A dream. Or perhaps a memory.

  A monster, pitch-black, darker than dark itself, screaming - a sound torn between agony and utter despair. A blinding light came down upon it.

  A smiling woman. Beautiful. Kind.

  She held him close, her warmth a shield against the freezing terror of the world he'd been born into.

  The slosh of water as she set him upon a river.

  A whisper. Gentle. Eternal. Important. Words that were sealed within his heart. Be strong, Quimor. Be kind, Quimor.

  "You're awake."

  The voice was low, smooth like river stone. Paley opened his eyes, the pre-dawn greyness of the room stinging his vision. He was in a cottage. The air smelled of dried sage and old wool. Around him, shapes shifted under blankets - the other children, breathing in the quiet rhythms of deep sleep.

  He sat up too fast. The room spun.

  "Easy," the woman whispered. She was sitting in a chair by the door, a shawl pulled tight around her shoulders. He remembered her name, though he wasn't sure how.

  Paley swung his legs over the edge of the cot. The floorboards were bare and freezing. He noticed the older boy on the floor nearby - Teerom - curled up on a thin mat, having given up the mattress he was supposed to share with Adimia who was now sprawled across the entire frame.

  "I should go," Paley rasped, throat feeling like it was full of sand.

  Madella didn't move. "Go where? The city?"

  "I can work. Stables, maybe."

  "With no boots?" She gestured to his bare feet. "And hands that shake like that?"

  Paley looked down. She was right; his hands were trembling, a subtle vibration. He clenched them into fists to hide it. "I can't stay here. I can't afford it."

  Madella stood up, the chair creaking. She crossed the room to press a warm mug of broth into his hands. It smelled of onions and weak stock, but to Paley, it smelled grounding like life itself.

  "You don't pay for family, Paley," she said. "Drink. We'll talk more when you can stand without swaying."

  Paley stared into the broth. The steam hit his eyes, making them water. He wanted to argue, to explain that he was just too much trouble or perhaps even dangerous, a thought that was all too natural to him. But the heat of the mug seeped into his palms. It anchored him. He nodded, unable to find words, and drank.

  By midday, the sun had burned off the mist, but the river water was still numbing despite it being summer.

  Teerom waded ahead, scanning the treeline. He was older, lanky but moving with a heavy-footed confidence. "We're not looking for the green stuff," he called over his shoulder. "We need the grey husks. The ones the beetles have already eaten out of."

  Paley stumbled over a slick rock, catching himself before he soaked his only tunic. "Why the dead ones?"

  "Sap's already dry. Saves us three days of curing time." Teerom stopped, pointing a muddy finger at a twisted tree bleeding white resin. "Cotton-Trunk. Good find. Grab the lower branches."

  Paley hesitated. He reached up, gripping a branch as thick as his wrist. He pulled. The wood groaned but held fast.

  "Don't force it," Teerom said, wading over. He didn't offer to help; he just watched, believing in the growth that comes from trial and error. "You're using just your arms. Use your magic too."

  "Magic?"

  "You don't know what Magic is?"

  "No, I do know, just not how to use it."

  Teerom tapped his head, trying to recall how Rauba explained it, "Everyone has a little magic. Strength and Shielding mostly. Try finding the thing within you that buzzes or hums, just what you could call 'mana'"

  Paley strained, focusing. He felt silly, standing on mud, clutching a tree. But he closed his eyes and breathed. He felt for the 'buzz' and eventually found it. For him it was more of a 'flow'. "I think I found it."

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  "Good, now move it to your arm and imagine your arm getting stronger."

  He moved it like blood to his grip and arm and visualised increased strength. A branch like that would not have needed much to be broken off but for a skinny and fragile boy like Paley the Strength Magic went a long way. CRACK. It sheared off clean. Paley stumbled back, splashing into puddles of water.

  "Hey, nice. It worked." Teerom smiled.

  They spent the afternoon on the bank, stripping bark. Paley developed blisters on his thumbs, and the sap glued his hair to his forehead. Teerom's hammer was just a piece of junk - the head always wobbling loose, forcing him to stop and wedge it back in with a rock every ten or so minutes.

  "Stupid ass hammer," Teerom muttered, banging the hammer against the ground.

  "Why do you do it?" Paley asked, peeling a strip of bark. "Building beds for everyone?"

  "I don't just build beds, buddy. I'm the designated handy man of our orphanage." He joked, then shrugged. "When we first came here, we slept on the floor for a while. It's cold, man. Hard to have nice dreams when your teeth are chattering like crazy." He looked at the uneven frame they were assembling. "Everyone should have a spot that's theirs. Off the ground."

  Paley looked at the bed. It was lopsided. The joints were ugly. But it was sturdy.

  When they hauled the frame back to the cottage, the sun was dipping below the treeline. Bacha, a girl with hair like the nest of a bird, was hauling water buckets.

  She stopped dead and looked at the bed frame, then at the pile of fresh, springy moss and cotton they'd stuffed into a sackcloth cover. Her own sleeping spot was closer to a pile of straw.

  She didn't say anything. She just kicked a pebble, her jaw set tight.

  Teerom wiped sweat from his neck. "Paley's idea," he lied. "Built it for himself." In fact the whole thing was a blueprint Teerom had been thinking about for a long while to provide the orphans more comfort.

  Paley looked at Bacha. He saw the envy she was trying to hide, the exhaustion in her slump - she was a young girl after all, she couldn't keep up with Madella and Jurie in their chores no matter how hard she tried. He looked at the bed. It was the first thing he had made since waking up here. The first thing that was his.

  "It's too small for me," Paley said.

  Bacha looked up, suspicious and slightly annoyed he wasn't more grateful. "It's six feet long."

  "I toss and turn," Paley said. "I'd keep falling off it. You take it."

  Bacha narrowed her eyes, thinking maybe there was some trick waiting for her. When none came, her face broke into a smile she couldn't quite hold back. She dropped the buckets and ran her hand over the rough wood. "Serious?"

  "Serious."

  "I'm not doing your chores for it," she warned.

  "Deal," Paley said.

  She sat on it, bouncing slightly. A full grin cracking through. "Okay. Thanks... Paley."

  Madella, watching from the doorway, didn't say a word, she only wore a smile at the scene.

  The night was loud with crickets. Inside, the cottage was a chorus of snores.

  Paley couldn't sleep. Not because of the snoring. The floor was hard, and his mind was loud. He slipped out the back door, moving toward the pile of scrap wood they'd left by the river.

  He grabbed a branch and Teerom's not so trusty hammer. He wanted to make another one. Not for himself. He remembered Teerom's movements - the angle of the nail and how much strength he seemed to put into it.

  He tried to channel Strength magic again. He swung. The wood split down the middle. Completely ruined. He'd used too much strength.

  He tried again with a new piece. Again, too much strength. The nail bent sideways, crushing his thumb against the frame. He hissed from the searing pain, shaking his hand.

  On the third attempt, the frame stood for a moment before the legs splayed out, collapsing into a heap of kindling.

  Paley dropped the hammer. He sat in the damp grass, chest heaving. His thumb throbbed. He was exhausted, aching, and he had nothing to show for it. He wasn't a carpenter. What could he possibly do to help these kind people?

  "You're rushing the joint."

  Paley jumped. Teerom was leaning against the cottage wall, watching him. He hadn't heard him come out.

  "I ruined the wood," Paley said miserably.

  Teerom walked over, kicking the collapsed frame gently. "Yeah, you sure did, haha... Listen, the wood doesn't care about your magic if you don't respect the grain." He sat down on the grass next to Paley, picking up a splintered piece.

  "I can't pay Madella back," Paley whispered, the fear finally leaking out. "I can't even build a box."

  Teerom tossed the stick into the river and they watched it bob away in the moonlight.

  "You think I got it right the first time?" Teerom asked. "My first bed collapsed while Adimia was sleeping in it. He hit the floor so hard he bit his tongue. Still hasn't let me forget it." He seemed to almost be holding back laughter at the memory.

  Teerom leaned back on his hands, looking up at the stars.

  "You tried, Paley. You try, you fail, you fix it tomorrow. If mother cared about us because we could provide things to her, all of us wouldn't be here still."

  Paley looked at the river. The water was dark, moving endlessly toward a sea, a body of water whose appearance he did not remember. He listened to the water, and the breathing of the forest, and the boy beside him humming a tuneless song for some reason.

  "Tomorrow," Paley repeated.

  "Tomorrow," Teerom agreed. "Now let's go inside. It's freezing out here. You'd think it was still Autumn."

  Paley stood up. He left the broken wood where it lay, a problem for the morning light. He followed Teerom back toward the cottage, the door slightly ajar, spilling a thing line of warmth into the dark of the night.