Chapter Text
The snow glimmered outside, signifying the first day of Karathael's nineteenth turn. The actual day was written down somewhere in the archives and in her mother's personal journal, but as far as Karathael and her family were concerned, it was the first day that the sun rose on a sparkling layer of snow. She was thrilled.
Her turnday came a little earlier than usual, given that some of the trees hadn't yet dropped their leaves, but Karathael didn't care. She'd been having the best summer and autumn of her life, and even her mother's inappropriate comments barely got under her skin lately. It was her turnday, which meant Turn's End was just around the corner. Soon after that, Dakoral would make journeyman, and soon after that they would be married.
The day started off relatively uneventfully - she received a few well-wishes, but adults don't get the day off just for getting older. Karathael was still expected to work, which today meant taking a full inventory of the slag shed and other waste areas. It was a simple enough job of making sure everything was within parameters and reporting anything that wasn't.
The evening couldn't come soon enough - Dakoral had found a cottage for sale, and he wanted her opinion on it. It was currently empty, so he'd offered to bring a picnic dinner to share in front of the fireplace. Even better, tomorrow was a rest day, so they could spend all the time they wanted. It would be just her and her fiance, and it was going to be perfect.
“You need to wash up,” Karalea interjected as Karathael brushed her hair after work. It always started the day looking like a ponytail, but by the end of the day it looked more like a dead shrub with a ribbon tangled in it.
“Why? I didn't do anything gross today. Just counting. Math.” She pulled the front of her shirt out and tucked her nose down to take a whiff, then shrugged.
“You're engaged to be married,” Karalea reminded her, as if there were any way she could have possibly forgotten. Karathael was completely enamored, and she didn't care who knew it.
“So?” she answered, irritated in advance. Her mom was going to say something gross; she had that look on her face.
Sure enough, Karalea went into full Harper mode, explaining social rules that her daughter had never asked for. “It is not uncommon for young men and women, near the end of their engagement, to… get to know each other. Physically.”
“Mo-om!” The shout was out before Karalea had reached the end of her sentence. “We're not like that, you pervert.” She tugged on her too-small coat before turning around, providing a layer of protection between her and her mother's eyes.
“I'm just saying…” Karalea said, using the mom-est of mom voices. “If something does happen, it would not be entirely unexpected. And wouldn't it be embarrassing for you if a tunnelsnake slithered out.”
“MO-THER!” Karathael protested, but she grabbed a washcloth off of the pile anyway and headed to the necessaries. She did smell just a little bit like slag today, now that she thought about it. A quick wash-up and then on to the cottage.
“Happy Turnday, sweetling!” Dakoral greeted Karathael with open arms. She gave him a tight hug, noting as she did that he smelled less like wherry (“sulfur,” the smiths called it) than usual. He must have washed up, too.
The fireplace was already crackling in front of a small blanket and a picnic basket. “I brought…” he began pulling food out of the basket, “jerky, rolls, tiny roast tubers, fresh veggies… and cookies with sweetmilk! All finger food, because I don't own silverware.”
Karathael's heart melted a little at his blunt admission and lopsided smile. He'd remembered most of her favorite foods. “I looked for redfruit,” he amended as if reading her mind, “but you weren't really born during redfruit season. Sorry.”
“That's ok. This is perfect. You're perfect,” Karathael said, the words slipping out before she'd bothered to filter them and noticing a flicker of a grimace. She'd been trying to hide her ooey-gooey side, as it seemed to make him uncomfortable. That was fine. Not everyone enjoyed waxing poetic, and he was a great conversationalist in other matters. She tried to fill the silence with her mothers antics. “Here my mom was convinced you'd lured me here to do something scandalous, and you brought me the perfect picnic instead.”
“Something scandalous, hmm? Like what?” Karathael’s brows furrowed. That was not the response she’d expected.