Page 41 of Moon Tamed

Mr. Stephans needed more help.

More help could be acquired.

My father’s commentary on founding a faction full of helpers made a great deal of sense. One problem rose above all others, however.

I didn’t want to run it.

In reality, when I took the time to think about it, I didn’t even want to be in it. I wanted to make certain it existed, but like the other factions, I could readily see how it would become yet another cage.

I enjoyed being an unaffiliated, because I had the freedom to come and go as I pleased. If I became a member of a faction, I wanted to be part of that faction because it, in all ways, melded with who I wanted to be. I loved helping, but I didn’t want my helpful tendencies to become my identification or reason for living. I liked change and pursuing new things. There were many things I wanted to do with my life.

Belonging to a faction of temporary workers held the potential to become yet another cage without an escape, dumping me into the same old monotony I worked to avoid. I wondered how involving myself with the Hunters would change my perspective.

The longer I considered the faction, the more I realized they weren’t just buff men and women who showed off their physical aptitude hunting animals and each other in war games. Through the lens of a disaster, I understood there was more to the Hunters of Moonriver than I had allowed myself to see.

I wondered how much I had missed with my tastes of the other factions. Some I’d worked for enough times to have a clear idea of what life would be like. My parents tried to be honest with me about their daily life.

I had always wanted more.

In some ways, I feared my ambitions blinded me. Calden had done a good job of making me question my stance and position. Could I make an everyday life work, if the everyday life was filled with the right people instead of the right jobs?

I needed a lot more time than I had to think the problem through.

In the meantime, I could work on a project with appeal: I could build a faction of helpers, cultivate ideas, and hand it off to someone who could do my ideas justice.

Everything revolved back to the same problem. I always wanted more. Always.

I wanted what Mr. Stephans accomplished daily, making a difference for many and offering stability for all in his care. Could I accomplish such a thing running a faction of helpers?

Doubt burdened my every thought. While I suspected I wouldn’t be able to handle the work with grace, I knew the perfect person for the job.

Sila might one day forgive me for suggesting the idea, tricking her into taking it over and running with it. She enjoyed herding cats, socializing, and making certain large-scale projects continued to operate. She enjoyed all those persnickety little tasks faction leaders ultimately needed to do daily. One thing, however, I remained certain of.

However much I loved her, she would never be a match for Allasandro Stephans.

I doubted anyone could, at least not in Moonriver.

He lived and breathed his work, existing for the sake of the people and his son.

She worked so she could live and breathe the rest of the time.

Before I could second-guess myself, I sent her a text to give me a call when she could.

In a record-breaking ten seconds, my phone rang.

“Did you even read my text before calling?” I asked in an amused tone.

“Not really. I was waiting for a chance to call, and I didn’t want to bother you when you were ill. Are you feeling better?”

“I am. Did you get sick?”

“Only for a few days, but I didn’t get full exposure like you did. You were on the news!”

Wait. What? Me, on the news?

No, no, no.

I hadn’t done anything worthy of being showcased on the news.

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