“Right now,” she said, “I want to walk you back down the path so your mother doesn’t worry.”
She looked at the girl—at the earnest, unwashed face, at the small chest rising and falling with the effort of the climb. And she felt, despite every intention, the old machinery of wanting grind back to life.
She had desired things once. A child, though her womb stayed barren. A voyage to the southern isles, though her husband’s anchor chain tethered her to Llowen. A single night of silence without the creak of someone else’s need. All of those desires had shriveled into small, dry things—seeds that never broke soil.
Elara didn’t move. “I’m not hungry.” -18 - Q -Desire-
The girl turned to go, then stopped. “Teacher Q? What do you want?”
The old woman on the cliff’s edge had one final desire.
Not a thing to possess. Not an absence to become. “Right now,” she said, “I want to walk
That, she realized, was desire enough.
Elara almost laughed. “Yes. But it’s the only true one I have.”
Elara stared at the question. The wind snatched at the paper’s edges. She felt her desire to be hollow flicker, then gutter like a candle in a draft. A child, though her womb stayed barren
Not for herself. For a sick boy she barely remembered—pale, thin, with hands that shook when he held a pencil. She wanted to give him a reason. A good one. One that wouldn’t taste like ash.
What do you truly want?
The girl grinned, missing a tooth. And Elara stood up, her stiff knees protesting, her hollow desire forgotten. She took the girl’s small, grubby hand, and they walked together away from the edge.