Iylaine gets out

Iylaine lay perfectly still in the dark. She could hear Wynna breathing softly in the other bed, and behind the wall she could hear Bedwig tossing in his sleep and little Gytha lying quietly, only giving her thumb the occasional suck. From across the hall she heard Alwy’s slow snoring, the baby breathing through pursed lips, and Gunnilda’s restless stirring.

It was Gunnilda that worried her. Gunnilda acted as if she didn’t pay attention to Iylaine’s comings and goings, but recent experience had taught her that Gunnilda knew very well where she had gone and when she would likely return. All that mattered was that she didn’t go somewhere she shouldn’t.

But Iylaine knew well that, wherever she might go tonight, Gunnilda would not approve of the excursion. Thus she had to wait until Gunnilda fell asleep – and pray it be before the baby woke to nurse.

The wait was exhausting, but she did not fear she would fall asleep. She nearly trembled with nervousness, or excitement, or something she could not quite name.

Finally, though, Gunnilda’s breathing slowed, and she too lay still, and then Iylaine crept out of bed. She did not dare dress, but she pulled her cloak on over her nightgown and went out the front door.

She took a deep breath of the night and ran down the hill towards the trees. It was beautiful, beautiful, and she was free! Never had she felt so alive. It was her birthday, and she was twelve. It seemed a momentous thing. She longed to shriek her joy and be free with her voice and lungs as well, but she knew her liberty ended there. She hoped she would be able to share it otherwise than shouting it at the world.

She stopped at the edge of the woods and breathed deeply the smell of the damp, leaf-​​rich soil and the honeylike sweetness of the sticky buds on the trees. She closed her eyes and listened to the velvety rustling of the soft, new leaves, and the sound of the brook running over stones, and the faint croaks and squeaks and stirrings of all the tiny animals that came alive at night and in the spring, as she did. 

She opened her eyes again and took a last look at the stars and the sliver of bright moon.

She wanted to fix this moment in her mind. She was old enough and honest enough to admit she stood a good chance of being disappointed. But just then she was free and happy and full of hope, the whole forest before her, and she wanted to remember that feeling for the dark nights that would surely follow, and which would surely be many.

She smiled to herself and stepped into the woods. Though her eyes had not yet adjusted to the sudden dark, she continued smiling and continued walking with perfect trust, and stepped neatly into her cousin’s arms.