I thought the two stories came together really well. Promises are important to bears. Perhaps, she thinks, it isn’t strange at all: why shouldn’t shoes help their wearers travel? Amira stares at it, looking from it to the one in Tabitha’s. “Your lips were turning blue in your sleep, and you can’t “It’s all right, Tabitha, please—” The desperation in Amira’s voice stops Tabitha’s circling, pins her in place. You’ve been eating golden apples a long while. The apple doesn’t look like food, but she bites into it, and the skin breaks like burnt sugar, the flesh drips clear, sweet juice. Amira’s heart grinds within her, until Tabitha sighs.

Then, more gently than before, she says, “I thought you wanted to see a river full of geese.” Tabitha says, still more gently, “Mine are not the only iron shoes in the world.” Still nothing. She must move forward, or the shoes will never be worn down. I didn’t know there was anyone at the top, though; I waited until the men at the bottom had left, as they seemed a nasty lot—” It isn’t that Amira shivers, but that the quality of her stillness grows denser. “Do you want to marry me after all?” Amira’s stillness turns crystalline in her surprise. Hands still clasped, Amira and Tabitha tumble out of it together, coughing, laughing, shaking sand from their hair and skin. By day, Amira watches fewer and fewer men slide down it while Tabitha sits by her, huddled into her fur; by night, Tabitha walks in slow circles around her as they talk about anything but glass and iron.

I thought the two stories came together really well. Promises are important to bears. Perhaps, she thinks, it isn’t strange at all: why shouldn’t shoes help their wearers travel? Amira stares at it, looking from it to the one in Tabitha’s. “Your lips were turning blue in your sleep, and you can’t “It’s all right, Tabitha, please—” The desperation in Amira’s voice stops Tabitha’s circling, pins her in place. You’ve been eating golden apples a long while. The apple doesn’t look like food, but she bites into it, and the skin breaks like burnt sugar, the flesh drips clear, sweet juice. Amira’s heart grinds within her, until Tabitha sighs.

Then, more gently than before, she says, “I thought you wanted to see a river full of geese.” Tabitha says, still more gently, “Mine are not the only iron shoes in the world.” Still nothing. She must move forward, or the shoes will never be worn down. I didn’t know there was anyone at the top, though; I waited until the men at the bottom had left, as they seemed a nasty lot—” It isn’t that Amira shivers, but that the quality of her stillness grows denser. “Do you want to marry me after all?” Amira’s stillness turns crystalline in her surprise. Hands still clasped, Amira and Tabitha tumble out of it together, coughing, laughing, shaking sand from their hair and skin. By day, Amira watches fewer and fewer men slide down it while Tabitha sits by her, huddled into her fur; by night, Tabitha walks in slow circles around her as they talk about anything but glass and iron.

I thought the two stories came together really well. Promises are important to bears. Perhaps, she thinks, it isn’t strange at all: why shouldn’t shoes help their wearers travel? Amira stares at it, looking from it to the one in Tabitha’s. “Your lips were turning blue in your sleep, and you can’t “It’s all right, Tabitha, please—” The desperation in Amira’s voice stops Tabitha’s circling, pins her in place. You’ve been eating golden apples a long while. The apple doesn’t look like food, but she bites into it, and the skin breaks like burnt sugar, the flesh drips clear, sweet juice. Amira’s heart grinds within her, until Tabitha sighs.

Then, more gently than before, she says, “I thought you wanted to see a river full of geese.” Tabitha says, still more gently, “Mine are not the only iron shoes in the world.” Still nothing. She must move forward, or the shoes will never be worn down. I didn’t know there was anyone at the top, though; I waited until the men at the bottom had left, as they seemed a nasty lot—” It isn’t that Amira shivers, but that the quality of her stillness grows denser. “Do you want to marry me after all?” Amira’s stillness turns crystalline in her surprise. Hands still clasped, Amira and Tabitha tumble out of it together, coughing, laughing, shaking sand from their hair and skin. By day, Amira watches fewer and fewer men slide down it while Tabitha sits by her, huddled into her fur; by night, Tabitha walks in slow circles around her as they talk about anything but glass and iron.

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