The Dreaming: Dark Star (Book 5)

Grandmother's Story

Time went by in silence.

Eventually, the little girl came back and dropped off two heavy skins of water, plopping them on the ground beside the old woman with a sigh. It was then that Imorah noticed that the girl was dressed in rags. Clothing that was too big for her that had been altered to fit in the most savage fashion. Who was this girl, and what was she doing here?

It seemed clear she didn't live here, because there was no bed for her. No room. There was barely room for the bed Imorah had recovered in. Had the girl slept here-had Imorah taken her space?

The old woman took the girl's face in her hands and inspected her, and then she looked at both hands. She asked the girl a few questions, which the girl answered politely. Seemingly satisfied, the Grandmother dropped the little girl's hands and offered her some food.

The girl avoided eye contact with Imorah, took a nibble of the bread, and ran back outside, leaving Imorah to sit in silence with The Grandmother.

Imorah guessed the girl had been instructed to clean herself. If that was so, it wasn't evident at first glance. Imorah looked down at her own hands and her legs crossed under her-she was also filthy. Absolutely filthy. She didn't think she'd ever been so dirty in her entire life. It wasn't just one layer of grime. It was multiple layers. But her clothes were clean. Someone had cleaned them while she'd been unconscious.

She wondered how long she'd been unconscious. How long have I been on the Surface? She tried to count the days. She'd been one night alone before she met Tashin... and then how many days with Tashin? Three or four? More?

Imorah decided to break the silence. "Grandmother?" she asked politely.

The Grandmother did not look up, but grunted to signify she'd heard.

"Who is that little girl?"

"That's Hannah, Liran's little sister."

Imorah nodded, suddenly putting the pieces together. It was Tashin's daughter. "She lives here with you?"

"No," the old woman responded, shaking her head and still not looking up from her work.

She was clearly frustrated and Imorah knew telepathically why-a feeling she'd had since she'd awoken-that the old woman didn't like having people in her house.

"You live here alone?"

At that, the Grandmother did look up, very briefly, and grunted afirmative. She looked back down at her work-she was grinding something else in the stone bowl. There was a boiling pot of various spices on the fire that she was tending to very carefully. Imorah wondered what it was.

"I live alone so I can answer questions. I can't create knowledge with a bunch of babies running around, family and friends."

Imorah looked at the herbs the woman was boiling. "What kind of knowledge do you create?"

"I create knowledge of the plants and their relationship to me, to others and to the earth. I create knowledge of my relationship to the earth, to the stars, to my goats."

Imorah nodded-she could see herself as an old woman, studying life, looking for the answer to her own questions, but she didn't know what those questions would be. She also didn't know if she could live alone in the middle of no where like this. It must be so lonely.

The woman heard her thoughts and looked up at Imorah.

Imorah blushed.

"You want to know how I ended up like this. An old woman all alone in the desert." It wasn't a question, but a statement, accompanied by a searching gaze.