In Which She Finally Touches Grass

Over the next three days, Airi drifted through a haze of fever. Every so often, the old woman would walk over and lay her hand on Airi’s forehead.

“Still feverish,” the old woman would mutter unhappily, and stump off to some corner of the room where Airi, lying down, couldn’t see her.

A while later, the old woman returned with a steaming bowl and a spoon, which she used to feed Airi. The heat of the soup did help to warm her, but...

How does it taste this bland? It’s practically water.

Airi was grateful when the final sip went down. She pretended to go to sleep, in case the old woman had any more.

The next thing she knew, grayish light streamed through the window. Across the room, another small bed had a blanket-covered lump on it, which Airi took to be the old woman.

Since the old woman appeared to be asleep, Airi sat up as quietly as she could. Which, apparently, was still too loud, because the lump on the other bed moved, and Airi saw that it wasn’t the old woman at all, but an old gray sheepdog who growled at her.

The front door opened, and in stepped the old woman, a basket over her arm. At the sight of Airi sitting up, she broke into a smile.

“Thank the stars,” she croaked, setting down her basket and hobbling over to the bed. Her leathery hand warmed Airi’s forehead. “Your fever’s gone down. How are you feeling?” Her cloudy green eyes regarded Airi with concern.

Airi shrank back uncomfortably. It was a little unnerving, being stared at so closely. “Fine. A little hot.”

The old woman cackled. “That’s good! You were cold as ice when I pulled you out of the river.”

Airi waited for the old woman to ask her what she’d been doing, swimming in a river at night. But the old woman only said, “Since you’re up, might as well have a bit of breakfast. Lucky for you, I’m up with the birds.” And she went to a cupboard and took out a loaf of bread.

Airi moved her limbs gingerly. All her injuries from the car crash seemed to have vanished, leaving her skin perfectly whole.

The moment she put her feet on the ground, the sheepdog leaped towards her and barked. The old woman said, “Have some manners, you great brute. This young lady is our guest.” She turned back to Airi, thoughtful. “Though it’s odd. I’ve never seen you around here. You must be new! But—where are my manners? I’m Lottie.”

Airi blinked. Lottie sounded like a name for a young girl, not the old woman looking at her with an expectant smile.

Oh, is she waiting for me to say my name?

“I’m Airi.”

“Eirene, what a pretty name,” said Lottie. Though her voice was raspy, her words rolled crisply, like a poem.

Eirene? Should I correct her? Maybe that’s a local name. I’d better use it from now on.

Birds chirped outside, filling the silence, during which Eirene desperately tried to think of something to say.

“The soup was delicious. Thank you,” she blurted. Another lie.

The corners of Lottie’s eyes crinkled. “No, thank you. You make me feel a little better about my cooking. But you haven’t tasted anything yet.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “My husband used to make the most amazing soup.”

Used to.

“Uh, your husband...” Eirene stumbled, unsure of what to say.

Lottie waved her hand as if swatting a fly. “Long gone. He always wanted to die before me, and who am I to begrudge him that?”

Eirene blinked. Lottie made it sound so casual. Unlike Dad, who had never, not once after Mom’s death, managed to say the words out loud.

Noticing Eirene’s confusion, Lottie smiled faintly. “At my age, grief is an old friend. It comes and goes, and I take care not to let it come too often.”

While Eirene marveled at Lottie’s words, the old woman moved around the room, opening shutters and slicing bread and cheese. Her dog bumped against her legs, and Lottie petted and spoke to him alternately.

Eirene walked over to the window. The glass was a bit dirty, but she wiped it with her sleeve. Outside, she saw a green haze that must be grass.

Her sleeve?

For the first time, Eirene looked down and noticed what she was wearing: a white dress, long-sleeved and a bit too frilly, in her eyes. The skirt puffed out from her waist and fell past her knees. It looked a bit like the lolita-style fashion that she saw people wear for fun.

Is this what the people of this world wear?

She pinched the fabric between her fingers. Light and breathable, suited to hot days under the sun. Cotton, maybe? She gave the dress an experimental spin, and it swirled around her in a froth of snowy fabric.

It’s very pretty. Even if it’s not too practical.

Next, she examined Lottie’s outfit while the old woman scrubbed away at vegetables in a pail. That might give her more clues about the world around her. Her eyes roved over Lottie’s faded apron, patched dress, and earth-caked boots. Combined with those ruddy, sunburnt cheeks, Lottie looked straight out of a fairytale, someone who might offer you a wish in exchange for bread and cheese.

Eirene approached the old woman and squatted beside her, hitching up her white skirts so they wouldn’t touch the stained floor. “Lottie, what do you do for a living?” For all she knew, the old woman could be a witch.

In response, the old woman jerked her thumb towards the door. “Have a look. Won’t hurt to get a bit of air after three days of being cooped inside, I should think.”

Cracking open the door, Eirene was met by a morning breeze, carrying the smell of grass and flowers. She didn’t think she’d ever smelled air this fresh. But there was another smell, too, a bit like a petting zoo.

Out in the distance, she saw rolling green headlands and a sky that looked like it had been squeezed out from a paint tube, the color was so richly blue. After living in the city all her life, where every street was packed to the brim with people and buildings and cars, this place looked a bit empty to Eirene. It was like a dream.

Her eyes traveled downwards and found the source of the petting-zoo smell: a flock of puffy white creatures that she’d seen as a child. “Sheep!” She poked her head back in the door, unable to keep a smile off her face. That demon hadn’t lied; this world was lovely. “You herd sheep, Lottie?”

“Aye, been doing it all my life.” Lottie piled the vegetables into a basket. “I’ll introduce you to them one day. They’re friendlier than they look, so there’s no need to be scared.”

They literally look like clouds.

“Can I go outside?”

Lottie waved her hand. “Explore, explore to your heart’s content. Young girls should be adventurous. You’re not from around here, eh?” And her green eyes peered into Eirene’s, full of curiosity.

“No,” Eirene replied truthfully. “No, not even close.”

Lottie stared at her a moment longer. “Alright. I won’t pry. You have your secrets, and I have my sheep. Only, take care to mind the sky and come back before dark.”

Mind the sky? Is that some kind of bizarre warning?

Eirene nodded at Lottie. “Okay, I’ll be back. Um, bye.”

Once she was outside, she walked through the springy grass, away from the cottage and towards the sheep, who bleated when she got close. She wore boots, too—a slim white pair that soon became speckled with dirt. The demon had really thought of everything.

But once Eirene had walked past the sheep, her momentum fizzled out. She stood there on the crest of the slope, gazing at the grassland before her. The town must be in the other direction, which was good. She didn’t want to deal with any more people right now.

How do you even explore this? It’s overwhelming!

She thought she saw white shapes moving in the distance, a little to the left. More sheep. Why not?

Walking amongst the flock of wild sheep, Eirene wondered about their existence. How was it that wild sheep still existed? Why had the townspeople not claimed them all?

Well, better for her, anyways.

The low bleating of the sheep was occasionally pierced by the higher bleats of lambs. Out of breath from all the walking, Eirene sat on a rock, shading her eyes from the sun, and watched them leap through the grass. Most of the time, the lambs kept close to their mothers.

Cute.

She’d never had a pet before. Would a lamb make a terrible first pet?

Eirene was pondering the best way to transport a lamb back to the cottage when a winged shape swooped out of the sky and into the flock. There were bleats of panic, and the sheep scattered, but it was too late. The thing winged back into the sky, blood dripping from its jaws, and a lamb lay dead in the grass below.

Those leathery wings and black scales, glittering in the sun. That thing was a dragon.

Mind the sky, she remembered Lottie saying.

All of a sudden, this world didn’t seem so lovely.

Sure, the dragon was smaller than Eirene had expected, but—those claws! And those teeth! Morbid curiosity drove her to run towards the fallen lamb, and she immediately wished she hadn’t. The smell of blood was ten times worse than the meat section at the grocery store. And the lamb’s side was ripped clean open, chunks of meat and squiggly organs torn away, like...

Eirene felt like throwing up. She swallowed effortfully and turned away from the gruesome sight.

Better it than me, she told herself, steeling her nerves.

On the second day, Eirene ventured farther than before. She didn’t encounter any people, but she did find more animals. Mostly sheep, but also a surprising amount of insects, like the crystal-winged butterflies and jeweled beetles that clung to her boots or crawled onto her dress. And another dragon. She had no idea if it was the same one as yesterday, but the scaly black creature seemed to always be circling the skies, waiting for the right moment to kill an unsuspecting lamb.

In the distance, she saw some kind of gigantic crystal formation, ice-colored and jutting out from the plains. At noontime, the light of the sun reflected off it and made her eyes water. But whenever she went more than a few steps towards it, she remembered the dragon. And she remembered that sheep had white wool, and she was wearing a white dress. She was practically a walking target.

That thought kept her from going out for the next few days. Finally, she plucked up the courage to ask Lottie.

“Lottie, what do you do about dragons, when you're out there?”

“Mm?” Lottie was stirring the soup for that night’s dinner. “Dragons, you say? Well, there’s not much you can do, is there? They usually go after sheep and the like. Easier prey, I should think.”

That didn’t do much to reassure Eirene. She needed a solution, and she wouldn’t find it with Lottie. So she forced herself to go out the next day, and that was when she found it: a lamb with black wool instead of white. It trailed a few steps behind its mother on unsteady legs. When Eirene approached it, it darted amongst the flock and tried to hide.

A shadow passed by overhead. Eirene ducked down into the grass and curled into a ball, which was her usual way of dealing with the dragon. Probably it wasn’t the most effective way, but she had no other choice.

Peering out, she watched the dragon circle the flock, sizing up the prey. It winged closer to the black lamb, who tried to run but stumbled and slipped.

Nooo!

But the dragon swooped down and attacked another lamb—a white one.

Eirene blinked at the dragon’s retreating wings.

Maybe it can’t see the black lamb very well. Does it have bad eyesight? She pressed a hand to her own black locks and looked back at the black lamb, safely nestled against its mother’s side.

Interesting. I wonder if that thing has enough wool to make me a cloak.

The next day, she returned with the goal of befriending the black lamb. She’d asked Lottie what lambs liked to eat, and her skirt pockets were filled with stalks of hay and wheat.

“Here, little lamb.”

The black lamb looked at the hay in Eirene’s hand and back at its mother, as if asking permission. After much coaxing and sweating under the sun, Eirene got it to walk over. When she reached out a hand to touch it, it quivered a little.

“There, see? Not so bad,” Eirene said in the soft voice she usually reserved for stray cats. A wild lamb wasn’t so different from a stray cat, really. Its wool was so soft, too. Eirene returned to the cottage in high spirits.

She thought about her new pet lamb all throughout dinner.

“My goodness, you must have been hungry,” said Lottie, watching the girl devour her third bowl of soup. “Would you like a bit more soup?”

“Hm?” That brought Eirene back to reality, and unfortunately, to the taste of the soup. “Oh, no. No, I’m fine, thanks.”

She decided to name the lamb Pepper. It seemed fitting for its stormy coat, and besides, that used to be her favorite seasoning, back in her old world. Seasoned food... it was almost enough to make a girl cry.