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"Your supper will be brought," he told Kira. "You're not alone here. The Carver
lives down the hall, on the other side." He gestured with his hand to a closed
door.
"The Carver? Do you mean the boy named Thomas?" Kira was startled. "He
lives here too?"
"Yes. You are welcome to visit his room. You must both work during the
daylight hours, but you may take your meals with the Carver. Familiarize yourself
with your quarters now, and your tools. Get some rest. Tomorrow I will go over
your work assignment with you.
"I'll lead the boy and the dog out now."
She stood in the open doorway and watched them retreat down the long
corridor, the man leading the way, Matt walking jauntily just behind him, and the
dog at Matt's heels. The boy looked back at her, waved slightly, and grinned with
a questioning look. His face, smeared with the sticky candy, was alight with
excitement. She knew that within minutes he would be telling his mates that he'd
barely escaped being washed. His dog too, and all the fleas; a close call.
Quietly she closed the door and looked around. Kira found it hard to sleep. So
much was strange.
Only the moon was familiar. Tonight it was almost full, flooding her new living
space with silvery light through the glass of her windows. On such a night back in
her other life, in the windowless cott with her mother, she might have risen to
enjoy the moonlight. On some moonlit nights she and her mother slipped outside
and stood together in the breeze, slapping at mosquitoes and watching the clouds
slide past the bright globe in the night sky.
Here, through a slightly opened window, night breeze and moonlight entered
her room together. The moonlight slipped over the table in the corner and washed
across the polished wooden floor. She saw her sandals paired beside the chair
where she had sat to remove them. She saw her walking stick leaning in the
corner, its shadow outlined on the wall.
She saw the shapes of the objects on the table, the things that Matt had
brought, bundled, to her. She wondered how he had chosen. Perhaps it had been
rushed, with the fire starting; perhaps he had simply grabbed what he could with
his impetuous, generous small hands.
There was her threading frame. She thanked Matt in her mind. He had known
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