One morning, when Fell was gone only for a few moments and Mira had planned happily to go back to sleep for a few hours, Myret paid her a visit. Mira had not spoken to the woman since Myret witnessed her fit. Every time their gazes met at the hearth, Mira could tell that the woman was waiting for her to come and speak about the incident; Mira could not. She was ashamed of it and afraid to discuss the things that worried her—she’d only just managed to get everything out of her mind.

First, Myret felt along her stomach and said all was well. Second, she made a spicy warming tea that Mira fell in love with and craved for the rest of the days her child was within her. It coated her throat and left her stomach feeling heated from within, and had a festive, peppery scent.

After this was done, Myret pulled out a little pouch made from soft brown fur.

“Bear’s fur,” Myret said. “I have made it for you.”

Mira thought the gift sweet until she felt the weight of it in her hands.

“There is something inside?”

Myret nodded, and Mira pulled the little leather drawstrings and reached a few fingers into the fluffy warmth. She plucked out a small, green stone and recognized the diamond with a strike through it.

Remember me? The piece felt like it was snickering.

Mira dropped the stone back into the bag before Myret had the chance to see which bone she’d pulled.

“I carved them myself; all are gyndlestone. I do not know why, but this shade of green is what I think of most when I see you.”

Mira did not want to be impolite, but she could not imagine why Myret had thought to give her such a gift.

Her face must have shown her feeling, for Myret cackled. “You are to be the mother of a Northern child. You must rid yourself of the fears you hold now to make way for the new ones that come when you meet your child and feel the weight of another’s life in your hands. I will help you. It is better to do this with a friend than alone.”

Mira knew there was some wisdom in the woman’s words; she did not want to be a cowardly mother, but still, she did not like that Myret had chosen this fear for her to work on first.

“You need not worry. They will tell you nothing about yourself, but if you wish, you may read for others.”

Mira had no desire to cast or read stones for others.

“You are already skilled with this; they speak to you with feeling. I see this. I think this is why you are frightened of them.” Myret smiled. “I did not like them either when I first saw them used. I can show you how to find the words for these whispers; then, your fear will be weaker. Besides, I think this might help with your struggles.”

This caught Mira’s attention, though she tried not to show it.

“We have not spoken of what I saw, but it is simple. You were overcome with fear. You were so afraid you could not breathe or speak. I think facing a small fear like this might help.”

For three days, the stones sat untouched, murmuring: come and play with us.

When Myret came again to feel Mira’s stomach and brew her more of the warming tea, the woman asked Mira to take the stones out and read for her.

“What do I do?”

“You cast them and tell me what they say to you; tell me something about myself.”

Mira sighed in disbelief but took a small handful of stones out of the bear-skin pouch and tossed them to the floor. She looked at them for a few moments to be polite, planning to say that she saw nothing other than stones. But quickly, she realized this to be a lie. One stone, in particular, caught her eye.

“What is the name of this one?”

“That is strength.”

Mira knew it was more than that. “And this one?”

“Love, but it is more…there are two love stones, this one speaks to the love between a man and a woman, the romantic love.”

“And of laying together?”

“Yes.” Myret laughed. “It can be that as well.”

Mira asked about a few more stones, but after those two, a story developed in her mind. She could not explain where it had come from or why strength and love made her think of it.

Finally, Myret stopped her questions. “Tell me what you see so far.”

“I think of something, but it is terrible. I should not even like to say it.”

“Say it anyways.”

“Your father….” Mira began. In the story laid out by the stones, strength was Myret’s father. She looked up to Myret to see if she was anywhere near accurate, but the woman’s face revealed nothing. “He…” Mira could not bring herself to say it, so she pointed at the love stone. “He was this way with you.”

She peeked back up at the woman and knew her words were true; Myret’s eyes were wide and watery and full of sorrow.

She must have a chest in her mind then, too, Mira thought.

The woman began to laugh. “I had not expected you to go so deep so quick. But you see now; you see what you can do? I have known you could read since we first met.”

From then onwards, each time Myret visited with Mira, they would discuss a new stone and all the different meanings its symbol could have. Often, Myret was impressed with the associations Mira made, and they would end up speaking of Mira’s first language and the single words that meant many things there.

As the whispers of autumn began to grow louder, Mira became less afraid of the stones. She found the shrinking of her fear a pleasing sensation—it felt good to be brave, though a little voice whispered to her that she was, in truth, cowardly—she took great care not to discuss the stone she had gotten three times in a row: the crossed-out diamond. She did not want to know what that one meant.