And in that moment, it occurred to me that my home had always been Athos.
Epilogue
Athos
“You can’t make so much noise, Milk,” I chastised, trying hard not to smile as my boy valiantly attempted to demonstrate an awkward handstand.
“See? I did it,” he shouted, standing up triumphantly as though he hadn’t heard a word I said. To be fair, he probably wasn’t listening. He also hadn’t done a handstand, as much as kicked his legs wildly and flopped onto his back, but I wasn’t going to nitpick.
“Good job, Milk. Now keep it down. You’re scaring the fish.”
It had been five years since we made our home in the valley. We’d escaped detection so far and lived here peacefully all these years. Just over four years ago, Claire gave birth to a baby girl, a centaur like me. We quickly all but abandoned her real name for the cutesy nickname of Honey, in honor of her honey-colored hair. A year later, we were blessed with a son, who somehow came to be known as Milk. Milk and Honey.
My son was all human, but he never questioned why he looked different from me and Honey. I never questioned it either, loving them both the same. They were the light of my life – besides their mother, who seemed to get more beautiful with each passing day.
The children had stayed up late the night before, helping me catch big, fat nightcrawlers under the light of the moon. They loved the way they had to sneak up on them quickly before they darted into their holes and burrowed out of reach. They squealed and screamed as the little worm bodies wriggled through their fingers before triumphantly dropping them into a bucket of dirt.
We’d come out today so I could teach them both how to fish, but I’d quickly realized that it seemed to be an exercise in frustration. At first, they’d done their best to pay attention and follow my directions. But the results weren’t immediate, and they started getting impatient.
It didn’t take long before I was doing most of the work while they played. I didn’t mind, knowing they were still young, and there would be time later. At four and three, their bodies were too full of energy to sit still very long. They were more interested in the worms than the fishing, in all honesty.
I didn’t let that deter me. I enjoyed fishing, even if they didn’t. And Claire was expecting fish for dinner. They played together, even if it was sometimes a bit rowdier than I liked, watching me occasionally with interest. When they wandered close and asked for a turn, I let them hold the rod until they got bored again. It was still nice having their company and getting to watch their silly antics as they played near the river.
It was only natural for their bodies to be in constant motion. Not only were they young and full of pep, but they’d grown up with wide, untamed spaces and plenty of room to run. From sun-up to sun-down, they virtually lived outside. Their energy was put to good use with age-appropriate chores, but it seemed that fishing for our evening meal would not be one. At least not yet.
“Let’s play a game,” I offered, trying to keep them occupied. “I’m going to quiz you. Ready? It’s a scavenger hunt. The first item you have to find is… eridze.”
They both ran off, giggling to each other as they jockeyed to see who could be fastest. Thanks to their closeness in age, they were best friends. Sometimes they fought, like kids did, but they shared many of the same interests and hobbies. It was nice to see the bond they shared.
This was a game we played often. For the first clue today, I’d given them the word “purple” in my native tongue. I enjoyed the brief silence while I waited to see what they came back with. The nice thing about this game was that it took no planning, the possibilities were nearly endless, and it could keep them busy for as long as I could think of ideas.
It didn’t take long before they ran back together. Milk had fashioned a chain of purple burdock that clung to his shirt. I grimaced a little but was relieved that this time he hadn’t stuck it to his sister’s fur, at least. That had been a long and painful hour of detangling.
“Good job,” I praised.
We continued like this for some time, as I gave directions in Yakeronian and they did their best to carry them out.
Finally, my daughter grew curious. “Why do you say different words than mom? She says egg, and you say hrish sometimes, but it’s the same thing.”
“I want you to be familiar with the words that I grew up using. I came from a different place far away, where we speak a different language. Even though I live here now, I want to remember my connection to my old home and share it with you.”
“Can we go see it?” my son interjected.
“No, probably not,” I explained, feeling a twinge of sadness. I loved our new home, but it would always sting a bit to remember that part of me that I could never fully share with my family. “But I can tell you about it. On my planet Yakeron, I was a librarian.”
“And here you’re a fisherman,” Honey noted.
“Well, sort of,” I agreed with a chuckle.
“Can I be the fisherman?”
I handed her the pole, helping her get a good grip on it.
“What is a librarian?” Milk piped up.
I frowned a little, trying to think of how to explain it, and realizing that he’d never seen a library. I felt a bit silly for missing the obvious, but sometimes I took for granted his three-year-old life perspective, assuming he would just intuitively understand me.
“I helped people find books they liked to read,” I replied, giving him the easiest answer that I could come up with.