"Oh!" Kira gasped. She stared at him and held her hand to her mouth. "What…?"
Matty swallowed, took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and placed both of his hands on his wounded knee. He felt it coming. He felt his veins begin to pulsate; then the vibration coursed through him, and he felt the power leave his hands and enter his wound. It lasted no more than a few seconds and ended.
He blinked, and took his hands away. They were smeared slightly with blood. The trickled line on his leg had already begun to dry there.
"Matty! Whatever are you…?" When he gestured, Kira leaned forward and looked carefully at his knee. After a moment she reached for the woven napkin on the table, dipped it into her tea, and wiped his leg with the damp cloth. The line of blood disappeared. His knee was smooth, unblemished. There was no wound at all. She looked intently at it, then bit her lip, reached out, and pulled the hem of his trouser leg down over his knee.
"I see." It was all she said.
Matty shook himself free of the wave of fatigue it had caused. "It was a very small wound," he explained. "I just did it to show you I could. It didn’t take much out of me. But I’ve done it with bigger things, Kira. With other creatures. With much larger wounds."
"Humans?"
"Not yet. But I can do it. I can feel it, Kira. With a gift, you know."
She nodded. "Yes. That’s true." She glanced at her own hands, resting there on the table, still holding the damp cloth.
"Kira, your leg will take a great deal out of me. I’ll have to sleep, after, maybe for a whole day or even longer. And I don’t have much time."
She looked at him quizzically. "Time for what?"
"I’ll explain. But for now, I think we should start. If I do it right away, I can sleep completely through the night and almost all of the morning. You can use that time to become accustomed to being whole…"
"I am whole," she said defiantly.
"I meant to having two strong legs. You’ll be amazed at how it feels, at how much more easily you can move around. But it will take a little while to adjust to it."
She stared at him. She looked down at her twisted leg.
"Why don’t you lie down over there on the couch? I’ll pull this chair over and sit beside you." Matty began kneading his hands in preparation. He took several deep breaths and felt energized. He could tell that his full strength was back. The knee wound had been such a small thing, really.
He rose, lifted his wooden chair, and moved it over beside the couch where he had napped that afternoon. He arranged the cushions so that she would be comfortable. Behind him he heard Kira rise from her chair as well, lift her stick from where it leaned against the table, and walk across the room. To his surprise, when he turned, he saw that she had taken the mugs to the sink and was beginning to wash them, as if it were an ordinary evening.
"Kira?"
She looked over at him. She frowned slightly. Then she said no.
There was no arguing with her, none at all. After a while Matty gave up the attempt.
Finally he moved his chair again so that he could sit in front of the fire. It was chilly in the evenings now, with summer ending. Forest had been downright cold at night, and he had woken in the mornings during his journey aching and chilled. It was comforting to sit here by the warm fire now.
Kira picked up a small wooden frame with a half-finished piece of embroidery stretched taut across it. She brought it to her chair, and moved a basket filled with bright threads to the floor beside her. Then she leaned her stick against the fireplace wall, sat down, and picked up the needle that was waiting, threaded with green, attached to the fabric.
"I will go with you," she said quite suddenly in her soft voice. "But I will go as I am. With my leg. With my stick."
Matty, puzzled, stared at her. How had she known, before he asked it, what he was planning to ask of her?
"I was going to explain," he said after a long moment. "I was going to persuade you. How…?"
"I started to tell you earlier," she said, "about my gift. What my hands do. Move your chair closer and I’ll show you now."
He did so, pulling the crude wooden chair near to where she was. She tilted the embroidery frame so that he could see. Like the colorful tapestry on the wall of the blind man’s house, this was a landscape. The stitches were tiny and complicated, and each section a subtle variation in color, so that deep green moved gradually into a slightly lighter shade, and then again lighter, until at the edges it was a pale yellow. The colors combined to form an exquisite pattern of trees, with the tiniest of individual leaves outlined in countless numbers.
"It’s Forest," Matty said, recognizing it.
Kira nodded. "Look beyond it," she said, and extended her finger to point to a section in the upper right, where Forest opened and tiny houses were patterned around curved paths.
He thought he could almost make out the house he shared with the blind man, though it was infinitely small on the fabric.
"Village," he said, examining with awe the meticulousness of her craft.
"I embroider this scene again and again," Kira said, "and sometimes—not always—my hands begin to move in ways I don’t understand. The threads seem to take on a power of their own."
He leaned closer to look more carefully at the embroidery. It was astounding, the detail of it, how tiny it was.
"Matty?" she said. "I’ve never done this with anyone watching. But I can feel it in my hands right now. Watch."
He peered intently as her right hand picked up the needle threaded with green. She inserted it into the fabric at an unfinished place near the edge of Forest. Suddenly both of her hands began to vibrate slightly. They shimmered. He had seen this once before, on the day that Leader stood at the window, gathered himself, and saw beyond.
He looked up at her face and saw that her eyes were closed. But her hands were moving very quickly now. They reached into the basket again and again, changed threads in a motion so fast he could barely follow it, and the needle entered the cloth, and entered the cloth, and entered the cloth.
Time seemed to stop. The fire continued to crackle and sputter. Frolic sighed in his sleep at the edge of the hearth. Matty sat speechless, watching the shimmering hands dart; hours and days and weeks seemed to go by, yet oddly, only a blink, an instant, of time passed. Today and tomorrow and yesterday were all spun together and held in those hands that moved and moved and moved, yet her eyes were closed, and the fire still flickered and the dog still slept.
Then it ended.
Kira opened her eyes, sat up straighter, and stretched her shoulders. "It tires me," she explained, though he already knew it.
"Look now," she said. "Quickly, because it will fade."
He leaned forward and saw that now, in the embroidered scene, at the bottom, two tiny people were entering Forest. He recognized one as himself, backpack on his back; he could even see, amazingly, the torn place on the sleeve of his jacket. Behind him, meticulously stitched in shades of brown, was Frolic, his tail high. And beside Frolic he saw Kira, her blue dress, her stick wedged under her arm, her dark hair tied back.
The top edge of the embroidery had changed as well. Now, beside the house he had recognized as his, he could see the blind man standing. His posture was that of someone waiting for something.
And suddenly Matty could see, too, crowds of people at the edge of Village. They were dragging huge logs. Someone—it looked like Mentor—was giving directions. They were preparing to build a wall.