered when there wasn't always enough, when she had to go hungry sometimes.
"Hollowers bring trouble." Aidla grumbled. "They always have-always will. Just look at those two younger Longtreaders-prime examples. They show up, wolves show up, we discover a traitor-who should have been thrown out ages ago, frankly, that boy wasn't contributing much in the first place-and Decker's landing is destroyed in the middle of it, Decker gone or carried off."
Heather was mad. She had half a mind to turn and give Aidla a tongue lashing she'd remember but controlled herself. If you haven't anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. Her mother's voice chastised her in her head. You can't convince others out of sheer emotion, my dear. And angrily pummeling them with an argument won't help.
"You might have forgotten," Rosi icily said, "But those same Longtreaders happen to be the only reason our crown prince is alive." Aidla's voice dropped into a low, conspiratorial tone, as she countered,
"He's not even of age. He's a princeling-we need a king, and that he isn't."
"Yet."
"It'll be a time, Rosi, a long time before that child is anywhere near ready to lead." Aidla let out a loud sigh. "The past is repeating itself, Rosi, mark my words. The past is repeating itself." Heather stood, not wanting to hear anymore, but she caught one more remark as she walked away. "And this rumor about him and that Longtreader girl-you don't really think it's true, do you?"
Hot-faced, embarrassed, angry, and wishing she could disappear, Heather strode across the green, resisting the childish urge in her to stomp.
"Who managed to make you angry?" Emma asked. Heather didn't want to talk about it. The hostility she had discovered towards Hollowers over the last few months was shocking and upsetting, even though, when she thought about it, it made sense. Her mother's sister, Anika, had often talked about it, in hushed whispers after Heather was supposed to be in bed, asleep. But sometimes Heather would sneak to the top of the stairs, especially if the nightmares were bad, and sit there, listening to her mother and Anika argue.
"Aidla."
"Oh. She manages to make everyone angry. Was she going off about Hollowers again?" Am I so blind I didn't even know about this until now?
"She was." A silence passed-strange, Emma was not one to let moments pass in conversation-and then she said,
"Well, forget it. Next to no one remembers those hard times and even those who do understand that it was desperation on both sides. Let's forget about it." Heather agreed, and tried to set her mind at ease. It was hard. Heather's anxiety pricked at her, but she ignored it, shoved it away, resolved to pay attention to it later but not now.
"Dinner's served!" Gort shouted, thwacking an absent-minded apprentice on the head with his ladle while at it.
Dinner certainly was served. Heather had known that Gort had been at it for days, but she had underestimated the amount of food that rabbit could make in forty-eight hours. There was enough to feed half the army and more. Heather foresaw quite a lot of midsummer leftovers in her future. There were at least four different kinds of soup, from tomato to strawberry. Raspberry and blueberry scones covered in sweet cream. Roasted, baked, grilled, and fresh vegetables. Six different kinds of cheese and crackers, cheese bread with oregano, rosemary, and many other herbs cooked in. Nuts dipped in everything from chocolate to yogurt, with a small amount of chocolate-covered coffee beans that were given out on a restricted basis. For drinks there was apple cider for those underage still, and a selection of mead and wines for those old enough. Smalls finally showed, and Wilfred teased,
"Ah, so he finally comes out of his cave at the temptation of food." Smalls rolled his eyes good-naturedly and replied,
"Well, I do have to eat, don't I?"
"I suppose. But the quantities in which you do still manages to astound me." Smalls laughed, dodged a group of younglings who were paying absolutely no attention as they chased a ball, and stepped back into line.
"Good thing Gort made enough to feed the nation then, right?"
"Right." Wilfred laughed. A sudden bout of fireworks made half the line jump, and then clap appreciatively at the graceful flower that had appeared in the sky along with the stench of blast powder. No more went off (Really, Heather fancied, it was a slight accident, probably having to do with some mischievous younglings) until the food line was nearly empty, though none of the trays seemed to have lost anything at all, except for the chocolate ice cream and orange cake at the end, which the young soldiers had made a bit of a dent in.
Heather was sitting a little further back from the main crowd, not yet comfortable being surrounded by so many rabbits at once. Smalls came and joined her, though he seemed more interested in his food than in conversation. Heather lay down in the grass, and stared up at the twilight-taken sky. The first stars were appearing, and the moon was just rising over the rim of the mountain. Wind blew across, dipping down even into the low places. In the north, even summer nights could be chilly.
"It's a nice night, isn't it?" Smalls asked.
"Yes." Heather replied, watching the clouds change color as the light left.
"They're building a bonfire." He observed. There was a long pause. "Do you want to go down?" He asked at last. Heather hesitated.
"Not particularly. But if you do-"
"Actually, I'm glad you don't. I'm tired of being stared and gawked at everywhere I go." Heather's eyes had closed previously and now she opened them, and gazed up at Smalls, who was looking down towards the noise of the celebration. "It's an honor, of course." Smalls added, as if attempting to validate what he had said previously, "But it's…."
"Intrusive?" Heather suggested. Smalls nodded and agreed.
"Yes. Definitely. I hate the gossip that comes with it. I think certain things ought to stay private, no matter who you are." Heather looked away, blushing as she remembered the last thing she'd overheard Aidla say. Smalls seemed oblivious to this. Heather leveled up on her elbows and gazed down at the celebration. 'Bonfire' was an understatement, the thing was enormous.
"At least everyone is happy." She said. "And not paying attention right now anyways." Smalls nodded and smiled at her. For a moment there was a warmth between them, as if the bonfire had been condensed and concealed in their eyes. Then Smalls looked away, and the warmth waned if not already having disappeared entirely. A sadness came then, not a sharp, loud sadness, the kind that demands immediate attention, but a quiet, regretful one. The kind where you can hardly tell if it is real sadness or not. Heather didn't understand this, and she didn't know why there was this sudden gap between herself and Smalls. But she regretted it.
Smalls felt this too, and she could tell. She always could, with him. A firework shot up into the sky, exploding into a bright orange and pink. Smalls jumped, and gripped Heather's hand. When he realized that It was only a firework, he flushed and quickly let go.
"Sorry." He mumbled. Heather smiled shyly at him, and he glanced at her, face still bright red. They watched the fireworks for a long time, and after a moment Heather realized that the more fireworks went off, the tenser Smalls' became. Putting the embarrassment and awkwardness from earlier behind her, she stated,
"You don't like fireworks, do you?" Smalls hesitated,
"I'm fine-"
"Smalls, I can see you're not." The gentleness of her voice seemed to have an effect on him, and after a pause, he admitted,
"No. I don't like fireworks." Heather slid her hand into his, and this time neither of them pulled away.
"Do you want to tell me about it?" Smalls considered that, and then shook his head.
"No. Not really." He glanced up at the sky, which was now explosion-free. "It's over anyways." But Heather could tell that it wasn't, not really, not for him.
"Oh no," Small muttered. Heather glanced up from her book. Wilfred was making there way towards them. She didn't see what was unusual about that.
"What's the matter?" She asked, turning a page.
"Nothing."
"You can't lie." She contradicted. Smalls sighed.
"He's going to go and make me talk to people." Heather looked up from her book.
"You're talking to me right now."
"Yes, but that's…..." His voice trailed off, and he looked embarrassed. He paused, glanced from Wilfred to her, and then down to the group of people, and sighed.
"You two look like you've had a quiet evening." Wilfred noted as he reached them. Smalls leaned back against the tree, closed his eyes, and didn't respond. Heather shot a look at him that he also ignored.
"Very quiet." Heather replied for him. Wilfred raised an eyebrow and glanced at Smalls. "He's in a mood." Heather explained. Smalls opened his eyes at that.
"No, I'm not." He disagreed.
"If you say so." Heather shrugged, returning to her book. Why was she constantly being interrupted? Smalls blinked at her for a moment, and then, apparently deciding not to pursue and argument, closed his eyes again. Wilfred shook his head.
"Somehow, whenever I appear, the mood suddenly gets worse." He commented.
"He doesn't want to go and socialize." Heather explained. "He's been complaining about it."
"No I haven't," Smalls protested, "I said one thing about not wanting to."
"So you are awake." Wilfred said, smiling. Smalls ignored him. Wilfred raised an eyebrow. "You know-"
"Heather, would you come dance with me?" Smalls asked abruptly. Heather looked up, surprised. Wilfred laughed, and Smalls turned suddenly very red.
"I'm not going to stop you." Wilfred said, raising his hands as Heather glanced at him. "Go on, enjoy yourselves."
"We were just fine before you came." Smalls muttered, but he stood and offered Heather his hand to help her up.
"Try to have a good time." Wilfred said, shooting a brief look at Smalls, who shrugged absent-mindedly and stared down at the bonfire, where the dancing had begun.
For all of Smalls' complaints before, his mood seemed to improve the longer he danced with her. Heather could sense eyes on them the entire time, scrutinizing, tongues wagging when they thought they weren't listening. Heather knew that Smalls was aware, but he didn't show it. He just smiled like they weren't there. Like she was the only one there.
The way he looked at her made her feel something she couldn't put into words. It was warm, and calm, and something she had felt before but in a different way, though she couldn't remember when or where. It was…...nice. That was too weak a word, Heather thought, but at the time she couldn't come up with anything better.
It began to grow late, and mothers and children began to disappear from the celebration, followed closely by the elderly rabbits. Lord Rake looked as if he wished that the rest of the party would go home so that he could too. Helmer had vanished suspiciously to wherever he went to sleep, and Wilfred looked ready to. Gort and most of his apprentices had disappeared long before, carrying off most of the pots and pans (including anything alcoholic, and a good thing too, in Heather's opinion) and leaving one sleepy-eyed helper to keep an eye on Gort's food.
Picket wandered over to Heather after a break in the dancing.
"Having a good time?" Heather asked.
"Uh-huh." Came his astute reply. "Jo's having a better one, though. Emma must really be in a good mood tonight."
"Hm. Don't engage in gossip, Picket. It only causes trouble."
"Of course, you would say that." Picket snorted.
"Because it's true." Heather said, ignoring the implications. Picket shuffled his feet, looking a bit embarrassed.
"Well, yeah." He admitted. "But it isn't my fault if other people do it." Heather raised and eyebrow at him and sighed.
"What did you hear, Picket?" Picket's eyes widened.
"What? Nothing! I didn't hear anything!"
"That is a blatant lie." Heather said flatly. Picket glanced around, as if looking for a mode of escape, and, failing to find one, sighed.
"Don't get mad. And don't tell Smalls I told you. I think he'd kill me." It felt like someone had dropped a stone into Heather's stomach.
"Never mind." She murmured. "I can guess." Picket cringed.
"Sorry. I've told some of the other soldiers to shut up about it, but it spreads anyways."
"It's fine Picket. Go make sure Jo isn't about to do something he'd regret." Heather replied absently. Picket stood there for a moment, eyeing her with wariness and sympathy, before turning to walk back towards Jo. Smalls re-appeared then, looking tired (Heather wasn't surprised-she was pretty sure he was only getting about three hours of sleep per night, tops) but smiling once he saw her. Heather smiled back, hiding her discomfort and mortification behind a cheerful mask.
"It's late, isn't it?" Smalls said quietly, sitting beside her.
"Nearly one in the morning, if you're interested in knowing." Heather replied softly.
"I think I might go to bed." Smalls remarked.
"Really?" Heather asked, voice a bit skeptical. Smalls smiled sheepishly.
"Maybe. I'm tired."
"I never could have guessed." Heather replied, her voice turning mischievous and sarcastic.
"I deserve that." Smalls decided. Heather yawned, covering her mouth and blushing as she did so. "You're just as tired as me." Smalls said, smiling a bit as Heather's flush deepened.
"I think I'm going to go to bed." Heather determined.
"Would you mind if I walked you there?" Heather hesitated, and then replied,
"No, not at all."
"Heather…...I-I have something for you." Heather turned her head at Smalls' voice. His normally calm, in-control demeaner had been replaced by a nervousness and awkwardness that was unusual for him. It wasn't odd for gifts to be given over the solstice, but something felt different about this.
They were standing just outside her room, quite alone, without anyone at all around them. Heather realized that she liked being alone with him, liked being able to speak and know that only he would hear. He handed her something wrapped in brown paper, and Heather slowly opened it. A necklace. That surprised her, because she hadn't expected anything from him in the first place and certainly not this. Her mind raced with a thousand meanings for it, but in the end, she could only say 'thank you'.
She wanted to hug him, but felt that, somehow, that wouldn't be appropriate. Instead, she said softly,
"It's beautiful. Thank you." Smalls smiled at her, and she lit up inside, the warmth from before making a reappearance.
"Good night, Heather." Smalls said. Heather wondered if she just imagined it, but his voice sounded just a bit raspier than normal.
"Good night."