Ambearwynn

'Mother, tell me again about the sun.' She pauses scraping the stretched hide, thinks. So many images she could give, in words he wouldn't understand – golden, sunrise, light. Her son was born to cold darkness, has never seen the sun, animals in clouds, gods in the midnight sky. Some days, what she misses most is the sky, more than electricity, than fresh tomatoes, than sun- shine. The white tails of planes created scenes of foreign adventure, when only thunderheads could hide the horizon and the day produced its own light. Now the horizon chokes on ash and she on useless words. She never lets him see her cry when her words