The snowflakes fall, and the nights still crawl,

after chasing the daylight away.

But hearts are brighter,

the loads seem lighter,

now 'tis the mornin', after yesterday.

Cold is still cold,

old folk are still old,

and on a workday one still has to work.

A dream dreamt will still be a dream.

But, be that as it may,

'tis still the mornin', after yesterday.

Oh, glorious mornin'!

Still so chill and bleak,

but now the sad ones try smilin',

and seekers try findin' what they seek.

'But why?' you say.

'tis the mornin', after yesterday.

For on this mornin'

One finds hope,

And a drowning man tries to fight anew,

In an attempt to find a boat.

And maybe a boat shall be around this day!

For 'tis the mornin', after yesterday.

Why? 'Cause Midwinter's gone.

The bleakest, longest night has gone.

Gone, for another year.

Oh! now 'tis the mornin', after yesterday.

This seemingly every other day.

That gives an ailing man some cheer.

For that night described, so bleak and long,

Has gone for another year.

For 'twas yesterday night, my friends.

Winter is near its end.

For 'tis the mornin', after yesterday.

Kitty Ryan: 2002


Midwinter Luck

Part Two of Three


By: Kitty Ryan

Genre: Romance/Humour/ a touch of poetry

Rating: PG


Authors Note: Midwinter Luck is a light hearted little piece of writing that -- though it stands perfectly well by itself -- is also a companion to Focus. Personally, I recommend reading it in conjunction with its companion.


It was the fourth day of a holiday. As soon as the watchtower called the twelfth hour after the sun had set in the west, there would be exactly four more days left until most went to work again. For some, work kept on throughout, holiday or no. But everyone felt glad that in a matter of months, the warmth would come again. And cold, windy evenings like this one would be a thing of the past, until Time made them return. This was more than a windy evening. Some would call it a lager than average gale. But -- in one place at least -- the intrusive winds and the cold made no impression. It did nothing to dull the laughter that could be heard coming out of the sprawling building that was enclosed in the stone walls of Tortall's palace. The building where lanterns flickered showing many dark shadows; those of horses and stalls, a slender reptilian shape whose amber eyes glowed in the twilight, and two humans -- enjoying each others company. Both secretly wondering if -- once this holiday was over - they would see the others face again. The same wondering that crept into many other people's minds of late. As much as folk hated to admit it. Though the war was over, there was still danger. After all that had happened these past months, one had a right to feel uneasy. Some felt they'd never be quite safe again.

"Miri, I've always respected your judgement, an' you've like a fair sister to me over the years, but… you can not be serious!"

"Oh, you have no idea, Sweetling. No idea."

The one referred to as 'Sweetling', glowered at the freckled, mischievous looking woman -- only just out of girlhood -- lounging in a bale of hay as luxuriously as any cat. In fact, in the dim light of the tack stall, with her green eyes, small cleft chin and self-satisfied expression, Miri looked like one. A cat in the palace stables, chewing on a grass stem and saying the most idiotic things imaginable. Daine - for that was 'Sweetling's name - sniffed contemptuously.

I'm not writing any poetry for anybody," she said firmly, throwing hay at the other young woman for emphasis. "Especially not Numair."

Oh, fine then!" Miri, picking straw out of her short dark hair, pouted, taking on a wounded air. "I just thought it would make an impression."

"Oh, an 'impression', was it?" Daine, her eyebrows somewhere in her hairline, searched Miri's face, which (of course) was pure, pure innocence. "We-ell… it certainly would make an impression, and scare him off for life!"

Miri giggled. "And that's a bad thing because?

"Miri!"

Oh, sorry, lovie. I can't help it; he's too cute. Besides, Master Salmalìn needs --" Miri paused, throwing her head back dramatically, hands clasped to her hay covered breast. Daine's eyebrows continued their ascent.

"Master Salmalìn needs what?"

"An older woman."

Eyebrows unable to rise any further, and amazed with the absurdity of this statement, Daine guffawed. "Oh, and you are so much closer to him in age, aren't you." She managed to choke out. At this, Miri drew herself up haughtily.

"You appear to be forgetting, my dear child, that I am two years your senior."

"Aah, yes, Miri." Daine said gravely, her blue-grey eyes wide, "that makes a fair difference. You only twelve years younger than him, 'stead of fourteen."

"Hmph." Miri muttered, chewing savagely on her grass stem. "Every year counts."

Daine stopped laughing, abruptly. Her face clouded over "Odd's bobs! Don't you start harping on at me 'bout being some sort of badly brought up babe who doesn't know any better, or it being wrong for Numair and I to be together, or --"

Miri looked panicked. Scrambling over to her friend, hay flying every which way, the young woman put a comforting arm around Daine's shoulders and squeezed her tight enough to cause protest. To complete the picture; an upset sounding whiny filled the room -- starting from a nearby stall -- and a sky-blue streak raced into the small room and threw itself at the two of them. Chattering angrily all the while. "Blood and ashes, Daine." She whispered fervently. "Don't you listen to those flaming, useless shrivel-brained conservative idiots! They should go and bloody well throw themselves in a bloody well for saying such things." Daine stared at Miri for a second, her mouth open in a silent 'o'. "What, sweetling, are you shocked?" Miri grinned. "You shouldn't be, you of all people. You've lived on the boarder of bloody Scanra! Anyway, I've lived on the docks all my life, remember? I know far more than just that. Enough to make Coram Smytheson blush after he's been drinking."

Daine smiled slightly, soothing Kitten with one hand. "Sorry for blowing up like that an' all. It's just…just hard, loving a man who keeps on proposing to you when you're not ready and being muttered about in doorways like you're some sort of light-skirt whose nothing more than she ought to be."

"Well, Ms Sarrasri, you do know what they say about Numair's lovers." Miri's eyes glinted, more cat-like then ever, as she watched Daine blush to the roots of her hair.

" Fine friend you are," Daine muttered. "Acting like a foul-mouthed fish-wife's daughter if anyone insults my relationship, and then having a go at me yourself."

"That's what friends do, dearie. And don't you glare at me like that," Miri dodged a blow, "it gives you wrinkles. Numair wouldn't like it. Anyway, I have every right to be jealous; you being two years younger than me and catching a tall, dark and absolutely gorgeous man with nice eyes and a sophisticated vocabulary and --"

"And he's mine." Daine grinned, "anyway, you've got Evin. Who isn't too shabby himself, though he does pull foodstuffs out of innocent folks ears."

Miri looked surprisingly sober for a moment, examining her grass stem thoughtfully. It was now chewed beyond salvation. "Oh, yes. I love the boy to death. 'To death' being the essential factor, something which Evin flaming noble Larse can't get through his thick skull!" Daine clucked sympathetically, now it was her turn to hug her friend around the shoulders. Everyone knew that being the only survivor of a surprise attack on his rider group --the Seventh -- six months previous had shaken Evin Larse to his core. Blinking hard, Miri leaned against the younger girl a moment before continuing. "The last time I talked to him, Evin just looked at me and told me - straight to my face - that if he couldn't even look after his own Rider group than he couldn't look after me, and he had no intention of giving me widows black for a wedding gift. Well, I just looked at him right back and told him - straight to his own bloody face - that I had never heard so much absolute drivel in my entire life, and that he was acting far too much like the Player's son that he was, for my liking. Told him that I had no intention of putting up with it for a moment longer and I had just as much chance getting knocked out of the saddle by an arrow as much as the next man or woman. Told him that I happen to wear the flaming Rider badge too and that I wasn't the little fifteen-year-old who was scared of the saddle any more!" A tear made its way down Miri's face, she sniffed. "I told him all of that, and that I loved him with all my stupid heart and there was nothing he could do about it. You know what he did after that, friend? All he did was lean forward, the way he used to do when he was going to kiss me, then turned on his heel and walked away."

They were both silent for a while, reflecting. Watching the shadows creep in around them and listening to the wind trying in van to follow the shadow's example. Kitten was curled up in a ball on Daine's lap, her eyes half closed. Cloud ruminated on how two-leggers could be the most blind, stupid creatures on earth--particularly those of the male variety. In a little, dilapidated house on Filigree St, Middle City, which was wedged like an afterthought between the brewery and the apothecary, Volney Rain sat with a small velvet box in one hand and a steaming mug of tea in the other. Staring idly at a portrait he named 'Lady Venezia: done in soy' and wondering when his Midwinter picture from his nephew would arrive. ("Such a talented boy, mmph-hmph!) And in his palace rooms, doors barred both with iron and magic, Numair Salmalìn sat at his desk in a sea of ink spattered paper. He seemed to be trying to write a letter.

Finally, Miri stirred, brushing her cheeks with one hand. "Well Daine, I'm not going to stand for it."

"Stand for what?"

"Evin acting the way he is." Miri said calmly, shifting in the straw. "Numair might be fine with being refused every time he asks you, but I am not going to be entangled in this 'pledged but not betrothed' situation any longer.

"Pledged but not betroth--?"

"Don't be obtuse, Veralidaine." Miri stuck her tongue out at her companion, despite the seriousness of what she was saying. "You know what I mean. It's not like I'm going to marry anybody else whilst Evin's alive and complaining. As much as I fantasize about your lover, surely that much obvious? I just want to make things official."

Daine stared, "But I thought you said --" she started to say, looking and feeling just a touch bewildered.

Miri smiled wickedly, pulling out a small circular box out from a pouch at her waist. It seemed to be made out of smooth grey stone and, as Daine found out when her friend pressed it into her palm, was surprisingly heavy. The stone was pleasantly cool to the touch. "Go on, open it."

Daine did. Inside, shinning up at her, was a wide silver band. Silently, she tipped it onto her palm, and examined it closely, an expression of delight and shock materialising on her features. It was a ring. A ring with two absolutely cunning dolphins --opposite each other, one with nose facing up and the other down, so that the net effect looked like a circle--engraved on it. Perfect in every minuscule detail. "Miri," she said at last, carefully putting the lovely thing back in its box, "is this…is this what I think it is?

"I know that these things traditionally have whopping great diamonds on them," Miri mused, looking pensive. "Do you think I should have ordered diamonds, Daine? Tell me."

"It's perfect." Daine said simply. Miri sagged against the wall in relief. "Truly perfect. Though the thought of --"

"Well, I thought that I might as well be the one giving the engagement ring." Miri laughed, patting Kitten on her little blue head. "Though," she added thoughtfully, "if Evin thinks I'm going to get down on one knee for anybody then he's got another thing coming. But at least this way he might get the hint." Leaning over, she took the precious box away from Daine's unresisting hand and kissed it. "The only thing I know is that I intend to add 'Larse' to my name by the end of the week." Miri said seriously, looking Daine straight in the face. "Two weeks, if I must. That's about all I know these days, with the Immortals War barely over and all its repercussions coming to haunt us. That's all I know."

Daine, her face equally serious, looked her friend up and down. A few minutes ago, she had seen a laughing, green-eyed, mischievous girl who sometimes reminded her of a cat. The girl who she had taught to ride and be one with her horse. The girlhood friend who she had giggled and sat with in the mess room. Now, in the place of that familiar girl, Daine saw an adult. An adult who made adult decisions and was willing to sacrifice herself for King, country and stupidity. An adult who was one of the best Riders Tortall had ever seen. An adult who was willing to go without a pretty ring on a certain finger, so that the man she loved might take the hint by wearing it himself. An adult who always made time to laugh, and helped her friends laugh with her. Daine had thought she herself was an adult for a long while now--she certainly wasn't a child--but, looking at Miri, Daine knew that she had a bit of growing up to do yet.

"Actually, come to think of it, I'm glad I didn't get diamonds." Miri said absently, breaking the silence.

"Mmm… I agree, they would have looked daft."

"You think so, Daine?" Miri looked perplexed, "I just thought I'd go into debt."

"Trust me, Sweetling," Daine smiled, ignoring her friend's glare. "They would look daft."

"Oh, okay."

Daine suddenly hugged Miri for all she was worth, much to her surprise, and let go only after the young woman was sure her ribs were starting to creak. "Midwinter luck to you: Miri Larse." She said by way of explanation, "Midwinter luck."

Miri squeaked in a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment. So that was how the name she'd been repeating to herself for over two years now sounded on someone else's tongue. She smiled brightly, not a cat-like smile this time, a real smile. "Thank you so much. And the same to you: Veralidaine Salmalìn." The cat-smile returned as Daine hurled straw at her.

"No more of that, now," she said, pouting. "I'll be ready when I'm ready."

"When? One day he's going to stop asking, you know that, don't you."

"If I'm not ready, then I won't care!" Daine retorted. "You can't win this, Miri."

"Oh, what happened to 'Miri Larse'?"

"I'll call you that again if you're good."

"No fair!" This petulant statement was greeted by silence, "all right, I'll be good."

"Good."

"So," said Miri, after a while, "are you sure about the poetry?" The expression on Daine's face made an old rhyme come to Miri's mind: 'if eyes were knives then we'd all be dead. So I'm glad they're plain ol' glares instead. Why? 'Cause I don't want to die!'

"Alright then. I'll leave you be with the poetry. But, Daine…"

"Yes…?"

"What are you getting him?"

Daine's smile was positively evil. "Aah me, that would be telling.


Disclaimer: The place in which this story is set, and the characters within it, are the creations of one Tamora Pierce, I understand and respect this and do not claim them as my own. The poem and the rhyme, however, are mine, and shall be treated as such.