Emma rose early on the fifth sun-cycle morning, as was her custom, and joined her mother in the cookhouse. A frown settled on her face the moment her eyes landed on the preparation table. The spread of meal scrolls and ingredients laid out was far too abundant for an ordinary morning meal. She wondered what occasion called for such effort.
"Moonrise, mother," she said, her gaze still resting on the table.
"Emma, begin your duties at once. We have little time."
"What are we celebrating?"
"Lunara's mate visited yesterday, and she offered him nothing! I sent word to my work den that I would not be present today."
"Why?"
"I wish to see him."
"Mother…"
"Emma, begin your tasks! There is no time! Stop questioning!"
"I do not think he will come today."
"Is that what she told you?"
"No, but he seemed uneasy yesterday."
"Uneasy?"
"Yes."
"Of whom?" her mother asked, her brows drawing together. Emma ignored the question and began cleansing the utensils.
"Where is Lunara?"
