Page 3 of My Summer Girl

“—is to give back, and cherish Solera, and prosper within Her embrace,” Mira states, finishing the saying as I kneel next to the wood I’ve sacrificed for our solstice. After every offering my realm gives, I give back love and reverence.

Wood, no matter how fickle to some, is an offering from Solera, to nourish its people. I’m connected to this plane of existence as much as these trees. They sustain us and in return, I give back. It’s our give and take and our shared respect that keeps us alive.

Mira isn’t from here. She’s like a living volcano with bright orange hair that looks more like fire than hair. Sometimes, I wonder how she doesn’t melt the ground around her or catch me on fire. Her skin is like a constant flow of lava and rock working together. She’s as strong as Solera is vast, but didn’t grow up here and isn’t sure what her origin is. One day we’ll figure it out. I’ve even tried finding her people to no avail. While not as close to me as Raevar, she’s one of my most trusted people. For years, she’s been at my side. When I need to be realigned, she’s who I go to.

Her lupine eyes twinkle as she grabs my axe. Her hair is buzzed on the sizes. Like Raevar, she has scars on her head that she displays. Almost like to honor the origin of them.

“The way you connect here is unreal,” she states, no question but a mild observation.

If I dig my nails into the soil, I’ll feel the connection to every living thing. I’d feel their breaths, hear their contented sighs, and the warmth they’ve always presented to me.

“This realm is a part of me.”

She nods while oiling my axe’s blade. Her movements are fluid, purposeful, and the way she respects the blade has me smiling. Not many appreciate metalwork, let alone when it can be replicated easily.

“It’s cool. I still think you put too much into this solstice thing, though.”

Momentarily, anger bubbles inside me. It lessens as I sigh, but resides there nonetheless. Not everyone is raised with traditions that are passed down. They might think they’re inconsequential, even if they aren’t to me. “It’s tradition.”

“I get that,” she stoically responds, but her eyes tell me that even with her own story, she’ll never understand what it means to be tied to an entire kingdom that both feeds off of you as everyone does it.

We’re forever tied.

I can never leave this place, even if the want arises.

If I died, I’d become one with Solera. My ancestral home would be in shambles because I’ve never shared my magic or given anyone else the knowledge of how to repeat this life cycle.

Solerians, true and born from dirt, like my family, don’t die often—nor easily. If not for the sickness that took about eighty percent of our population a century ago, we’d be fine. Thriving, even: my cousins, aunties, and uncles, they’d be here. My parents would’ve had another child or two if so, but they had to beg for me, made sacrifices, and were given me just to be taken in return.

What we take, we must give back.

But that’s not the entire case; the sickness brought infertility to our people the summer I was born. Almost like taking my parents wasn’t enough of a sacrifice.

We haven’t had a pollination since. While conceiving still occurs, it’s rare and doesn’t always result in birth. We’re in a losing battle; our deaths outnumber our births, and while the trees and realm can’t tell me why we haven’t had our yearly fertility spores like we used to, it troubles me.

Will we exist in another century at this rate? While my aging is decreased by the connection to Solera, everyone here has a time table.

I’ve done all I can, giving back to Mother Solera, giving back the seeds and love for nutrition. There’s still a rot; one we can’t quite pinpoint.

“Verano?” Mira waves a hand in front of me, attempting to garner my attention. Annoyed, I grab it lightly and shove it away.

“Solstice is important, and until it’s perfect and the poll—”

“It’s not your job to sustain everything,” she aptly complains, her eyebrows turned up in a worried way. “Pollination didn’t disappear because of you. It’s not your fault.”

“Yet it hasn’t happened since my entrance into this realm, and until it’s back, nothing will ever be right.”

Mira shakes her head in disappointment while wiping the excess oil off the axe with her sleeve. “You’ll never be happy if you focus only on what is duty and what you can give back. You need happiness.”

“I have happiness,” I weakly argue. Though it’s futile, because the existence of happiness is so far gone that I’m not even sure if I know the definition any longer. Mira isn’t wrong and like Raevar, I can trust her to be honest with me, even if it isn’t what I want to hear.

She offers a hand while her eyes eat me alive with barely hidden disappointment. Grabbing her hands, I rise, and then I busy myself, needing to finish all the preparations.

Being happy can come at a later date, after Raevar has found my mate. Then maybe I can seek something good.

Until then, I’ve got commitments, and no one, not even Mira, will stop me from making this event perfect. And maybe I’ll be able to bring the pollination back. I’m not sure how, but I’ll do it.

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