The village had settled into its quiet night rhythm. Crickets sang softly, and somewhere far off, an owl called out once. Lisa wrapped me in a thick wool shawl, her arms warm and steady as she carried me outside for my first nighttime walk.
The moon hung low in the sky, silver and steady, casting a soft glow over the fields and cottages of the Valley of Joy.
Lisa settled down on a smooth stone near the village wall, the tall stone barrier that circled our little home. The world beyond was a mystery, but here, everything felt safe.
"This place," Lisa said, brushing a loose curl from my forehead, "is called Asthraith. And the village where we live... it's the Valley of Joy."
I hummed softly, a small sound of agreement, feeling safe and warm.
Lisa smiled, eyes shining in the moonlight. "Harold and I have been here a long time. The days are hard—filled with work—but the nights…" She paused, voice dropping to a quiet whisper. "The nights are different."
I tilted my head, curious. "Different how?" I asked, my voice small and soft.
Lisa chuckled, a warm sound that made the night feel even softer. "After the chores are done and the fire is low, Harold and I get close. Really close. Holding each other tight, feeling the warmth."
She shifted me gently. "Sometimes," she said, "when the fire is just right, Harold hums. Or he sighs. And if I'm lucky, the night hums back."
I giggled quietly.
Hold each other tight, huh? Like wrestling a sack of grain, I thought with a small smile.
Lisa's voice lowered, teasing now. "It's a kind of music only we hear. Quiet but strong."
Quiet but strong, huh? Like Harold's chest, or maybe something else, I thought, barely holding back a grin.
I nodded slowly, humming in agreement—sweet on the outside, but roasting her inside.
"Quiet but strong? Bet Harold's not the only thing humming after dark," my thoughts teased.
Lisa shifted me again, voice softer now. "Sometimes, when he's holding me close and the night is warm... I feel a heat that no water can put out."
I blinked up at her, wide-eyed. "Heat you can't put out?"
Her cheeks colored faintly. "Just grown-up things," she said quickly. "You'll understand someday."
Grown-up things? Like how to hide embarrassment while talking about your parents' nights to a baby? I thought, amused.
Then, bold beyond my years, I blurted, "Is that the heat that makes the moon jealous?"
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Lisa froze. Her eyes locked on me, wide and bright, as if the tiny mouth speaking such words belonged to some ancient spirit, not her one-year-old daughter.
"You… you said what?" she stammered.
I blinked, suddenly aware of how adult my words sounded.
Quickly, I babbled, "Look! The moon is so bright tonight!"
Lisa blinked, then laughed nervously, shaking her head and running a hand through her hair. "You're a very… special child."
I smiled sweetly, perfectly innocent while inside I was cracking up.
'So, Mom, when you say "hold me tight" and "heat no water can put out," you mean you're just passionate about your stew? Because that's the only heat I smell,' I thought, smirking.
The moment hung between us like a secret.
Lisa's smile softened. She pulled me close.
"Always distracting, aren't you?" she said softly. "But yes, the moon is bright tonight, and so are you."
We sat quietly, watching the moon drift slowly across the sky.
Sleep crept in, slow and gentle.
Lisa laid me down on her lap, the rough fabric of her skirt soft beneath me.
I stared up at the moon, its silver light stirring something deep inside.
Memories flickered—another life, another mother, cold and distant, lost in endless worry and politics.
I remembered being older then, with no one to tuck me in, no lullabies, no warm hands holding me close.
But now…
I was the mother.
I cared for Lilly, my little sister. I was the one who held her, protected her, made sure she never felt alone.
A tear slipped down my cheek.
Here, in this quiet, warm moment with Lisa—this mother who held me like I mattered—I felt something new.
Peace.
I let out a soft sigh and closed my eyes.
Safe. Loved.
The moon kept watch over the Valley of Joy as I drifted off, resting on the thighs of my new mother.