The Life in the Years

i.

They are on their backs, watching clouds float by and trying to find shapes there. Longshot's half asleep, lazily watching the dull shine of the sunlight in Smellerbee's hair.

She turns her face towards his. There are freckles on her nose and they make her look young.

"Do you remember old are you?"

And he shrugs, watching their fingers tangle in lieu of answering.

She grins. "Yeah, me too."

ii.

When you become a Freedom Fighter, age fades. Maturity isn't calculated on an abacus here; it's measured by the hardship weathered, not years lived. It's in the drawn, hungry look that vendettas put on all their faces, so that they may eat their fill and still be hungry. Longshot has not seen famine like that of children with an unsatisfied appetite for revenge.

They huddle together above the earth, ageless as they starve.

iii.

A month later, the leaves are tumbling from the trees and Jet decides to play the leaving game. The Tree House goes cold, and the young ones look scared. Smellerbee copes with the news by packing her things.

When pressed for a reason, Jet just shrugs. "I'm getting too old for this stuff."

Longshot doesn't say it out loud: Were you ever old enough?

iv.

They leave the forest, and Longshot turns fourteen.

Smellerbee is twelve.

His hand draws away when she tries to hold it in hers. He's older than her, and it makes a difference now.

v.

She wipes her mourning tears and straightens to stand next to him, daggers drawn. There's a clatter of soldiers running toward them.

They're too young to die, he thinks, but he knows that it doesn't make a difference now. It never does.

He holds her hand and wonders why you're always old enough to die, but never really ready for love and war.