The afternoon light slanted across the sewing room, silver and soft through the lattice windows. Tyrande's fingers ached. She had already ripped out the same seam twice, and the linen refused to behave. The needle snagged again, puckering the fabric in a crooked line.
Sister Perla leaned over her shoulder, eyes kind but exacting.
" One more pass. The Sisterhood wears our devotion on its sleeves - quite literally."
Tyrande bit her lip and tried again, but the thread tangled. She tugged too hard; the linen tore.
Something inside her tore with it.
"I hate this!" she burst out. The embroidery hoop clattered to the floor, the sound too loud in the quiet room.
Sister Perla straightened, startled more by the tears than the outburst. Tyrande was already on her feet, blinking hard, the world swimming through saltwater. She turned and fled, her sandals slapping against the stone corridor.
That was when she noticed the faint stain blooming at the back of the girl's gown. Her tone softened at once. "Ah. I see."
She caught up easily, laying a hand on Tyrande's shoulder. "It's all right, child. You've had a long day. Come with me to the infirmary."
Tyrande was already crying in earnest now, mortified, furious, exhausted. She barely noticed the faint warmth spreading down her thigh until the Sister's hands were on her shoulders, steady and firm.
"It's nothing frightening - only the Moon finding you. Let's get you comfortable."
Tyrande froze, bewildered, then sobbed harder, the words making no sense and perfect sense all at once. Sister Perla drew her close, smoothing a hand over her hair as if soothing a fever.
"Every Sister has had a day like this. Today is yours, and I am with you."
They walked together to the infirmary, the scent of sage and lavender meeting them at the door. Lytavis looked up from arranging clean bandages, her expression shifting immediately from curiosity to concern.
Sister Perla gave a small nod. "First moon time. She needs her friend."
Understanding lit in Lytavis's eyes. She crossed the room without hesitation and wrapped Tyrande in a hug that smelled of herbs and home.
"Rough day?"
Tyrande's voice broke. "I ripped the same sleeve three times. And then I…" She gestured helplessly toward her gown. "It's just been… a lot."
"I know," Lytavis said softly. "Sit down. I'll get you some water and a fresh robe."
By the time Tyrande returned from changing, her face was pale but calmer. Lytavis poured Moonmint tea and pushed an enchanted water bottle across the small table. "For cramps, nausea, and headache," she said simply.
Tyrande accepted it with a shaky smile. "You think of everything."
"Midwives have to."
For a while they just sat in quiet companionship, steam curling from the cups.
"I knew this was coming," Tyrande said finally. "But it feels different when it's real. I thought being a novice would be nothing but prayer and moonlight and purpose. Not needles and sore fingers."
Lytavis smiled faintly. "That's how you build purpose - one small, imperfect stitch at a time."
Tyrande made a sound between a laugh and a sigh. "You're infuriating when you're wise."
"I've had practice."
Tyrande had almost drifted to sleep, her head resting on her folded arms, when Lytavis slipped away and returned a few minutes later with something wrapped in linen.
She set it on the table and unwrapped it to reveal a chocolate scone, still warm from the kitchens.
Tyrande blinked, bleary-eyed. "You stole from the Sisters."
Lytavis smiled, unrepentant. "Liberated. For medicinal purposes."
A soft laugh escaped Tyrande before she could stop it. "You're terrible."
"I'm effective," Lytavis countered, breaking the scone in half and pressing the larger piece into her hand. "Chocolate helps."
They ate in companionable silence, crumbs scattering like starlight across the tablecloth. The warmth of the tea and scone chased away the last of Tyrande's trembling, and when she finally sighed, it was the sound of someone easing back into herself.
"Thank you," she murmured.
Lytavis only smiled. "That's what friends are for."
Outside, moonlight spilled across the Temple courtyard - quiet, steady, silver - and the night felt just a little softer for both of them.