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“What’s that?!” Rima-Tinrur froze mid-air, her feathers rustling in the warm desert breeze even so high up. She gazed, wide-eyed, across the great barren expanses to the far-off hint of blue.

“The sea.” The [i]kayhin[/i] sang as he levitated near her with a wind song.

“I... I think I’ve heard echoes of its song before. Water as far as the eye can see.” The witch’s eyes sparkled as she looked at the old man, her spirit echoing memories of nights spent on mountain peaks watching the stars and listening to the distant, eerie whale song of the waters. “Can we go there?” She breathed; eyes wide. Her excitement was contagious — but it seemed to cascade about the impenetrable [i]kayhin[/i] and rolled away without leaving a mark on his visage.

“We may if you wish — but it will be taking you [i]away[/i] from home.” The [i]kayhin[/i] intoned, gesturing behind them to the far-off eastern mountains. “I am sure there will be time enough and much travelling in later years; you have a long life ahead.” Rima looked back at the snow-peaked mountains far away, biting her lip, and then towards the equally distant tinge of the sea.

“You promise we will travel to the sea afterwards?” She asked.

“No, we will not. But I am sure that time will inexorably carry you towards it. There is a sea-song that calls on all who go wandering from home and it cannot be long denied.” Came her [i]idda-ta’s[/i] song.

That gave her pause and her brows furrowed. “You... you will leave me?” She looked at him, though knew not to seek answers on his painted visage.

“All things are destined for separation.” He recited, and her brows unfurled as she nodded in understanding. He had taught her that. In a sense, she had always known.

“If we go to the sea first, can we travel together for longer?”

“Perhaps. But it will mean that your journey home may take a very long time, for you will have to abide by my rule of companionship.”

“What is that?” She asked. The [i]kayhin[/i] turned to her with closed eyelids and face of paint and ink.

“No [abbr=Magic; lit. world-weaving][i]kawnnisaj[/i][/abbr].” He intoned. She frowned for a few moments, feeling the surging power around her. “For if you do then you shall journey with me no more and will have to find your way home alone.”

“B- but why, [i]idda-ta[/i]?” She asked, lips pursed and brows knotted.

“You are a woman now, Rima-Tinrur of the Jungle-folk.” He crooned gently, almost regretfully. “It could not be helped,” he continued, more to himself. She straightened suddenly and looked from the [i]kayhin[/i] to the sea. He never called her by her name, always [i]my dear[/i] or other terms of endearment. He had not done so since they departed, however, and it... saddened her.

“What if I need to use it?” She asked.

“There is no such thing — if you [i]need[/i] to use it then you are simply not thinking well enough. The creative and innovative mind is the greatest [i]kawnnisaj[/i]. Use it.” He sang.

“Alright then,” she agreed, “no [i]kawnnisaj[/i]. And though the journey home will be long without it, it will be more time with you, [i]idda-ta[/i]. Consider me yet your needful disciple.” She paused. “Consider me yet a foolish [abbr=granddaughter][i]teh-mi[/i][/abbr].” His face remained deadpan; eyes closed.

“If that is your wish. But you must know that I am not, and that after a time I will not be.” There was a softness in his voice hidden from his face.

“I know,” she smiled with eyes downcast, “I know. But... just while we journey together.”

“Then let us head down. We have a long walk to the sea, my blossoming rosa.” And so saying, he began descending like spiralling whirlwind towards the red earth below. Though there was yet a sadness in her eyes, Rima laughed then and her joy caught on the chromatic heavens, which seemed to laugh also, as she descended after her [i]idda-ta[/i].

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“Are we headed straight to the sea?”

“The journey is long on foot. We will have to secure some supplies for you first. Perhaps a camel,” Rima’s eyes lit up at this, the sunrays darting around playfully in them, “so we will be making a stop at the oasis-town of Miha-Rad. It is two days away.”

“So… there will be people there?” The young witch breathed, a smile helplessly growing on her face. In all the thirteen years she had known, she had never seen a person beside her [i]idda-ta[/i]. She had kept pets, that was true — birds, insects, small mammals. They had been her friends and she had wept when their short lives elapsed. Her guardian [i]kayhin[/i] had gently rubbed her tears away and told her [i]all living things are ephemeral, my dear. They will pass and you will remain; that is the burden that accompanies divine patronage[/i]. She did not listen the first time and cried again when another of her tenderly nurtured companions gave up the spirit. She had attempted to keep their souls from going away, but her [i]idda-ta[/i] had taken her hand gently and spoken of the dangers that lay down such roads, and in time she had sadly let them go.

“Yes, there will be people.” He affirmed as their quick bare feet deftly navigated the hot sands and rocks. Sparks of excitement bounced from her eyes at his words, causing the [i]kayhin[/i] to pause and turn his head towards her.

“I know I know, no [i]kawnnisaj[/i], don’t worry [i]idda-ta[/i].” She assured him, hurriedly waving the overexcited sparks away. He turned back wordlessly and continued walking.

“The people of these oasis towns — and there are many such towns all the way from the mountains to the sea — originally lived in the highlands. Why they came down to these forsaken wastes perhaps an ancient stone or hill can tell you, but they did. They roamed for a time as nomads, but then discovered the wondrous art of trading.”

“Trading, [i]idda-ta[/i]?” She asked.

“Yes, trading. If I have a thing you desire, and you have a thing I desire, then we can simply exchange them. In that way you get what you want and I get what I want. Those ancient people realised that there are things out on these wastes that people elsewhere would give much to have, and so they collected them and travelled back to the mountains and beyond to trade them. They did this for so many years — perhaps hundreds — and the journey grew longer and longer as they ventured further and further into the redlands. Soon it was so long a journey that you could not travel it in days or weeks but needed months and years. And so, some of these traders stopped travelling and started settling around oases instead, caring and providing for the passing traders and trading with them. That is how these oasis towns came to be. Now near the mountains there are no oases, but the people there live on the rivers and have made the desert bloom even as those who live on oases have. On the coast, where the land meets the sea and where we are going, is the great town of [abbr=the Furthest Place]Birba-Ida[/abbr].”

Rima-Tinrur listened attentively, her curious starry eyes ablaze as she drank up all her [i]idda-ta[/i] said. “Th- that’s incredible. They are so daring and innovative.” The old [i]kayhin[/i] made no response to that and spent some time afterwards answering the inquisitive young woman’s questions.

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They were spotted by a passing ten-man patrol on camel-back some half a day’s trek from Miha-Rad, and the group approached and respectfully hailed the [i]kayhin[/i]. “Great diviner, knower of truths and communer with the song that is all; our people are in need of you. The [abbr=mayor; lit. the One Chosen][i]mugahtir[/i][/abbr] would speak with you.” The leader declared.

“That I know, [abbr=someone who belongs to so-and-so town or so-and-so tribe may be referred to as its ‘brother’]brother of Miha-Rad[/abbr].” The [i]kayhin[/i] chanted. “Have you water and vittles for my companion?” The leader appeared visibly surprised at the request and looked more closely at the oddly-clad young woman, who was gawping wide-eyed at him.

“She is not a [i]kayhin[/i]?” He asked — for it was well-known that [i]kayhins[/i] neither needed food nor water. The gold-faced humenaki shifted in his saddle as the girl continued to stare, then grinned easily at her from beneath his hair-like headdress.

“No, she is not.” Came the [i]kayhin[/i]’s cold intonation, drawing the leader back into the present.

“Uh, of course, great diviner. Jur-Boh, bring the honoured lady a waterskin and some [abbr=camel jerky][i]sherku[/i][/abbr] with [abbr=unleavened flatbread, baked into large sheets and stored almost like scrolls][i]tehr[/i][/abbr].” The rider in question was swift to make his camel sit and, rummaging through his pack, brought the waterskin and food to her. She took them and stared at the features of the relatively young man beneath the [url= https://ids.si.edu/ids/deliveryService?id=NMAfA-D20090019-000002&max=800]strange wig headdress[/url] — the long, beaded fibres of which reached the upper back and mimicked dreadlocks. Unlike her, he was dressed in a long, square, beautifully patterned woollen sheet that only had an opening for the head. Seeing her beholding the garment with no small degree of wonder, he quickly drew it over his head, “here, this will better protect you from the sun and...” he looked at her for a few seconds, his gaze flickering across her neck and chest and causing her to instinctively bring a hand to her shoulder in some attempt to ward it off.

“Take the [abbr=poncho]benaak[/abbr] and thank the young man for his generosity, my girl,” the [i]kayhin[/i] murmured.

“Oh! Ah! Sorry! Thank you!” Rima babbled, then half-laughed and frowned anxiously towards her [i]idda-ta[/i] as she took the poncho and slipped it on with some degree of relief. There was something in the eyes of these men that made her feel oddly self-conscious and distinctly uncomfortable. Perhaps it was that she was unused to being looked at — her [i]idda-ta[/i] never opened his eyes, and when he did they had been inky black, not great staring things that seemed to hold the night sky within them. And there was no strange song of desire that emanated from her [i]idda-ta[/i] as it did from these men.

“It’s our duty to serve the friends of the great diviner, my lady,” the young man said, “duty requires no thanks.” And with that he returned to his camel. She looked curiously at the woven rattan vest he wore over what appeared to be a thin layer of goatskin. His now-exposed arm muscles bulged slightly, but like the others he was slender and tall. When he moved it was with a noticeably quick and graceful gait.

“Would the young lady like a ride, great diviner? We will arrive sooner if you are not on foot.” Came the patrol leader’s voice. Rima looked at the great camels with apparent anticipation, and the [i]kayhin[/i] let out a sigh and nodded.

“That may well be for the best,” he chanted as the wind gathered about him and lifted his form from the ground. The patrol leader looked to Jur-Boh again and gestured for him to see to the woman. The lithe young man quickly brought his camel up beside her and sat it down with a few dramatic exclamations and some tugging at the reins.

“I could have just come over, you know,” she laughed, “the distance wasn’t enormous.”

“Well, I’m here now, so I’ll have to beg your forgiveness,” the youth raised his shoulders helplessly.

“Oh. No no,” Rima hurried to say, all flustered, then paused and looked at him for a few seconds as it dawned on her that he was joking. “Oh! That... that was funny...” she chortled in surprise. Her [i]idda-ta[/i] never joked.

“Well,” he laughed, “it was [i]alright[/i], I guess. I cou-”

“Jur-Boh! Stop dallying about!” Came a shout from the moving patrolmen, and the youth quickly stopped talking helped Rima settle into the saddle behind him. The world felt as though it were falling for a few seconds as the strange animal rose — her heart hammered in panic and she instinctively placed a hand on the young man’s back, the fibres of his headdress surprising rough, and another on the saddle behind her to steady herself.

“There now, nothing to fear. Can’t be your first time on a camel now.” He said over his shoulder.

“Uh. Well. It can...”

“Hmm, strange. How did you get so far into the desert just on foot?”

“And who said I was on foot? Maybe I flew.” She quipped. “But anyhow, I’ve always been here. I guess [i]idda-ta[/i] carried me when I was too little to walk or remember.”

“Oh, he is your [i]idda-ta[/i]? Odd, always thought that the [i]kayhins[/i] don’t marry or have children.”

“Well, I don’t know... it’s probably true, I never really asked. He is not [i]actually[/i] my [i]idda-ta[/i], but he has always cared for me.” The youth scratched his forehead, and she instinctively knew he was frowning.

“That... means you are touched by the gods, right? [i]Kayhins[/i] don’t just take little kids like that — only special ones. You weren’t joking about flying eh? I guess you will be a [i]kayhin[/i] yourself one day.”

“Me? A [i]kayhin[/i]?” She looked up thoughtfully at her airborne [i]idda-ta[/i]. “That... heh. I like the sound of that, uh, Jur-Boh, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right. And you?”

“I am Rima-Tinrur... of the Jungle-folk.” It was odd saying it herself. It sounded strange... but it caused her chest to swell somewhat, as though it were an achievement. She liked it.

“Jungle-folk huh? That’s a long way off.”

“Oh? You know it?” She asked, leaning forward.

“I mean, I’ve never been there or anything — that would take, gods — years? I don’t know. But the caravanners tell wild stories about the jungle and the people there — vicious warriors who wear [abbr=vespian][i]fahupki[/i][/abbr] skin and use their claws and tails as weapons. They are the bane of the [i]fahupki[/i] — and the bane of near everyone else too!”

“W- woah. Really? They’re like that?” she paused for a few seconds, “and, uh, what are [i]fahupki?[/i]” The young man looked over his shoulder with a laugh.

“My, you’re [i]really[/i] sheltered aren’t you.” He said. She blinked, opened her mouth to argue, then realised she did not know what that meant and closed it again. “They’re giant insects, terrible flying things that come in all shapes and sizes. I know the caravanners trade with some of them, but the only ones I’ve ever seen wanted to tear my head off.”

“You’ve said that word a few times now, what does it mean?”

“What word?”

“Caravanners. Who are they?”

“Oh, they are merchants, traders. They’re the nomads of the wastes, travel all over the world and have all sorts of tales and treasures. They made the Great Caravan Route- uh, you probably don’t know what that is right? It’s this great road of sorts — but not [i]literally[/i] a road — that goes all the way from Birba-Ida to the great city of Qabar-Kirkanshir. Thousands and thousands of camels as far as the eye can see. They say that the first camel in a caravan enters Birba-Ida just as the last leaves Qabar-Kirkanshir! Crazy, right?” He looked over his shoulder with a smile and found that Rima had a far-eyed look on her face.

“Yeah...” she murmured, “it is... remarkable.”

When they finally arrived at Miha-Rad the sun was beginning to descend in the west, but one of the patrolmen had ridden ahead and so all Miha-Rad’s family patriarchs were assembled to welcome them. “We salute you great diviner and bid you welcome to Miha-Rad. You have alighted among your people and are greeted as a son long gone from home.” One of them declared once the [i]kayhin[/i] had descended.

“The ornament of wealth is generosity, contentment that of the poor.” The [i]kayhin[/i] responded cryptically as Rima came up beside him. The patriarch’s all wore headdress-wigs with impressive fibre dreads not dissimilar to those of the patrolmen, only that theirs boasted colourful feathers and were the sandy colour of sand as opposed to the brownish or black ones the warriors wore. The one who had greeted the [i]kayhin[/i] wore the most prominent headdress of all — his dreadlocks were red and a crown of eagle feathers ran along the front. 
As Rima took all this in, to one side drums were beaten and the melodic trilling of women rose. One of them stepped forward and began singing, and she was followed by the others. They danced around the guests, bidding them welcome in short melodic couplets and sprinkling water on them from bowls, trilling and ululating loudly every time a couplet was rendered by one of them. Rima was quite visibly captivated by the whole affair, and the power of the sung couplets seemed to build up to a breaking point that the ensuing ululations and shrilling alone could answer; till those died down that another couplet may arise. 
This went on for a good while, until the women began slowly retreated one by one and danced away. One remained behind, still spraying them with droplets of water from the bowl. When the others were some way away, she gestured to Rima and went dancing after the others. The girl looked to her [i]idda-ta[/i] uncertainly, but he nodded to her reassuringly and so she stepped hesitantly after the women — who were now disappearing into tight alleys between enclosed compounds of beehive-shaped, sun-kissed earthen homes.

Rima took one final look back at her [i]idda-ta[/i], who was now walking into the town with all those older men, and followed after the women. A few of them took her by the hand and helped her from her clothes, giving the rags she wore beneath the poncho quizzical looks as they helped her out of it. “My, you can’t be wearing these my girl. We will get you something suitable for a beautiful young woman like you.” The speaker was an older woman who sat on a small bench and leaned on a stick. Like the men she too wore a wig-headdress; hers was red like that of the patriarch who had greeted them, and not only were colourful beads interwoven into the shorter dreadlock fibres but so too were metallic copper rings, pearls, and cowries. Rima’s brows furrowed, and she glanced at her clothing. She had felt that the men thought them odd before, and now that was confirmed.

“They... are not good?” She asked hesitantly as the young women seated her on a stool and brought a bucket full of heated water and slowly began pouring it over her head and body with a bowl. Rima blinked in surprise and then shivered at the odd sensation. “Oh!” She murmured. The younger women, Rima noted, wore [url=https://i.imgur.com/EJyjku5.jpeg]brown or black wig-headdresses[/url], like those of the warriors — only that, again, their dreads or braids were far shorter. She could not deny that there was a certain aesthetic to them.

“No, they are not good my girl. A woman must cover herself properly, or else she invites shame upon herself.” The older woman piped. A few girls came with steaming buckets and handed the old woman an assortment of sweet-smelling herbs and flowers, which she sniffed at and crushed before throwing them into the buckets. The younger women then stirred the contents and carried them over to where Rima sat on the stool. They ladled the sweet-smelling water over her head and scrubbed her down, cleaning out her crown of feathers and rinsing her short hair. Rima could not say she did not like the feeling of warm water — and the sweet scents were unlike anything she had smelled before — but she was not quite used to this kind of manhandling or attention. She looked over at the older woman, who was smiling approvingly. “The [i]kayhins[/i] may be blessed by the gods, my girl, but they are utterly mad — they don’t understand how civilised society works. But don’t you worry, we’ll make a woman of you — learn from old Huna-Miwe, I’ve seen it all.” Rima furrowed her brows slightly but then found herself giggling and leaping to her feet as one of the girls scrubbed beneath her armpits.

“Oh! Not there!” She squealed, disentangling herself from the others and shaking droplets of water everywhere. The other girls took this as an opportunity to empty what remained in the buckets on top of her, and Rima stood blinking water out of her eyes and blowing bits of herbs and flower petals away. “Nice.” She whispered, more to herself. She was not left standing there long, however, for fabrics were quickly brought and numerous hands set to drying her with them before soft garments were wrapped and tied about her crotch and chest, followed by a long rectangular woollen skirt and poncho, both intricately patterned and beautiful. The old woman inspected her and clicked in approval.

“See, now anyone who lays eyes on you will know you to be a maiden of the highest pedigree — if, as the [i]kayhin[/i] says, generosity is the adornment of the rich and contentment of the poor, then modesty is that of youthful maidens, my girl.” She extended her arm to Rima who, after a moment of confused hesitation, took it and walked with her. “And you must wear your hair long, my girl. And if you can’t, then at the very least a [abbr=wig-headdress][i]hikser[/i][/abbr], I would think you would do that at least.”

“Oh, it just gets so long and blows into my face when it’s windy.” Rima hurried to explain.

“Of course, but that is because you do not know to care for it.” The old woman said. Rima blinked and looked at her oddly.

“Are... are you listening to my song?” She asked. The old woman smiled. “I thought only [i]kayhins[/i] could do that.” Rima murmured.

“Well, I am no [i]kayhin[/i], young one. The song is open to anyone who opens their ears. Just like you have done.” They walked in silence for a while until they reached the outskirts of the town and the fields of green there. Rima had never seen anything like it.

“What is that?” She asked.

“Plants — crops. Maize and squash and the like. That is to say — food.” The old woman replied and then headed towards it. Rima looked at the tall stalks in amazement, brushing them with her fingers and taking in their hushed songs of dusk. After some time walking in silence, they turned back and walked between the beehive abodes until they reached a large compound where women were congregated and from where all kinds of appetising smells were wafting. Rima was led into one of the ovular homes and food was laid out — meats, soups, stews, bread, clay jugs full of soured milk, others with water and others yet with stranger drinks.

“Y- you made all this?” the astonish Rima asked some of the women seated around her. “How?”

“It’s all part of being a woman, my girl,” came old Huna-Miwe’s voice as she was aided into the dimly lit house by two younger women and took a seat to Rima’s left. The young witch looked at Huna-Miwe and the others, and there seemed a certain sadness in her eyes — as though something had dawned on her all of a sudden. “Come, eat.” Huna-Miwe gestured to the others, and they all tucked in. A cup of soured milk was placed before Rima, a bowl of soup, meats were torn into little pieces and thrown in. “Here,” the old woman handed her some bread, and Rima watched how she dipped the bread into her own bowl, letting the soup soak in before eating, and did the same.

The strange tastes, smells, and textures of foods she had never imagined existed left Rima wondering if this was not some elaborate dream from which she would soon awaken. She visibly savoured each morsel and sipped at the strange drinks laid before her as though they had descended from the dining table of the gods. And when she was slow or seemed to stop, Huna would nudge her and put something before her, or one of the other women would extend a bowl of something else and insist she try it. “Happy women make happy food.” The old Huna murmured approvingly as she ate, then looked over at Rima. “Remember that, my girl. It’s the first thing I taught my [abbr=daughters-in-law][i]nyaras[/i][/abbr]; when you are making food you have to leave all the bad feelings out of the food. The man upset you? Forget about it when you are cooking. The women are talking about you? Forget about it when you are cooking. Your back hurts? You’ve been standing all day? No one is helping? Forget about it when you are cooking. Happy women make happy food, and happy food makes happy homes, and happy homes make happy women.” The old woman then leaned in conspiratorially. “My [i]nyaras[/i] say to me, ‘old woman Huna, you have done some [i]kawnnisaj[/i] on the [i]mugahtir[/i] and that is why he has not married another woman,’ but I tell them no, there is no [i]kawnnisaj[/i] in these old bones — the secret is happy food, my girl. Happy food is the way to your man’s heart. Give him happy food and he will not look elsewhere. Happy food makes a happy man, and a happy man makes his woman happy too. That’s the secret young one.” The women around the table giggled or snickered at the old woman’s words, but she returned to her food and paid them no heed. Rima, for her part, stared at Huna-Miwe with a smile and clear admiration — though she had not understood half of what she was saying, she felt there was something important there and tried to hold onto the words.

“Old woman Huna, when we met the men on the camels on our way here, they said that word too — [i]mugahtir[/i]. He is your... uh man?” The old woman nodded slowly. “They said that the people here are in need of something, that the [i]mugahtir[/i] needed to speak to my [i]idda-ta[/i]. But you all seem so happy – I can’t imagine that there is anything you are in need of at all.” There was silence then, and the other women suddenly stopped eating — though the old woman did not stop, dipping a piece of bread into her bowl and bringing it to her mouth. She chewed for a few moments then smiled.

“It is good to have good ears — and we are blessed by the gods with two of them and only one tongue. Perhaps there is a wisdom there.” Huna spoke, looking at all those seated around the meal. “In fact, some women give this wisdom such great import that they would prefer to do away with the tongue and have a third ear!” The old woman laughed, “well, they must think they’re wiser than the gods, mustn’t they my girl?” She smiled at Rima as she said this, and the girl laughed uncertainly. She was not entirely sure if she was being reprimanded or praised; something told her it was the latter. Huna sighed and leaned back, “yes yes, there is a problem. My foolish son is the problem — see, that one had one too many unhappy meals, that’s what.” She seemed to fix one of the women at the table with a glare, but quickly moved her gaze upward to survey the walls as she spoke. “What’s a mother to do? One son hates the other. What’s the mother to do? Split her heart in two? If it would make them love each other she would, but I don’t know if even the gods can do that. Not anymore anyhow.” She sighed and placed her hands on the table, fixing her eyes on them for a few moments before gazing at Rima from beneath knitted brows. “The problem is not that my two eldest sons hate one another. Many siblings go on living while hating one another. The problem, my girl, is simple: the younger of them, that hotblooded Minir-Huda, slew his brother; and in doing so he broke this foolish old woman’s heart and incurred the curses of the gods. He is out there now, haunting the night, preying on raw flesh and blood like a savage beast — oh! unhappy, unhappy food!” There was a tear in the old woman’s eye, but she brushed it aside angrily. “He sought by this deed the title of [i]mugahtir[/i], he sought his father’s wealth and estates — he’s gained nothing and lost all.” Rima frowned at the old woman’s words.

“I... I don’t understand. He... eats raw flesh? Why?”

“It is a curse that falls on all those who kill,” the woman sat beside Rima explained, “they become maddened beasts of tremendous power who can only survive on blood.” Rima’s brows furrowed and she looked at Huna with pity.

“Th- that’s terrible. Why? Why would he kill? And his own brother...” Rima looked to the old woman, who looked back at her with hard, narrowed eyes. Leaning forward, she spoke.

“It is greed, my girl. Greed. It is the death of all love, the well of all hatred, the pit of all envy. It is the mouth with unquenchable thirst and unending hunger — the world is not enough for a heart brimming with greed.”

“W-why?” The witch asked, her eyes exhibiting a deeply dumbfounded hurt and confusion. And before she could comprehend what was happening, there were tears rolling from her eyes. “Why is that a thing?” She looked down and realised her hands were trembling. Energies swirled around her, the house shook, and dust fell from the domed ceiling.

“My girl-” the old woman began, but before she could go on there was a presence at the door.

“Rima-Tinrur.” Came the voice of the [i]kayhin[/i], soft yet penetrating. “What are you?” The girl looked up, her trembling ceasing abruptly. She gazed at the ink-stained face through watery eyes.

“I...” she sniffed and wiped the tears away. “Clear. Concise. Direct.” She intoned, taking a deep, calming breath.

“Yes, that you are. You should rest now, for you are tired and we must exorcise the beast come the morrow’s dusk.” His calming voice dictated. She nodded, barely restraining a yawn, and realised that she was very tired indeed — though she had not been mere seconds before.

“Come,” said Huna-Miwe, rising to her feet and helping Rima up, “let’s find you a place to get some shut-eye.” The other women looked considerably less composed than the old woman, giving the young witch anxious looks and glancing at each other furtively. “What are you all sat dallying about for?” The old woman snapped, “clean this up and go to your men!” Rima glanced back in a daze, but the old woman took her by the elbow and told her not to pay them any heed.

They walked between the houses, Huna partly leaning on Rima and partly on her stick, until they got to a relatively small compound on the outskirts. “Shala,” the old woman piped.

“Oh, old woman Huna?” The woman called Shala extended her head from the doorway of the compound’s single abode and greeted them. “Ah, our guest is with you.”

“Yes, she is tired. Make her comfortable for the night.”

“Of course, of course. Please come in.” Shala said, and the two stepped into the small abode where Shala was clearing a space against the wall.

“Get me a stool,” Huna barked, and Shala quickly scrambled outside and was soon back with a simple wooden stool. As the old woman made herself comfortable, Shala helped the dazed Rima under the blankets and covered her. “That’s good now,” the old woman said, her voice coming soft. She glanced at Shala. “It is only you here tonight, yes?” The younger woman nodded in the affirmative.

“Yes, Jur-Boh will be keeping watch.”

“Oh, Jur-Boh,” the half-sleeping Rima murmured. “He’s the funny one.” Shala looked at Huna with a small smile.

“Well, I guess he thinks so.” Huna rolled her eyes. Shala restrained her smile, but the older woman saw. “I know what you’re thinking, you sly fox — those were pity laughs, didn’t want to break his confidence. It’s actually how terribly unfunny he is that makes me laugh.” Finding that she was not convincing anyone, she changed the subject. “Anyhow, can we expect a little Jur-Boh anytime soon?”

“Not yet — but the gods are good, I’m sure it will not be long now.”

“Whatever god presides over good humour has spared us for the moment, it seems.” The old woman scoffed.

“You are... he is your man?” Rima, who had just about been following the conversation, asked Shala.

“My, you’re not asleep yet? Enough gossip for you, young lady. Sleep now.” Huna-Miwe ordered. 

“Mhmm, yeah. I will.” The witch said, turning over. “Thank you for today, old woman Huna. I... I’d like to be a woman like you said... soon. And make happy food.” The old woman sighed and sat there in silence, listening to the deep breathing of the all-too-innocent young girl. Her mind carried her down the way of memories and past joys and regrets, and every now and then she whispered a song that was lost in the night until, eventually, she nodded off completely. When she did, Shala came over and, gently, half-walked and half-carried her to the bedding she had prepared.

Though Miha-Rad was a town scarred, and though blood flowed fresh and was an open wound in the hearts of its people, the night was peaceful and calm and the moon of Qibbar Husnu shone bright and protective and was to all their grief and pain a balm.

[centre][img]https://i.imgur.com/XRcyBUw.png[/img][/centre]
[indent][list][*][hider=Summary]As Rima and the kayhin are flying east towards the mountains, Rima spots the sea and asks if they can go there. The kayhin says they can, but that it will be taking them away from home - he also has some conditions if they are to be travelling anywhere other than home. She agrees and they head towards the sea on foot. As they are heading towards a town to get supplies, some patrolmen come across them and hail the kayhin, telling him they need aid. They go to the town and are welcomed. Rima learns a thing or two about humenaki life and gets lessons in womanhood. It transpires that the secondborn son of the town's mayor has killed his elder brother and so become a vampire. The town needs the kayhin to hunt it down.[/hider]
[*][hider=The Experimental Summary]Rima is [url=https://youtu.be/R4EnErMCKrI]homeward bound[/url] when she spots the sea - let's go see that, she says. 
Well, says papa inkdruid, if you do that then we're walkin - and no magic 'cause reasons. 
Okay, she says.
So they walkin and talkin when some camel-riding boys with hella cool headdresses come along and say: we be needin some of that help you're freely giving.
We were headin that way anyway, says grumpy papa inkdruid.
Well they goin and they comin to this town and damn, these people have hella nice headdresses, and they dancin these people.
So Rima goes off with the women and old woman Huna is like: gurl, you have no sense of style. I'mma teach ya to be a woman.
Rima is like: oh yeah mama, you teach me.
So she be teachin and they be eatin when damn, how come you guys need my grumpy papa? Ain't no problems here, right?
Well, turns out this ain't all sunshine and daisies, sunshine - 'cause this town be havin a vampy problem. And guess who's gonna deal with it?
You know it.[/hider][/list][/indent]