Chapter 7
The Seeds of Independence
As Sharin grows, so does her desire for personal freedom. She starts subtly encouraging Hectorn to try things himself, though her father's watchful eye often thwarts these small attempts at independence.
The afternoon sun, a lazy painter, brushed streaks of honey and rose across the worn wooden planks of their small porch. Sharin, perched on the top step, traced the swirling grain with a thoughtful finger. Twelve years old, and the weight of thirteen years felt like it was settling onto her shoulders, a cloak woven from her father’s pronouncements and Hectorn’s constant, mewling presence. She loved him, she truly did, a fierce, protective love that had been there since he was a squalling bundle in her arms, but the ‘always’ was starting to chafe. Always Sharin. Always responsible. Always the one to fetch, to soothe, to guide.
Hectorn, at eleven, was a creature of habit, and his most ingrained habit was Sharin. He was currently engaged in a valiant, if somewhat pathetic, attempt to tie his shoelaces. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his tongue poking out from the corner of his mouth, but the laces remained a tangled, defiant mess. He let out a frustrated puff, a sound that always seemed to precede a wail.
“Sharin!” he cried, his voice high and reedy. “It won’t work! Make it work!”
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