Chapter 2: Bargain in the Barnyard

Soon, he led me into a tiny backyard at the edge of town.

The yard was cramped—barely room for the woodshed and cow barn to squeeze together. On the far side stood a little wooden shack, more shed than house, barely holding itself up.

The grass was patchy, a rusted tricycle lay on its side by the fence, and a faded American flag flapped from a bent pole. The air was thick with the scent of old wood, manure, and a hint of wildflowers. It wasn’t much, but it was his world.

"This’ll be our home from now on."

Jake carried me down, untying the ropes. His fingers brushed my chest, and he blushed so deep his sunburn looked pale. He tried to play it cool, grinning sheepishly:

"We’ll have sons—and daughters too. The more, the better!"

He looked at me with a hopefulness that was almost painful, like he could already hear a whole herd of kids running wild through the yard. There was a softness in his eyes, a longing for something more than hard luck and empty rooms.

He was already picturing Sunday dinners and grandkids underfoot, joy flickering in his eyes.

"I can marry you," I said, flexing my wrists and giving him a sly, inviting smile, "but first, I have to weave a wedding robe."

My voice was sugar-sweet, but my mind was racing with escape plans. I held his gaze just long enough to make him blush even harder. I needed time—three days, tops. Just enough to get my moon-silk back.

Jake frowned, sizing me up with suspicion:

"What? A wedding robe? You’re not gonna run off after you finish, are you?"

I kept my tone patient and steady. "With a wedding robe, the moon will witness our union. Even if the Lady of the Night finds out, she won’t be able to separate us."

I let the words hang, weaving a little magic of my own. Folks here believed in signs and omens, and I could see the idea working on him. I put on my best innocent face, the one that always got me out of trouble.

Still not convinced, I nodded at the old chestnut cow. "If you don’t believe me, ask him."

Jake followed my gaze, eyeing the cow. The old cow turned away, but its big head gave a slow, deliberate nod.

Our eyes met for a split second, something unspoken passing between us. Jake’s shoulders dropped a notch. The cow just chewed its cud, pretending like it hadn’t just blessed a wedding.

Jake pressed, "How many days will it take you to weave it?"

I held up three fingers, my smile growing sly. "Three days is enough."

Finally, he managed a goofy grin. "All right, then."

That night, Jake locked me in the woodshed.

Moonlight poured through the narrow window, painting a silver patch on the floor.

The air was cool and still, alive with cricket chirps and a distant owl hooting. Dust motes spun in the moonbeam, turning the little shed into something almost magical. For a moment, I could almost forget the ropes, the gawking crowd, the man outside.

I felt around for a loom in the corner, half expecting it to fall apart. The wood was rotted, creaking with every touch. The air was thick with the scent of mildew and old dreams.

Moonlight poured in so clear, the dust motes looked like silver sparks.

I pinched the air, and a strand of moon-silver thread spun itself around the warp beam.

Weaving was as natural to me as breathing.

In just half the night, I’d finished most of the robe.

The shuttle darted back and forth, the rhythm soothing. My fingers moved with an ancient memory, older than my bones. Moonlight pooled around me, and for a heartbeat, I felt free.

The loom’s beam was cracked and warped, but the brocade I wove snaked across the floor like a stream, snowy-white and shimmering in the moonlight—almost too beautiful for this world.

The fabric glowed, brighter than anything I’d ever made. Every thread hummed with the promise of freedom, of escape, of home.

"Whoa." A stifled gasp came from outside the door. "She really is moonborn—she can weave brocade from starlight!"

The corner of my mouth twitched, just a little.

Had to be Jake, sneaking a peek to make sure I wouldn’t bolt.

I pretended not to notice, pouring all my focus into the weaving.

The shuttle flicked through my fingers, gliding on fine moon-silk.

The old chestnut cow rolled its eyes, sly as a fox. It leaned close to Jake’s ear and rumbled:

"Jake, don’t let her keep weaving—she needs to get pregnant soon. Once she has a child, she won’t be able to run away."

The cow’s voice was a deep, conspiratorial drawl, like an old-timer spinning secrets at the back table of the co-op. Jake turned bright pink, shuffling his boots in the dirt.

"But what if we don’t have a wedding robe and the Lady of the Night separates us?"

Jake scratched his head, face twisted in doubt.

The old cow opened its mouth to say more—

The shuttle slipped from my hand and hit the floor with a dull thud.

A flicker of fear flashed in the cow’s eyes. It swished its tail and clammed up.

"Never mind. Good things are worth waiting for…"

Jake, thinking he’d made the right call, muttered to himself and shuffled back to the shack.