Xanadu set the stuffed cat at the foot of the alcove in her cart that served as her bed. The little toy looked at her with its one blue eye and its one gold eye. She couldn't help but smile at it. It was sold white, and very well made. It bore a striking resemblance to Glorie's cat Malcolm.

Glorie.

Somehow, thoughts of her daughter didn't hurt as much as they once had. The Fotamos ceremony had been good for her. After all these years, she finally felt free now that she had released her daughter's soul to the gods. A ray of hope emerged from the shadows of despair, shining it's feeble light upon her soul.

The young Mugrobi dancer turned away from the cat and took off her clothes, exchanging them for the light shift she wore to bed when she was likely to encounter people. She preferred to sleep nude, but that wasn't a wise idea at the festival.

She walked back to her bed and knelt before the cupboard underneath it. Unlocking it, she reached inside and took out the sheaf of papers her father had given her when she had visited him and her mother the day she had arrived at the festival. He said he had been saving them for her ever since she had left the tribe. She knew what they were, and had not wanted to look at them then. But now ... perhaps now was the time.

Plopping down on the bed, she slipped the papers from their protective covering. Her father had been an excellent artist, sometimes drawing portraits for extra money. He had drawn many sketches of his daughter and granddaughter, both in charcoal and pastels.

The picture on top was of Xanadu holding Glorie when she was only a few hours old. She smiled as she looked at it, remembering that day as the best one of her life so far. The anger she had felt at Glorie's father for using her so badly had dissipated as soon as she heard her daughter's first cry. And as the child grew, she was actually happy that he'd left her. Glorie was hers and hers alone.

She turned to the next sketch. Four-year-old Glorie and Xanadu, standing in front of their cart, getting ready to move out with their tribe. Just the two of them. That's the way it always was, the young woman thought. Just you and me, Glorie.

She perused the sketches one by one, remembering each incident as if it were yesterday. Glorie's first tooth. Her first steps. Her first festival. Turning a cartwheel. Climbing a tree. Eating ice cream on a hot day. Cuddling her cat Malcolm, a big smile on her face. Riding on one of the bander wolves. There was one of Xanadu pregnant, an apprehensive look on her face. She had not known what to expect back then.

Mother and daughter were together in many of the sketches. There was one of them standing on their heads when Glorie was learning to tumble, one of them playing with the snakes. Seferu had been just a tiny snake then. One was of Xanadu dancing in full costume with two-year-old Glorie, also in costume, on her hip. There were others of them as well ... holding hands, embracing, laughing, always happy to be together.

Somehow she felt as if she should cry, that she should bemoan all that she had lost when that galdori carriage had destroyed her hopes and dreams. What was left of her heart should be heavy with despair. Instead she felt lighter, as if an unbearable burden had been taken away. Oh, she would always grieve for Glorie, she would always have moments where she missed the child terribly. But she felt hope now, too, hope for a future she had always been afraid to contemplate. It was like a ray of sunshine bursting through shadow.

Could she bring another child into the world, knowing that she may lose it? Yes, she thought she could. For the first time, she realized she was not alone. She was not the only one who had lost a young child. How many of the laughing people she had seen at the festival had gone through the same thing? Probably more than she thought. And yet they had moved on. She could too.

And love? She longed for it in a way she did not understand. Perhaps it was just human nature to desire a special person to spend your life with. He would have to be very special though, and he would have to love her for who she was and not for her obvious and hated beauty. Did such a man exist? Probably. Would she find him? Maybe, if she kept her eyes open and didn't scare all of her suitors away. She had to admit, she was getting a bit better at not jumping to conclusions whenever a man approached her.

Would she give him a chance when she found him? If he showed up tonight, probably not. She just wasn't ready yet. These feelings of freedom were still too new to her. She had to reconcile them within her soul. But in a few months ... a year ... yes, then she just might be ready.

She slipped the sketches back inside their protective covering. She held them close for a moment, and then placed them back in the cupboard. She had her memories of Glorie and those would never fade. It had never been enough for her before, but it was enough for her now.

Sunlight through shadow.

It was time to live again.

She reached out and picked up the little stuffed cat, lifting it to eye level. Well, cat, I guess it's just you and me for now, she thought, chuckling softly to herself. But who knows? Maybe one day I will fined love and then you will have a little boy or girl to play with you and hold you close. Who knows, cat? Maybe one of these days, we'll both get lucky.