much brighter, so much more alive. We were setting up camp and I was turning this way and that, watching the sun paint the world with all the colors of the rainbow, simmering just like my Da did. I must have made some small noise, for his voice broke through my reverie. “It’s brighter here,” he said, “because the shine is in your blood. It’s part of you, and so this land calls out to welcome you home.” His eyes were on me, full of sorrow.
We got to a small cabin late at night. Smoke rose from a stone chimney, blotting out the stars. Da got off his horse and let it have its head. It would stay close. The creature was as faithful as the sun. He took hold of my hand. I realized, for the first time, that my father was anxious. I had seen this expression on him once before, long ago. The pinched lips, the way he kept running his hand through his hair, a nervous twitch to all his movements. His voice was hard, but his gaze was soft when he said, “Cassandra, you behave yourself.”
I nodded.
We walked to the cabin and he rapped on the door.
“Who’s there?” A man shouted from inside.
“Chris,” Da replied with a grunt. “Come to see my sister.”
Shock tore through me. I had no idea Da had a family. I didn’t know he had a sister who lived in a cabin. I had no idea that he had people who weren’t born on the back of a mountain. People who weren’t wild, like us.
The door was flung open and a woman threw herself out of it, wrapping her arms around my da, sobbing against his shoulder. She had pale violet hair and skin, and bright eyes. It was impossible not to see their relation. Their shared blood was evident in their high cheekbones, slightly slanted eyes, and broad shoulders.
They held each other under the moonlight. Held on to each other and whispered. I felt awkward. Uncertain. Thrust into this strange world, I had no way to know what was expected of me, and so I stood and watched them whisper and cling to each other, silent and still as the night.
My gaze drifted, and I saw small heads peeking out from behind a concerned father in the doorway of the cabin, a boy and a girl, both a few years older than myself. I smiled at them, but they did not smile back. They edged away from me, as though I was sick, and they could catch it by looking too long.
“And who is this?” Annie finally asked, pulling away from Da and eyeing me.
“My daughter,” Da replied, coughing. “Cassandra.”
“Daughter,” Annie said, turning the full weight of her regard on me.
I realized then that I was an outsider being thrust inside. I was something that did not fit. I did not wear a dress, rather some buckskin pants and a tunic my father had bartered off some other mountain man. On my feet, I wore soft slippers of animal skin. I was not neatly combed, my clothes were torn and stained by mud and offal both. Likely, I stank.
More than that, was my hair. Before, my father’s violet coloring had always marked him as something else, though it was easy enough to hide with the right hat and kerchief. Now, however, it was I who held that dubious honor. Here, in this place, I saw my father and Annie’s violet locks. Behind Annie, her husband was jade in coloring. I hadn’t seen her children long, but I knew they were likewise colorful. In contrast, my own onyx hair stood out, marking me as other. I didn’t like it. There would be no blending in here. Not the way I could out there, beyond the Boundary. I felt exposed. Suddenly, my lack of shine felt like an accusation, like an admission of a crime I had not known I’d committed. I had my father’s violet eyes. That was all we shared between us.
“And your wife?” She looked around him, peeked into the shadows cast by the moon dancing on the scrub oak. “Where is she?”
“She died in childbirth.”
“I’m sorry,” Annie said, and she did look sorry. Her eyes went wide and filled with tears, her mouth opened and shut silently, and then she took her brother’s hand and led him inside, leaving me to trail after.
I was acutely aware of crossing that threshold that night, the feel of moving from the