“Here. Your present.”
There was still plenty of chicken left—which would likely become part of a soup tomorrow—but both had clearly eaten their fill. Finishing another cup of tea, Hazel pulled out the last item in his bag and offered it to Marie.
Marie blinked at him and then broke into a smile.
“Thank you! The only people who ever bring me presents are my brother and you. I think he’s the one who gave me that apple tree when I first started living on my own.”
She closed her eyes at the memory. Hazel tried to place the present in her hand, but she stopped him.
Marie got up and left the kitchen. A few minutes later, she returned with a box wrapped in a mint green ribbon, the same color as the door.
“Here! We’ll trade.”
She seemed so happy that Hazel couldn’t help but smile.
They both unwrapped their presents carefully, and as one, raised voices in surprise. The presents that emerged from the box and the parcel were both the same shape.
“A horseshoe?” Marie cried.
Both presents were the U-shaped metal commonly attached to a horse’s hooves.
Marie’s was old and a little rusted, while the ones Hazel held were brand new and without a scratch. Four of them, one for each hoof. Metal but not iron. The color of the stars, they appeared to be made of aluminum.
“Is this some sort of joke?” she asked.
For a four-legged centaur to give horseshoes to a two-legged one was generally seen as a mark of spite. Two-legged centaurs may have been human in form, but their minds, bodies, and insides were all centaur. Yet two-legged centaurs had no hooves upon which to place horseshoes.
Hazel frowned in puzzlement. It took him a moment to understand, and then he winced.
“Um, oh. Sorry… That’s not what I meant at all, Aunt Marie. Honestly. I heard the humans talking, and they said it was good luck to hang up a horseshoe.”
“Oh…yes. I’ve heard the same thing.”
Marie’s expression relaxed, and Hazel felt relieved. He’d hunched over, but now his posture returned to normal.
“Aunt Marie, why horseshoes for me?”
“You haven’t changed those in ages, have you? I wipe your feet for you often enough to notice that much.”
But they were light, and sturdy, and lasted a long time!
He smiled awkwardly, scratching his head. He was happy but a little embarrassed. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling.
“Now, let’s clean up. Would you mind doing the dishes?”
“It’s the least I could do.”
Hazel bowed and headed for the sink, which was always spic and span. Marie kept everything spotlessly clean.
But Marie didn’t follow him.
There was a rustle of cloth and then the sound of something hitting the floor. Hazel turned to find Marie collapsed, clutching her chair.
“Marie?”
Hazel managed to turn himself around in the narrow space and rush over to her. He bent his front legs and helped her up.
A moment before she had seemed totally healthy. Now her brow was creased, her eyes unfocused. She seemed to be having trouble breathing.
“Marie, what’s wrong? Can you walk?”
She shook her head weakly. Hazel gathered her in his arms and stood. He moved from the kitchen to the hall. Not exactly smoothly—he banged his head and rump on several things—but he managed to hurry into the living room and lower her onto the couch.
Hazel touched his palm to Marie’s forehead. She didn’t seem to be running a fever, but four and two-legged centaurs had different normal body temperatures. Hazel couldn’t be sure she wasn’t ill.
“If you’re sick, why weren’t you in bed?”
“I didn’t notice,” she whispered.
“How could you—” Hazel started and then stopped talking.
✦ ✦ ✦
Too much food to eat alone.
She had a Christmas present ready.
✦ ✦ ✦
He couldn’t very well say any more.
Hazel returned to the kitchen and searched the cupboards. Unable to find what he was looking for, he was forced to go back to the living room and ask.
“Marie, where’s your medicine?”
“I’m out,” she groaned. Her hands clutched the quilt around her shoulders.
Two-legged centaurs might look human, but physically, they were centaurs. Human medicine wasn’t bad for them but neither was it terribly effective. Injuries and sickness were best treated with centaur medicine. There were dozens of centaur medicines, but not all centaurs could make them. Her stock had run out.
Hazel asked how long ago she’d run out, but Marie said nothing and avoided his eyes.
“Marie, why didn’t you say? I’d have happily gotten some for you.”
“If they find out you’re seeing a two-leg, they’ll treat you differently.”
“They won’t!” he cried.
“Not just you. Your mother and father. My brother. His wife.”
At the mention of his family, Hazel fell silent.
Four-legged centaurs looked down on two-legged ones. If not with scorn, at least with pity. If centaurs had four legs, they could be with their families, could live together, could run with the herd. But if a centaur was unable to hunt for the rest of the herd, it didn’t matter how good they were with their hands. Besides, life expectancy for two-legged centaurs was decades shorter. They were prone to sickness and could not have children.
So they were treated like wounds, like growths, like pestilence. Sent to human towns so the four-legged could avoid contact with them.
Hazel had known Marie since he was young. His father—Marie’s brother—had sent his son in his stead, to make sure his sister was doing all right on her own.
Hazel had been sent away from the herd and given a letter whose contents he did not know. He’d been told it was for travel practice.
He had found fae and spirits playing here and there, and asked them the way, eventually finding his way to Marie’s house. The apple tree was already growing by the door, and covered in fruit, but all Hazel remembered was the sight of her tears as she read the letter.
Nobody knew when the rift between two and four-legged centaurs began. Hazel didn’t really understand it himself. But it had carved a deep gulf between his father and his aunt, and they weren’t the only ones.
Hazel had heard that in the old days, two-legged centaurs were killed at birth. The modern way was certainly not as bad, but it was still, to his mind, a load of crap.
✦ ✦ ✦
To hell with it.
✦ ✦ ✦
“I’ll go get medicine. You rest here, Marie.”
Hazel put on his coat as Marie watched in surprise.
“You’ll go get it? All the way to the herd up north?”
There was always a medicine maker in the centaur herd, just as there was always a doctor where humans gathered. If Hazel insisted the medicine was for him, perhaps there would be no repercussions.
“Even on the back roads, it will take at least two days to get there and return.”
“I can manage,” Hazel said.
“I’ll get better with rest! You should rest, too.”
“But—”
“I insist.”
Her pale hands, so frail compared to his own, grabbed him. There was no power in them. She could hardly stop him from going, but stop him she did.
“If I don’t have medicine, I go to bed until I get better. I always have!”
This wasn’t the first time this had happened to her.
Marie’s breathing was shallow. It was less ragged than before, but her breaths still came quickly.
✦ ✦ ✦
Hazel imagined her enduring her illness alone. All alone in bed, clutching her aching body as the wind raged across the fields. Waiting for the storm to pass, unable to rely on anyone.
“Don’t leave me alone. Not right now,” Marie said.
All Hazel could do was nod.
✦ ✦ ✦
He went upstairs for the first time, fetching a blanket from her bed and covering her where she lay on the couch. She was always scolding him for being careless, or thoughtless, so this was him trying to be the opposite. But instead of scolding him, her eyes were closed. She did not even manage a smile.
He considered carrying her to her bed, but the narrow stairs made it difficult for him to climb. Instead, he left Marie lying in the living room. He poured hot water into a pot, which he placed on the coffee table. Folding his legs, he lay down beside her.
The fire’s heat warmed the stone floor. Hopefully that would be enough to keep Hazel from getting sick himself.
He heard her softly whisper, “Thank you.”