Three days passed in a slow, muted rhythm.
Nimue didn't leave the wooden house. She spent most of her time sitting on the floral sofa with Cinder settled in her lap, the fox's warmth acting as a steady anchor against the lingering chill in her blood. She watched the square of light move across the floorboards as the sun crossed the sky.
She ate the small portions Jane put in front of her, the food tasting like ash at first and then slowly regaining its flavor. She slept whenever her body decided the weight of the magic was too much to carry, slipping into dreams of white mountains and silent voids.
The stiffness arrived shortly after the ritual. It wasn't the sharp, biting pain she had come to expect from the blood rituals; she knew that kind of hurt well. This was something different. Her arms felt as though they had been pulled too tight and left that way.
Her legs moved with a heavy slowness when she tried to walk to the window. Even her fingers felt weighted when she reached for the book Margaret had left on the table. The simple act of turning a page felt like a chore. She eventually put it back down, frustrated.
"You need to move," Saoirse said on the first afternoon. She was standing in the kitchen doorway with her arms crossed, her eyes tracking Nimue's stiff posture.
Nimue only shook her head, her chin brushing the soft wool of her jumper.
Saoirse didn't push her. She simply watched for a moment longer before turning back to the stove.
On the second day, Nimue managed to walk all the way to the front door. She pulled it open, the hinges giving a low creak. The air outside was thick with the scent of dried hay and warm earth.
Bess stood by the fence in the distance, her large head turned toward the house as if she were waiting. Nimue looked at the cow for a full minute, feeling the pull of the wide, green world. Then she closed the door and retreated to the safety of the sofa.
"Tomorrow," Jane said that evening. She was at the stove, stirring a heavy iron pot that smelled of savory onions and herbs. "We will do something tomorrow."
Nimue watched her mother's hands move in steady, circular patterns. The wooden spoon scraped rhythmically against the bottom of the pan. "What something."
"I don't know yet. Saoirse has an idea."
Nimue looked toward the window. The light was turning to gold and the shadows were stretching across the yard. She could see the forest's edge where the dark trees pressed close together. "Okay."
. . .
The light was a flat, watery grey when she woke the next morning. It wasn't the deep, heavy grey of rain, but the soft grey of the early morning before the sun has cleared the ridge. The sky was pale at the horizons.
She lay perfectly still. Cinder was a warm weight at her feet, his breathing slow and even. The house was quiet. There was no sound of the kettle yet. There were no voices from the kitchen.
Her arms still felt stiff and resistant. Her legs felt the same. She sat up slowly, the heavy blanket sliding down to her lap. She looked down at her hands. They were her hands. They didn't look any different than they had four days ago. They simply felt heavier, as if her bones were made of stone.
She slid out of bed, her feet meeting the cold floorboards. She walked to the window.
The yard was silver with a thick coating of dew. The fence posts cast long, thin shadows toward the house. The field beyond appeared as a pale gold expanse, the grass standing tall and dry at the edges. A bird called from somewhere deep within the trees, the sound sharp and clear in the stillness.
Saoirse was already outside.
She stood in the middle of the yard with her back to the house. Her dark hair was loose and falling over her shoulders. Her arms were raised high over her head, her fingers laced together. She was leaning slowly to one side and then the other, her movements easy and fluid.
Nimue watched her aunt's body move. There was a clear rhythm to the motion. Saoirse bent forward, her hands dropping toward the wet grass. She held the position for a moment, her knees straight and her back curved into a smooth arc. Then she rolled up slowly, one vertebra at a time, until she was standing straight with her arms rising again.
Nimue pressed her palm to the glass. The pane felt cool.
She pulled her hand back and went to find her shoes.
The grass was bitingly wet when she stepped outside. The cold soaked through the canvas of her trainers and through her thin socks within seconds. She didn't care.
Saoirse had her eyes closed. Her arms were out to the sides now, her palms turned up to catch the morning light. She was breathing slowly, her chest rising and falling in a deep, steady count.
Nimue stopped a few metres away, her breath misting in the air. Cinder pressed firmly against her legs, his nose pointed curiously at Saoirse.
"You are up," Saoirse said, though she didn't open her eyes.
"You are doing something."
Saoirse opened her eyes then. She offered a wide grin. "Stretching. You need it more than I do."
"My arms are stiff."
"Your everything is stiff." Saoirse rolled her shoulders once and then again, loosening the muscles. "Come here."
Nimue stepped closer. The grass felt damp and cold against her bare legs. She had put on her pale blue shorts without thinking, the ones with the deep pockets she liked.
Saoirse looked at Nimue's arm. "Show me."
Nimue tried to lift it. The movement stopped halfway up, her elbow refusing to go any further.
Saoirse's mouth pressed into a thin, serious line. "That's tightness. You haven't moved enough since the ritual."
"I moved."
"From the bed to the chair and back again isn't moving."
Nimue looked at her arm and tried to push it higher with a grunt of effort. It wouldn't budge.
Saoirse stepped closer and placed a warm, steady hand on her shoulder. "We are going to stretch. We will go slow. We will do nothing that hurts. It's just enough to remind your body that it can move."
She guided Nimue to the middle of the grass.
"Stand like me." Saoirse set her feet hip width apart and kept her arms at her sides. "Feet flat. Knees soft. Don't lock them."
Nimue copied the posture exactly.
"Hands up. Reach for the sky."
Nimue raised her arms. Her shoulders began to protest halfway through the motion, the stiffness pulling uncomfortably along her back.
"Keep going. You are taller than that."
The girl reached higher, her fingers stretching toward the clouds until the pull ran in a long, taut line down her spine.
"Good. Now lean to the left. Keep your arms up."
Nimue leaned. Her side tightened, a slow and insistent stretch forming under her ribs. Saoirse's hand rested lightly on her shoulder. She wasn't pushing; she was just being steady.
"Hold it there. Now, breathe."
Nimue breathed in, the cool morning air filling her chest.
"Now the other side."
She straightened her body and then leaned to the right. The same stretch followed, feeling steady and warm as the blood began to flow.
"Now down."
Saoirse bent forward, her arms hanging loose like wet ropes. Nimue followed the movement. Her legs pulled tight and her fingers stopped at her shins.
"That's fine. Don't force the reach. Just hang there."
She let herself hang in the air, her arms feeling heavy and her back curved. Her breath was slow and rhythmic.
"Up."
They straightened together, the world righting itself.
"Now roll your shoulders. Forward first."
Nimue rolled them forward. A soft, muffled crack slipped from the joints.
"Backward now."
She rolled them back, feeling the tension ease.
Saoirse lifted her arms again, her elbows bent and her hands loose. "Circles. Small ones first."
Nimue copied the motion, her arms moving in small circles and then larger ones as the stiffness began to melt.
"The neck now." Saoirse tilted her head to the left side. "Hold for five breaths."
Nimue counted quietly to herself.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
"The other side."
She tilted her head to the right, the stretch feeling gentler now that her body was waking up.
Saoirse watched her for a long moment and then gave a firm nod. "Better."
Nimue lifted her arm again. It went a little higher than it had before.
The back door opened behind them with a soft creak. Nimue heard it but didn't turn around.
"What is this?" Jack's voice sounded rough and low with sleep.
"Stretching. Her body is locked up. She hasn't moved properly for three days."
There was a long pause. Then came the sound of footsteps on the wooden porch, followed by the soft, heavy thud of boots hitting the grass.
Jack came into Nimue's line of sight a few metres away. His hair was a messy nest and his shirt was untucked, his sleeves only half rolled. Jane followed behind him. She was busy tying her red hair back into a knot, her long nightdress brushing against her ankles.
They stopped at the edge of the grass.
"She needs to move. All of her. Her arms, her legs, her back. Everything." Saoirse glanced at Jack with a critical eye. "You are stiff too. I can see it in how you walk."
Jack opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again when he felt his own back twinge.
"Come on," Saoirse said, her voice full of command. "Both of you."
Jane let out a small, amused laugh. "We aren't."
"You are." Saoirse pointed firmly at the grass. "Here. Now. We are doing this properly."
Jack looked at Jane. Jane looked back at him. Then they both stepped forward onto the wet grass.
The four of them stood in a line in the damp yard. Saoirse called out the movements with a steady cadence. They leaned left. They leaned right. They reached back and twisted slowly. Nimue followed her aunt's voice. Her arms stopped feeling quite so heavy. Her legs stopped feeling like they were made of wood. The stiffness didn't disappear entirely, but it loosened, the way a tight knot finally gives when you pull at the right end.
"Now down. Hang. Let your head drop."
Nimue bent forward. Her hands actually brushed the wet grass this time. She stayed there, her arms dangling and her neck loose. She could see the wooden house upside down. The door was still standing open. The kitchen light appeared bright and yellow against the grey morning.
She heard Saoirse move. "Good. Now roll up slowly. One bone at a time. Don't rush it."
Nimue straightened her spine. Her back curved and then flattened. Her head came up last. When she was standing straight again with her arms at her sides, she felt fundamentally different. Her chest felt open. Her shoulders were lower. Her legs felt heavy, but they were no longer stiff.
She looked at her hands. They were wet from the dew on the grass. She wiped them dry on her shorts.
Saoirse looked at the three of them, her hands resting on her hips. Her hair was damp at the edges from the mist and her face was flushed pink from the movement.
"That's the problem with sitting around. The body forgets how to move."
"We weren't sitting around," Jack said. "She was recovering."
"Recovering is resting. Resting is sitting. Sitting makes you stiff." Saoirse pointed a finger at him. "You have been sitting in that wooden chair for three days straight."
"I have been reading."
"Reading is sitting."
She turned slightly, taking them all in with a sweeping gaze. "We have been inside for three days. Three days. Do you think your ancestors stayed inside for that long?"
Jack opened his mouth to respond. Saoirse cut him off with a sharp look.
"They didn't. They were out in the fields and in the forests. They were walking, hunting, and working. They moved because they had to move. We have to move because if we don't, we turn into stiff, creaky things that complain about our backs."
Jane laughed softly, her eyes crinkling. "You are definitely preaching now."
"I'm educating."
Saoirse straightened her posture, her feet together and her spine perfectly aligned. She looked as if she were presenting something of great importance. "Mens sana in corpore sano."
Jack glanced at her, his eyebrows rising. "Latin now?"
"A sound mind in a sound body." She spread her arms wide as if addressing a large audience. "The Romans knew it. The Greeks knew it. The Chinese knew it long before any of them. The body is a vessel. Treat it like rubbish and it falls apart. Move it, feed it, and stretch it, and it lasts."
Jack let out a quiet breath that sounded like a suppressed laugh. "You are quoting Juvenal now."
"I'm quoting everyone. Wisdom is wisdom." Saoirse pointed at him again. "You are just upset because I'm right."
Jane shook her head, still smiling at the banter. "That sounds like preaching to me."
Saoirse only lifted her chin slightly, looking satisfied with herself.
Jane was busy rubbing her shoulder in a slow, meditative circle. "Where did you learn all of this?"
Saoirse's grin softened. It shifted into something quieter and more reflective. "The family has a lot of traditions, Jane. It isn't just the manor and the rituals. The Keiths have been travelling for centuries. They have been trading and marrying." She glanced at Jack. "Tell her."
Jack was stretching one arm across his chest, using his other hand to pull at the elbow. "There were connections with families in China. They go back four hundred years or more. Some of their practices stayed with us."
Jane raised her eyebrows. "Connections?"
"Yes, connections." Jack said, switching arms and wincing slightly at the tension. "The Keiths have always been interested in other traditions. They looked at magical and mundane ones alike. Eastern cultivation, and anything else that worked."
Saoirse gave a nod. "There was a marriage, a long time ago. And there were more after that. The stretching came from them. The exercises came from them too. Some of the food and some of the philosophy stayed. The family didn't keep everything. But some of the important things stayed."
Jack let his arm drop, rolling his shoulder to test the range. "My great-grandmother was the one who brought the morning exercises into the family. She learned them from a woman in Beijing. They stayed in contact for forty years."
Nimue looked up at him. His face was still a little red from the exertion of the stretching.
"Did you learn it?" she asked.
"I did when I was young." He rubbed his shoulder again. "I wasn't this old then."
Jane laughed at him. "You aren't old, Jack."
"I feel old."
"You feel old because you haven't moved in three days. Tomorrow you will feel better. The day after that, you will feel better still."
"The Keiths believe in a sound body," Saoirse continued. "A sound body carries a sound mind. A sound mind carries the family forward. You cannot carry anything if your body falls apart."
Nimue watched her father's face. His expression was perfectly still, but there was something in it. It was a shape she didn't have a word for yet.
Jane was looking at Saoirse with new curiosity. "I didn't know that about the family."
"There's a lot you don't know." Saoirse's voice was lighter now, but it wasn't dismissive. "The Keiths keep things hidden. They don't always talk about them. This is one of those things." She looked directly at Nimue. "This isn't magic. It's just moving your body so it remembers how to work."
Nimue looked down at her hands. They were her hands. They didn't feel quite so heavy anymore.
"More?" she asked.
Saoirse laughed. "More."
. . .
The exercises that followed were different from the simple stretching.
Saoirse stood at the front of the group with her feet together and her arms at her sides. Her face was very serious. It was a performance, Nimue could tell, but it was also something else entirely. It was something much older.
"The body needs movement the way the soil needs rain," Saoirse explained. "A body that doesn't move is a field that doesn't grow. You can't pour water on dead ground and expect a harvest."
Nimue stood in the grass with her parents. Jack was positioned behind her and Jane was to her left. The sun was fully up now. The light was gold and the shadows had grown shorter.
Saoirse lifted her arms. "First. Feet apart. Shoulder width."
Nimue spread her feet. The grass was still wet, but she didn't seem to feel the cold anymore.
"Arms forward. Palms down."
The girl raised her arms. They were level with her chest and her fingers were held straight.
"Now, breathe in. When you breathe out, lower your arms."
Nimue breathed in. The air was cool and crisp. She breathed out slowly, and her arms dropped back to her sides. The movement felt significant. It wasn't magic, but it was something else.
"Again. Breathe in. Let the arms rise."
She did it again. Her arms rose with her breath and fell with her breath. It was a rhythm she could easily follow.
Saoirse moved through the different exercises. She called them by names Nimue didn't know.
Cloud hands. She moved her arms in slow, graceful circles, one hand chasing the other, her hips shifting with the motion. Nimue copied her. Her arms felt like water; they were heavy but moving.
Swing the arms. Saoirse's arms swung forward and then back, her chest opening wide with each swing. Nimue followed along. The motion loosened her shoulders and her back, reaching the places where the stiffness had settled the deepest.
Step and push. Saoirse stepped to the side, her hands pushing away from her body as if she were pressing against something solid. Nimue stepped. She pushed. She stepped back and pushed the other way.
Jane was behind her, following Saoirse's voice closely. Jack was beside Jane, his movements much slower and more deliberate. He clearly knew these exercises. Nimue could tell by the way his feet placed themselves and the way his hands found the shapes without Saoirse having to correct him.
Saoirse turned around, her arms rising over her head. "Reach up. Stretch the spine. Now down. Fold forward. Let the head hang."
Nimue reached up and then folded her body. Her hands touched the wet grass this time. Her legs stayed straight. The pull was there, but it was different from the stretching before. It was deeper and older.
"Now, roll up. One bone at a time."
She rolled her spine. Her back curved. Her head came up last. When she was standing straight with her arms at her sides, her chest felt open and her breath was easy.
Jane was laughing now. Her hand rested on Nimue's shoulder. "What does it mean? For her?"
Saoirse looked at Nimue. Her face softened into a smile. "It means the body and the mind are the same thing. You can't have one without the other. If your body is stiff, your mind gets stiff. If your body moves, your mind moves." She crouched down, bringing herself level with Nimue. "You had a big thing happen three days ago. Your body is still catching up to what happened. Moving helps the process."
Nimue looked at her aunt's face. "You knew I was going to be stiff."
"I knew your body would need to remember how to work. That's what the exercises are for. Remembering."
Nimue thought about those words. Her arms felt lighter. Her legs didn't feel like wood anymore. She was breathing much easier. The grey in the sky was turning to gold and the grass was drying around her feet.
"Tomorrow. We do it again."
Saoirse's grin returned. "Tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that."
Nimue gave a nod. She looked at her father. He was watching her. His face was still, but his eyes were bright. She looked at her mother. Jane's hand was on her shoulder, feeling warm.
"I'm hungry," Nimue said.
Jane laughed. "You are always hungry."
Nimue shrugged. It was the truth.
They went inside the house. The kitchen was warm. Jane moved to the counter. Jack opened the wooden bread box. Saoirse sat at the table with her arms stretched out and her head tipped back.
Nimue stood at the window. The yard was empty now. The grass was drying as the dew burned off in the morning light. Bess was at the fence again, her head turned toward the house. Beyond her, the field sloped toward the forest. The trees looked dark against the pale sky.
She pressed her hand to the glass. It felt cool.
She pulled her hand back. Her hand was just her hand. Her body was her body. It felt lighter now and much easier to move. The stiffness wasn't gone, but it was moving. It was loosening.
She went to the table and climbed onto her chair.
Saoirse was still stretched out, her eyes half-closed. "See? Moving helps."
Nimue picked up a piece of toast. "You aren't moving now."
Saoirse opened one eye. "I'm resting. Resting is important."
"Resting is sitting."
Saoirse sat up quickly. Her mouth opened. Then she laughed.
"She has got you there," Jack said from his spot by the stove.
Jane was busy pouring tea, her shoulders shaking with laughter.
Saoirse pointed a finger at Nimue. "That is my line. You stole my line."
Nimue bit into her toast. "I learned it from you."
The laughter filled the small kitchen. Saoirse was laughing too, her head thrown back and her hand pressed to her chest. Jack was leaning against the counter, his face appearing red. Jane set the teapot down and put her hands over her face.
Nimue ate her toast and watched them. Her body felt light. Her chest felt warm. The stiffness was still there, like a thin thread under her skin, but it was loosening. Tomorrow she would do the exercises again.
And the day after.
And the day after that.