Chapter Text
It was far past the time Olethra Macleod should have been asleep, when the first round of knocks came on her door.
She didn’t even process it at first — the night was far too storm-filled for her to catch it above the gale-force winds, and, well… It was easy, tucked in her room with the waning light of her gas lamp illuminating all the photographs she’d taken of the skies and the airships she saw passing over the canyon sometimes, to ignore it.
Her parents would handle it — her dad had always been good at the whole ‘preventing visitors’ thing, be it religious townspeople, intruders or, god forbid, bank workers.
Olethra nestled further into her quilt, and closed her eyes —
But the knocks persisted, louder and more incessant this time. And her dad’s voice, normally accompanied by the click of a rifle, was uncharacteristically absent.
What had her dad said? She hadn’t paid attention when he spoke to her, far too immersed in her book as he ruffled her hair —
“We’ll be back by nightfall.”
Well, it was nightfall now, and they still weren’t back. Maybe they just got distracted in town? The guinea fowl required a lot of feed, and there was always a chance that the market had run out.
Either way, she was officially the oldest person in her house, and so it was up to her to answer the door.
Blinking sleep from her eyes, Olethra swung her legs off her bed, slipping into the hall and finding it empty. A clap of thunder shook the foundations of her house, but Olethra wasn’t scared.
She’d always loved the storms, even in november, but they turned Gulch Canyon into a funnel for wind and rain so violent it left the hair she’d spent the last few months growing out all messy and windswept, like a real Wind Rider.
Still, Olethra knew her mom would probably be upset if she got a cold, again .
Stepping into where the kitchen connected to the main hall and finding it deserted, Olethra suppressed a twitch of dread and pulled her dad’s spare overcoat onto her shoulders. The knocks continued, though they sounded more like hammers now.
Her left hand sifted through the pocket, before finally landing on her father’s penknife. She clutched it in one hand, and with the other, opened the door, hoping to god it wasn’t a banker, or she’d have to take them out herself.
Instead, the door opened, and Olethra found herself face-to-face with two people: a harsh, middle-aged-looking man with a sharp jawline in a crisp, striped suit — and, next to him, Comfrey Macleod.
She didn’t even have time to think — just launched herself into her grandma’s arms with a grin. It had been over a year since she’d last seen her; and while visits were so rare that she could count them on one hand, the ones that her grandma did make were always important.
This time, though, her grandma didn’t pick her up with a squeeze like she always did, and Olethra looked up. Her grandma’s face, though softening like it always did when she saw Olethra, was creased with something inexplicable.
And, though up until now, she’d been able to pass away every twinge of dread as late-night paranoia, now, it was unavoidable.
“What happened?” Olethra asked, stepping back. “And who is he?”
The man, still in the same position as before, finally cleared his throat and drew out some papers from his bag. “I’m correct in presuming you’re —” he paused, then, squinting at something on the paper — “Olethra Macleod? I could have sworn—”
“It is,” Olethra interrupted. In her peripheral vision, she saw her grandma stay completely unreactive, though that glimmer of adoration didn't seem to have changed. She knew, then. Perhaps she’d known before Olethra herself even did.
The man looked surprised, but quickly collected himself. “Ah. Congratulations, then, but we really should discuss the matter at hand—”
“You’re not from a bank, are you?”
“Not exactly,” he said. Olethra could’ve sworn she saw his jaw clench slightly. "I work, specifically, on legal matters. Which is, I'm afraid, what we're here to discuss."
Olethra blinked. "I don't - I don't understand," she managed, turning to her grandma to see if she could explain - but found herself facing a sight she'd rarely, if ever, seen. For once, there was no maniacal spark or gleam in her expression - and Olethra could've sworn she caught her eyes welling up with something she could only label as grief, until she blinked it away.
"Let's go inside, Olethra," Comfrey said, and Olethra's blood slowed to a sluggish crawl. "Just - I'll make us some tea."
The problem with grief was that for the ten years of Olethra's life up until now, it had been an utterly alien concept. It wasn't like Gulch Canyon was immune to tragedy - there was the occasional incident regarding gun violence in a local tavern, or the tornado that had swept away a good chunk of the farmland south of town a year or so ago. But it had never happened to Olethra, or anyone she knew specifically; and she'd never had to process it alone.
She wanted to say that time stretched out, after the news. That it was easy to get lost in the vast, empty expanse, that things came to a halt. But everything continued to pass by. Funeral preparations. Visits from neighbours. Empty condolences. Legal discussions she was much too young to understand. Legal discussions with words that meant nothing to her, other than that they were taking her away.
And now?
"-You're not taking me with you?"
Olethra looked up at her grandma, who, at the very least, didn't look happy about it either. "You know I don't want to-"
"Then do it! You - you know I've always wanted to, I could help! I could make myself useful!"
"And you will. After all, I still believe you'll be the next greatest Wind Rider. It's just… logistics. I'm doing what I can, Olethra," Comfrey said, bending down and dabbing at Olethra's tear-streaks with a handkerchief. She didn't even have the energy to fuss about it. "It'll only be for a month or two. And I, along with the legal staff, found a family that'll be good, in the meantime."
"But I can't - I can't be alone," Olethra protested. "I can't stay with some family you don't even know -"
"That, at least, is sorted. The family in question have known ours for a long time. They wouldn't let anything bad happen to you - it'll be alright," her grandma said, squeezing Olethra's hands. "I promise. A month or two, just to tie up some loose ends."
Olethra sniffed. "I - I still don't want to."
In response, though, her grandma just reached into her jacket and drew out a small piece of parchment, delicately rolled up with a silk ribbon. "Here. This is in case you miss me in the meantime - but it's also a surefire was of saying I'll be back, soon enough. Understood?"
Olethra unrolled it tentatively, only to find the poem she'd only ever heard in the context of the Wind Riders, but had shaped so many of her childhood dreams. Eyes brimming with tears, she nodded.
"Good. Now, tuck that into your dress and put your boots on - they'll be outside soon enough," Comfrey said, "and you'll be just fine."
Still, as she picked up the packing box and left her bedroom for what would possibly be the last time, Olethra couldn't help but spare a glance out of the window and up at the clouds. She'd be there soon enough. For a month or two, she could handle just about anyone.