Otsanna was not expecting to see Vilka so soon. The morning's confrontation in the sickroom had been heavy, the air thick with unspoken accusations . She had assumed the Luna would be tending to her grieving daughter or wrestling with her own conscience, not standing at the entrance of her humble dwelling so shortly after dawn had properly broken.
"Hello, Luna Vilka," Otsanna said, her voice a low, steady murmur as she settled at her simple wooden table. She waved a hand, a graceful gesture. "Please, join me. I am just getting seated for my meal."
Vilka was already inches from the table, her presence filled the small space with anxiety. She moved closer and settled onto the stool opposite Otsanna.
"Hello, Otsanna," Vilka said, and her eyes, were wide and pleading. They held a storm of unshed tears and desperate questions.
