For the second time that year, the community took their trip down the side of the mountain, down to the sea. It was the middle of June, and it seemed like the whole world was covered in flowers, especially the tall, bright yellow flowers of the meadow, which some still believed were faeries in disguise. There was talk that at night, on the eve of this feast, they could be seen dancing across the fields and meadows, as if stepping on air, ethereal like the breeze itself. When asked about it, people whispered about the terrible fate which befell those who dared spy upon the unearthly creatures during their private dance. For this celebration, however, they lent their flowers eagerly, to make crowns, garlands and wreaths.

“Are you nervous, granddaughter?” grandmother asked.

It was Aifa’s first public speaking assignment, one for which she had prepared the entire week, and she was, of course, all nerves.

“Don’t fret over it, you will do just fine.”

“What if I don’t?” Aifa asked, wretched.

“Then you won’t,” grandmother joked. “I’m sure they’ll let you live.”

“Don’t joke about it, doyenne!” Aifa chided.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” grandmother said, trying very hard to be serious but unable to suppress a smile.

The Great Hall was filled with light and flowers, there were so many flowers, so many candles, the whole floor was covered in them. It felt strange for Aifa to watch the Twins, who were dressed up in their simple white garments and had flowers woven in their elaborately braided hair, sit donning unearthly smiles on top of a mound of flowers, like living statues.

“Aifa,” grandmother whispered, although nobody in the house was sleeping. “Are you ready, granddaughter? It is time to go to the Hearth.”

Aifa wrapped her garment a little tighter around her waist and washed her face with the rose water her mother had made, put on her shoes and walked in silence behind her grandmother, stepping purposefully on the old stone paving, under the eerie brightness of the full moon.

There was no wind in the air, there were no clouds in the sky, and the perfume of the lilacs filled Aifa’s lungs like the essence of an ancient mystery, as if its fragrant flowers wanted to partake in the holy time when the spirit itself came down from above.

Anyway, that afternoon Aifa and the Twins were out on the daffodil meadow, which Ama and Jal seemed to be particularly fond of, when all of the sudden the sky grew dark and shook with rumblings. Any other children would have run for the hills, screaming their lungs out, but not the Twins, who looked mesmerized towards the horizon, as if they have been waiting for this particular event their entire existence. Covering the horizon, gigantic and proud, their wingspan the width of a mountain, their feathers and scales the color of fire, their mighty cries a deafening rumble, the thunderbirds had returned.

Their first rumble, like a slow rolling thunder, had brought everybody out of the city, running to welcome the return of the glorious birds, which flew, majestically, over the city, like they did every year, to cheers of joy and waves of ribbons in every color of the rainbow. The thunderbirds had returned!

From the moment the Twins arrived, poor Aifa hadn’t experienced a moment’s rest. They were five years old now, constantly moving around and getting into everything, and last, but not least, they never stopped talking. They seemed to have reached that glorious age when everything aroused their curiosity and the Caretakers couldn’t stay abreast their endless lists of whys.

One question they seemed to be obsessed with was that of mortality in general, and their own mortality in particular. They couldn’t understand that they would show up again the next spring, no matter what, they were afraid of what might happen to them during the winter, and they kept pushing Aifa for answers. Aifa, who was a little more than a child herself, didn’t know what to tell them.

The closer it got to the spring equinox, the more animated the Grand Hall of the Hearth became, engulfed in a flurry of activities related to sprucing up, clearing and decorating it for the arrival of the Twins. Every now and then one of the Caretakers went out into the yard, to check if the ice on the pond had thinned, or even melted, gazing intently at the space above it in the hope of seeing two snow flurries, the last of the last snow, fall into the water, the sign that marked the blessed event every year.

Every Caretaker hoped to be the lucky one who could announce that the Two had arrived, but it never worked that way; by the time they rushed to the Hall to tell the others the good news, the Twins were always somehow already there. This year was no different. Regardless of the time differential between the Twins’ arrival and the belated announcement of said event, the thrill of being the one who saw the snowflakes fall into the pond still held its charm, and this year it was Aifa.