Warlord Zeru watched the sun come through the trees, dappling his feet where he stood. His tent had been set up a little ways apart from his daughter's -- the one that she would share with Inaki after tonight. Amaya, his arreba-emazte, sat outside also, sewing. Although she was thin, Esti was thinner, and she'd had to take in the sides of the wedding tunic she had worn for their daughter to wear it.

The very fabric of it brought up bad thoughts. With a final kiss to Amaya's brow, Zeru went out into the crowd at the Gathering. It was always a pleasure to watch the throngs of people separate for him -- now, they moved more slowly, because he was getting older. They had less respect for him, especially with tonight fast approaching. Tonight the Zerui would see the marriage of their future Warlord, Inaki sem'Zeru, to Esti alab'Zeru. He wondered, as the questing eyes of the massive tribe sought his, if any of them knew why they were marrying now. It made something turn in his stomach to know that his daughter was carrying a child in hers.

Vaguely, he wondered if he was happy.

But before he could answer his own internal question, an unmistakable figure caught his eye. A pale-face woman. Her skin was the same color as the man he would be sacrificing later, and it gave him a chill.

Curiously, as Zeru stalked toward the woman, he thought of Esti as a baby, and the joking comments they'd made about her pale skin. Looking at the interloper, just like the man awaiting sacrifice, he was relieved that his daughter had bronzed in the summer sun. "Aizu," he called, in clear, rumbling Baska. Zeru stood a few feet away, aware that if he got too close he might frighten her away -- or worse, she might curse him with her pale-faced sorgin magic.

Not that that was a big concern. He'd already been cursed enough.

The girl looked up, then started and took half a step back as her eyes flew wide. She knew this man. Izotz had pointed him out to her through the crowd any time he passed remotely by. Renna assumed that he was terrified his concubine would mistake the Warlord for some no-account old man, but there was no chance of that. It was impossible to have those piercing eyes light on you and think "Oh, what a nice old man." Zeru might be touched with age, but he was still every bit a warrior-and Renna had made it a point to stay far on the fringes of things in hopes of avoiding him. But now by some chance he'd seen her, and he was saying hello.

What did she do now?! It was only a greeting, but his voice reminded her of the growls of the enormous bull mastiff kept by their neighbors back in Winchcombe. Renna kept her eyes at her feet, unable to meet his gaze. At least he was staying back from her. That was something.

"....Aizu." Her voice was soft and shy, and she bowed at the waist. When she straightened she locked her hands behind her back and looked at the dust. "I'm sorry to disturb the Jaunko."

Her Baska was perfect-at least, in pronounciation. It was too early to tell if she'd mastered the grammar yet.

Zeru had to raise an eyebrow at the girl's response. Someone had obviously been taking enough care with her to teach her their language, which meant that she may have been accepted -- to a degree -- by the tribe that took her. The Hibaii, and if he had heard correctly, now called to Izotzi. If the one who owned her truly was Izotz sem'Hibai, then this conversation could quickly take a wild turn. Zeru was not known for his kindness to the outlandish and bloodthirsty Hibaii -- Izotzi -- tribe. He was frankly surprised that they hadn't cooked and eaten the captive yet.

Figuratively, of course.

"Well, well," he rumbled in Scalian, quickly switching back to his more familiar native tongue as soon as he had said so. It was rare for the Warlord to speak Scalian; he had learned little of it, his stubbornness wouldn't let him. "So this is the murroi-emazte of Izotz sem'Hibai?"

The Warlord's brown eyes glinted amber in the sunlight as he flicked his gaze briefly up and down Renna's body. The brief look told him enough. "You're all white, and too skinny," was his flat assessment. Despite himself and despite the attractiveness of his several wives compared to this ghost of a woman, Zeru couldn't help but wonder about the color of her skin, and if she was that pale everywhere -- it must have been a remnant of his "boisterous" teenage years. He shook it off quickly. "Izotz might have done better to choose an interloper more capable of work. Tell me, with your tiny hands and pale blind eyes, what can you do?"

Although Zeru's grating tones sounded harsh, he was at the same time sarcastic and genuinely curious. What was it that a pale-face could learn to do? Could they actually be worth something, besides a sacrifice?

"Do you have a name, txiki**?"

------
** Txiki: little one

The girl just looked at him throughout his entire tirade, waiting placidly for him to finish. It was true that he was the Warlord, but he asked the same questions everyone else did. You're so white! Are you that white all over? Your eyes! You must be half-blind. How do you keep your hands so soft? How does your hair curl so? Do you have a name? Does it have a meaning? If she'd been asked once, she'd been asked a hundred times. At least he was asking her directly instead of getting potentially false information from someone prone to exaggeration. Renna patiently let him finish appraising her (with a faint sense of comfort that the dreaded Warlord had unwittingly called her by one of her father's pet names), then answered him quietly.

"...I'm not blind. I can see the wind moving through the grass." She gestured. "Long, long ago, my people lived by....depended on...the ocean. The Sea marked a few of us with eyes of green or blue; the masters of the waves. That was many, many years ago, and now it has no meaning to have pale eyes, but that is where it began. We can see as well as you do."

Well, it sounded good. And she'd noticed that the Zerui seemed to accept superstition more easily than "because it is, that's why" as an answer to their curiousity. Renna had to wonder, however, how he knew that she was a concubine. Mikel hadn't. Perhaps word had just gotten around. After all, she was the only pale face in the entire Gathering.

....Or not the only. A faint pang made her lower her eyes away from Zeru and stroke a finger nervously through her hair. Somewhere a man as pale as she awaited execution. She shook her head and forced herself to come back to the present, lifting her gaze once more to meet those brilliant eyes. He'd called her txiki. She couldn't be afraid of him now. "My name is Renna, Jaunko, and I work hard. I can cook and set up tents and ride and farm and tell stories and bear children as you do-and I weave. I weave better than anyone. At least, better than anyone in the tribe."

The girl's tone was matter-of-fact. She didn't intend to boast; it was simply the truth. Having mastered the advanced techniques of Thiasan weaving, the Baskari way was no challenge to learn and no challenge to better.

He thought that he should be offended that this pale-face was so arrogant to think that she was a better weaver than a Baskari woman. But this Renna was not afraid to be blunt with him, and it was becoming slightly more obvious to Zeru why Izotz had taken her. He doubted that she was lying about working hard -- the Zerui were not ones to take pity on a captive, and while this one hadn't been outwardly abused, she had obviously had enough worth to keep the blows from becoming physical. But her lowered head seemed to say that the verbal beatings had been hard enough.

"Renna." The name felt strange in Zeru's mouth, his tongue rolled around the Scalian letters in an unfamiliar way. He didn't like it. "This is an odd name. They give you odd names. Renna, Aedan, Digby... Thomas." The Warlord wrinkled his nose as though someone had brushed the names with pepper. "It would be best if they gave you good names, true names. Osasune, Itsaso, Domeka, Herensuge. Names with meaning. I don't like this Renna."

So he thought for a moment, looking at Renna. She'd probably spoken true about working hard, but seeing the wind blow through the grass? It was inhuman. No one but Eguzki could see wind, only the bend it made as it passed. "Xixili," he said after a short pause. "This is better. Where is your weaving? I want to see if you are really better than the tribe."

Renna hid a wince at the cruel name he'd given her, but she reminded herself that she wasn't really blind and therefore it was every bit as meaningless as he thought her name to be. Her heart gave a little leap when he said the name Thomas, but of course it would be foolish to start babbling to the Warlord about her beloved elder brother. He didn't care. She was just a packhorse to him-a creature to be worked, and nothing else. So she forced a smile. "Our names have meanings. They just aren't as obvious as the names you give. As for the weaving...."

The girl slipped a hand nervously into her hair. "Please follow me." She led him through the maze of tents, picking her way over to where the Izotzi gathered in a faint daze. What if he didn't agree that she had skill? Would he beat her? Still, it was true that she was very good. She knew it was. She was fearing for no reason. Renna was silent throughout the entirety of their walk, and then she simply lifted her hand and pointed. The loom was set up outside, so Zeru could easily see her work. A blanket was stretched over it, half finished--but already it was bordered with a thousand shaded flowers in the Thiasan style, perfect images of the flowers that spread wild over the hills. The border surrounded a Zerui design, with patterns of deer and barley and the river, circling each other in vivid color. Last of all was a great star set in the middle, pointed and white as the guide to North set in the center of the sky. She shrugged. "It's not finished yet."

"You know the meaning of the name I've given you?"

Zeru had put it rather lightly, almost as though he had given her a generous gift. Which was somewhat true -- she had his attention, and few apart from his warriors (and of late, his son) could say that. So it was that, as he followed the concubine through the cluster of tents, the Warlord seemed almost docile in his observation.

The blanket she'd made was lovely, he'd give her that. "These flowers," he muttered, tracing the pattern in the air above them. "They are your flowers. Yes? Your pale-face flowers. Ugly." For a moment, he considered the oddity of the white shape in the center -- was it a representation of Eguzki, or some blasphemed symbol of her personal God? Zeru's fingers tensed in the moment of decision; would he destroy it? And then he relaxed, leaving her beautiful work untouched.

"But the blanket is well made. You have learned our symbols well. The work is good, and you are a good weaver; you are indeed good for something, it seems." A pause, then:

"I am going to tell you a secret, Xixili."

He was praising her work, although Renna had to bite her lip to prevent herself from pointing out that her 'ugly, pale-face' flowers were the exactly the same ones that he saw greeting the sun each morning. He was being stubborn now, and stupid, and prejudiced just for the sake of being prejudiced...so she let his words sweep over her like wind. It meant nothing. He just wanted to save face. "...I know the meaning of my name."

The sentence came as an afterthought, because she was watching his hand hovering over her weaving. He hadn't torn it apart yet but who was to say he wasn't a man prone to changing his mind? It was like watching a predator prowling around an infant-her heart was starting and stopping with every movement of his fingers. And then he said he had a secret.

Automatically she straightened and let her hands lock together in front of her. Something in his tone, and the way he said his name for her...alarm was coursing through her blood and she hardly knew why. She only knew that she needed to put up a shield. Something to protect herself.

The pale eyes locked into Zeru's brown gaze, and she let her lips open ever so slightly. "....I'm honored, to be trusted with the Warlord's secret. But I fear to think what he might have to say to little Xixili."

Much to his own surprise, Zeru let out a laugh -- a short, barking laugh -- at her comment about being 'little Xixili'. "Little Xixili... txikili." The chuckle ended in what might have been a stubborn cough, and the Warlord's face went stony again. He leaned closer to her, a stance that was all aggressive dominance to her submissive posture.

"So, txikili. This is my secret." Zeru's grin was wolfish. "Tonight, my son and daughter will marry. It is our way, that a Warlord always marries his sister. It is for purity of blood, and a sacred wedding. This is the secret: my daughter carries his child, and no one knows. You will make a blanket for the baby." Txikili made beautiful blankets, and besides, how much more cursed could the baby be? An interloper's gift could no more harm it.

By the way she acted, he could tell she expected more from the secret, and bit down a chuckle.

"It is no great secret to you, but it is important. Esti -- my daughter -- has suffered such grief over this. She weaves dreadfully." Another lie, but he wanted the pale-face's trust.

The girl's face lit. That was his secret? Izotz had told her days ago about the coming wedding, and she'd wondered if it would appropriate for her to bring a gift...and now she was invited to do so, and at a time when she was adjusted to the horrible idea and not inclined to let her true thoughts show on her face. Instead, she lifted her hands to hold them under her chin. "Oh, really?! Jaunko!"

She hadn't missed his laugh. He liked her. He didn't want to show it, but he, the Warlord, liked her! That was honor enough. Renna's pale cheeks flushed pink at the thought and she smiled into her fingers. "I would love to make a blanket for the baby. Only tell me what sights your daughter loves best-the sunrise, the stars, the water on the rocks...and I will weave it for her. I will weave my best, and finish as soon as I may. It will be glorious. For the future."

Renna turned her smile at him and lowered her lashes shyly, unsure how to take this praise. "It will be an honor. Such an honor. Thank you."

"Only tell me what your daughter loves best-the sunrise, the stars, the water on the rocks...and I will weave it for her."

Well. She'd liked his proposition, then... it was indeed, as she had put it, an honor, to make a blanket for the future of the Zerui. Xixili seemed eager, but there was no chance of her finishing the blanket by the time of the wedding. Zeru shook his head to clear his mind, looked at the bright pale eyes of the interloper, and quailed a little.

"...My daughter loves horses," he replied quietly. "She likes to go out to the fields and sleep among them at night, under the stars."

Xixili would have no idea what was to come until it was too late. Something -- was it a conscience, or simply the heady effects of the datura wearing off -- urged him to forbid her from watching the sacrifice. But he bit it down; the interloper man would have to be sacrificed to Eguzki, it was an honor, just as weaving the blanket was an honor. Zeru would give honor to them both.

"Do not thank me. My daughter will be so grateful for your gift." His voice was uneasy. How had this little blind girl, this txikili affected him so? He really was growing older, and softer by the minute. It was pathetic.

Her face warmed, and the shine of her eyes reflected the light of the sun. Renna shook her head. "No, I must thank you. It is our custom, too, to give gifts at weddings-and I wished to, but I thought, being what I was..."

She looked at her feet. "The Izotzi call me sorgin and Snake Eyes, and so of course I thought my gifts would not be welcomed. And I was so sure that you would find me and, and, I don't know..." Renna looked a little sheepish, and gave him a timid glance. "Beat me, or something, for being white. Especially after your son..." The weaver trailed off, and let her tone gentle. "Izotz told me about that, so I would know what was happening here. I'm so sorry." The words were genuine. "I know what it is to lose someone precious. So I made this."

Little Xixili shrugged and pulled at a scrap of fabric thrust through her belt, offering it out to him. It was woven black with brilliant arrows of fire and symbols of strength bordering it. It was also only an inch or two long. The girl looked embarrassed again. "I don't even know why. I just felt sad, and Izotz said that Xanti had been strong...so I made it. It's useless, of course but I...thought it might...comfort. Even a little. "

She pressed it into his hand, then smiled shyly up at him. "I meant to burn it, but I could not bear to do it, somehow. You are welcome to, if you wish. That is just my silly way of saying sorry, and that I hope Eguzki guards him well." Renna put her head to the side, looking at him softly. "And another thanks. You of all the Zerui are the only one to give me honor. Thank you, Jaunko."

Without warning she rose on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek-very briefly and very gently. Then she blushed. "Sorry, is that wrong? I can't help it. You make me think of someone I loved, once. I mean no insult. Sorry."

Zeru listened with genuine interest to her rant, letting her words confirm what he already knew -- that the Zerui hated her for being pale. He'd been teased, of course, when Esti was born for her light skin, but even his daughter was dark in comparison to this. Xixili pressed something into his hand, a tiny weaving she had made in honor of his son. His son, Xanti? And she kissed him on the cheek, making his mind reel more.

He looked at the fire-colored scrap of weaving, at it's bold, strong symbols. It indeed reminded him of Xanti, and as she had done, he tucked the piece of fabric carefully into his belt, folding it over so he was sure it would not fall out. "Why," he asked, running his fingers over the weaving. "Why do you weep for my son's death? Your people delight in it." He looked at her, cautiously, almost as though she had frightened him. Zeru's mouth crooked up on one side in some semblance of a smile.

"You are an interesting creature, txikili."

Taking a step back from her, Zeru folded his arms over his chest and glanced up at the sky. The sun was reaching its zenith, and the sacrifice was soon to come. "You will weep at the sacrifice. Yes? You shouldn't. He fought bravely; we only take the greatest of warriors, those worthy of Eguzki. He is treated with the most honor we can give him. We are very grateful to him for his gift." He glanced at Renna again, his eyes heavy with dread and resignation this time.

"I do not do this to be cruel. It is our way. I am as helpless to it as he."

Renna's face became solemn, and then troubled. She'd tried her hardest to push the coming sacrifice out of her mind, and had done very well to look at Zeru and not think that he was simply a murderer. And now he was bringing it up with her. He was concerned, about what she thought and what she would feel about it. The thought was so surprising, it brought a little comfort to the vivid images the young woman's mind were conjuring. She bit her lip, once, and spoke then in slow, careful Baska. "...I will weep at the sacrifice, yes. I might not be able to watch-I'm not a friend to death and never wish to be. But I will try to, for his sake, because he deserves my courage. I'm sorry if no words about honor or gifts will comfort me. Being a woman I see a wife and children at home, forever to miss their..."

She shivered and wrapped her arms around her shoulders, then stared at her feet. "I would that this was not your way. But it has been, and I can't change it. You didn't start it either, so I can't blame you. That's not fair, and I know how it feels. If you will only..." Renna swallowed, biting back tears. "End it as quickly and painlessly as you can, allow him to pray to his own God to prepare himself, and allow me my mourning...I will be content with that mercy. I won't hate you." Her voice was quiet. "As for your son. We don't all delight in death. We don't. I would say most of us don't-and me certainly not. I know enough to know that my heart and yours are the same color. You can't possibly not care that your son is dead. And I am truly sorry."

The pale eyes flicked out over the Zerui campsite, and she lowered her voice to a whisper. "...May I see him? "

It was obvious who she was talking about, and then the girl swiveled her head to give him a softly pleading glance.

Zeru watched her, nodded when appropriate. She seemed to shrink in on herself, to become small. It was that smallness that made him notice -- the reason she was so appealing was because she was so vast. He had met few people in his life that had had that sort of spirit, the sort that reached out everywhere with such an honesty that it couldn't help but bring out the good traits in him. If he'd had more people around like this constantly, he thought, he might have given more love to Inaki. And then maybe Inaki and Xanti wouldn't have gone on the raid, and Xanti would still be --

But that was useless. "We used to sacrifice the Ekaini," he rumbled calmly, trying to explain the sacrifice to the paleface the way he expected Izotz had not. No one truly understood the mechanic but the Warlord, and he admitted to himself that he had not wanted to do the sacrifice for several years, until it became routine. "But we made peace with them. And to sacrifice one of their strongest warriors? No, we need all of the strong. Just to survive we need every Zerui warrior, and every Ekaini. Do you see now?"

He met her eyes when she looked up at him, almost sheepishly, as though she knew what she was asking was wrong. "I cannot let you see him. It is against all laws -- I think you know this. But if it will comfort you, his name is Thomas Avonlea. He was very brave to fight me, and I honor and respect him -- I will not let him suffer. I do not enjoy his blood, but it will give us life. Do you see? His blood will sate Eguzki's thirst, and Eguzki will give us life. That is how things are here."

Zeru touched the scrap of fabric at his belt, trying to grasp the workings of this strange and sensitive creatures. If more interlopers were like this, then there was hope for the tribe when he passed away. "We do not rejoice in his death, but in the hope it brings. The death of one means that many will live through the winter."

Do you see? Do you see?

Renna searched his eyes for a long moment, trying to let his words sink in and process. Her body stiffened as he said the man's name was Thomas, and then relaxed shortly afterward when Zeru gave his surname as Avonlea. She remained tense, however, and knotted her fingers together. It was a long moment before she said anything at all, and when she did her voice was slow. Careful.

"....How can I see when you have chosen to name me Xixili?" The girl offered him a brief smile, an assurance that she still had enough spirit left to tease. "No, I say now that I think you have chosen me a strange name. I am the interloper who hears of the death of the future Warlord and sees that he was a son, and a brother. I am the Zerui who witnesses the sacrifice of an interloper or Ekaini and sees a husband and a father. I am the captive who meets the enemy Jaunko and sees her grandfather, with darker skin. I think I see more than is realized. Maybe more than anyone on da'Eguzki."

She was quiet, then repeated his last words softly to herself. "...The death of One means that many will live through the winter. And summer, and autumn, and spring...." Renna met his eyes again. "We interlopers believe that too."

It was strange to see the same idea, twisted around so differently. Was not her own religion entirely based on sacrifice? Its true followers sacrificed on a daily basis. Not their blood, but comfort. Temptation. Worldly pleasures...the need for vengeance...and its leader had given everything in sacrifice. Her thoughts turned to this Thomas and she sighed. He was known by the Savior as well as she was, and that at least was some comfort. Still, she couldn't think of what else to say to this man-the leader of a vastly different and yet vastly similar religion. There was too much to explain. "And we believe in sacrifice as well. It's not the thought of sacrifice that disturbs me so, it's just..."

She lifted her chin to look him full in the face. He was so tall! "...His death is permanent. And he might not be ready." Renna sighed. "I know I can't see him, but would you at least tell him for me that one of his own is praying very hard for him and those who love him? And that she'd like to be there with him, to the very end, if only she could. Is that against the rules? Why must he die alone?"

Her lip was quivering.

Zeru met the eyes of the pale-faced captive, thinking at the same time how small she was, how fragile. And how, simultaneously, she was growing much in the same way his second son was growing. He thought of Inaki, of his son, learning the ways of the warrior and Warlord -- how the boy, worthless up till now, had seemed to lengthen and grow right before his eyes. Renna reminded him of that. She didn't seem real, and Zeru felt the urge to reach out and grab her to make sure she was made of flesh and blood.

Renna's lip was quivering, which came as a surprise. How childlike she was! And yet able to understand and learn and teach. She was a surprising creature indeed, this interloper woman.

"He will not be alone, Renna," Zeru said, surprising himself by using her given name. "I will spill some of my blood and part of me will go with him. And... Xanti will go with him." He made no promise that he would tell this Thomas that Renna had prayed for him; it seemed blasphemy. But something stirred in him and told him that if he didn't, it would be wrong. Zeru hated this new conscience and wanted to blame the interloper girl for it, but didn't.

It had to happen eventually. Zeru, the Warlord, was going soft.

Renna simply nodded, barely registering the use of her given name, and then crumpled into tears. The paleface girl wept softly, without making noise, and before Zeru could think she had moved to press her face into his shoulder. She clutched to the front of his tunic and let her tears fall into the fabric, whispering a muffled apology and a thanks. It wasn't even the life of this Thomas anymore. Naturally she would be sad about that, but this dark Warlord had no malice and so it was no use pinning this as a murder. It certainly wasn't right, but she could not bring herself to hate him. Not when he obviously believed very strongly in what he was saying; not when he truly felt that this death would be an honor. Instead her grief turned in a new and altogether frightening direction. "There will be a war now."

The sentence was barely audible. "The Thiasans won't leave you alone anymore, you know that. I fear this will bring more death than the life you'd hoped for....and they'll go after the Ekaini too." She looked up at him. "And so you will die, and we will die..."

The concubine was white. "Would it not be best to change things a little?" Izotz had said that no woman had ever been sacrificed, but surely in the face of things... "I've been gone for months now. If I were to..." She couldn't say it, and she swallowed down the word. He knew what she meant. "No one would know. Only one peasant family would miss me, and a few Zerui. A few Zerui...is that not worthy? It might buy another..." There was no way to finish this sentence. Despite the nobility of the statement, she didn't want to die.

Zeru and the interloper stood in silence for a moment, and then he saw her shoulders begin to twitch. Was she... crying? He tilted his head down to try and see, but didn't have time. Renna was at his side in an instant, and he could feel the dampness of her tears as they soaked through his tunic, and see the bones in her tiny hands as her knuckles turned white, clutching him. The Warlord squeaked a very un-manly squeak, quite confused and taken off-guard by the emotional woman... and her obvious need for comfort.

Comfort was not something he was good at. Facts he was good at. War he was good at. Ruling, hunting, horses... all those things. But never before had he encountered anything quite like this little person, this miniature white person. She reminded him of a doll he'd seen once, in a village he'd raided -- it was small and delicate, with big pale eyes and hard white skin.

He looked around, mouth agape, to see if anyone nearby was watching them, and to his surprise, no one was around. And so Zeru looked back at Renna, and awkwardly patted her on the shoulder. Her skin wasn't hard like the doll's at all -- in fact it was very soft. Again, he thought of Esti as a baby... and had to banish the thought when he remembered he would be a grandfather soon enough. If he lived that long.

"There was always going to be a war, which is why we need..."

And then she shocked him. Was she serious? Was this tiny little girl, this -- this doll of a person offering her life to save them? An interloper. A pale-face! Snake-eyes, sorgin... and she wanted to help them?
"No!" Zeru said, a little too quickly. He looked at her, at her tear-streaked face. To sacrifice her -- it would be sinful, it would be blasphemy, and not just to Eguzki. He would be unable to do it. It would show his weakness as a Warlord.

"No, txikili. No, I will not. It is worthy... your offer is most worthy, but I... I will not. Women are not to be sacrificed. It is women that give us life. It would be against nature, and there would be no honor in it for either of us. You have your honor, Renna, but I would not be able to do it. Because I am old, and I am weak and soft. That is not what Eguzki wants."

The first awareness of her unsought triumph began to trickle into Renna's mind, but she simply tightened her arms around the Warlord's torso and hid her head once more into his clothing. He couldn't do it. To a woman, and more specifically, to her. That was gratifying. Jaunko Zeru sem'Zigor liked her, the little nobody interloper concubine. Even more surprising, she liked him. So she said the only thing she could think of. "...You don't have to be cruel to be strong."

Hopefully she wouldn't have to say anything more in explanation. She understood the principle quite well, and with any luck Zeru would look at who was teaching it to him and realize it to be true. He'd said she had honor. Honor for a concubine-and did her honor not derive from strength? That was her hope.

Renna stood that way for a moment, the Zerui warlord clasped in her arms, and then stepped back and dried her eyes on her hand. Despite the genuine intent of her offer, she couldn't help but feel shaky relief at his refusal to end her life. She knew she wasn't ready. "....All right, then. If you know...then...there's nothing more I can say. Except."

The soft eyes became suddenly accusing, and she put her hands on her hips. "If women are so honored, why must we wait for you men to finish eating?" >.>

When Xixili wrapped her arms around him again, Zeru's first instinct as a trained warrior and a Warlord was to duck and toss her like a rag. But she wasn't attacking him, she was... praising him? His arms hovered in the air like a puppet on tight strings, too tense to really know what to do with himself. "Ah... that's true, I suppose."

Renna let go of him and he could finally breathe again, straightening and smoothing out his tunic with one hand. Her abrupt question surprised Zeru, and he allowed himself a little smirk. "Txikili, I have been to your interloper fortresses and towns and see your women in much worse conditions than our own. We do not force our women into silent submission like your men -- women here eat after we do, yes, but in your villages, women are little better than slaves."

Briefly, he mimicked her, putting his hands on his hips and making a pouty face for added silliness. But the move shocked him enough that he slid back into his 'heap big Warlord' shell. "And if your husband is good to you, you may eat at the same time. My wives and I eat together -- I take the first bite, but I will invite her to join me. It is a sign of respect. Does Izotz not do this?" His face grew a little sterner -- if Izotz was mistreating her, Zeru might have to have a talk with him.

Renna was about to interrupt him with an indignant comment about his assumption that Thiasan women were slaves, but then he pulled the Face on her and she couldn't help but laugh. His teasing didn't last very long, of course, but she was grateful he had, even for a moment. A silly face went a long way to help her forget that the only woman here who was treated like a slave was her.

And then he ruined it by telling her how he treated his wives. Renna hadn't known that it wasn't some kind of sin to eat with one's husband, and she almost wished that she had remained in ignorance. Because Izotz had never even offered.

Her smile slipped away and she lowered her eyes once more, clearly a sign of unease or shame in the transparent young woman, and she drew circles awkwardly in the dirt with her toe. "...No, Izotz never does this." A sudden urge came to defend her husband, mixed with a much conflicting desire to defend herself, and she looked back up to meet the Warlord's face with confusion. "But he said he loved me."

That was the best she could do, at least verbally. He never struck her or shouted and did his best to make her happy even if he was a little cold. Of course he loved her. Right? She loved him. How could he not?


Easily, whispered a nasty little voice at the back of her mind. Remember Aiden?

She shook the thought away and looked up at Zeru, desperate hope and despair showing in her eyes. "I don't suppose he would, really. I'm just a concubine, and he is a chief. I don't think it ever occured to him to do....things....like that. He loves me in that he would be upset if I were to die, but sometimes I wonder if that's as far as it goes." She rubbed the back of her neck and tried valiantly to not be selfish. "I suppose it's for the best anyway. He'll probably get married here. Soon. It would be cruel to give me what will only end up going to his wife anyway."

She smiled again, but there was pain in the expression.

Zeru sat down, finally giving in to the knowledge that he wasn't about to walk away from this peculiar little woman. Putting himself below her -- her still standing, even if only momentarily -- was a huge gesture of trust, and even if Renna did not know it, he did. And he wondered how he'd gotten so soft, so easily trusting. After all, when she'd... hugged him, she could have had a knife in her hand and stabbed him in the back. He doubted it, though, doubted her ability to hide murder behind her eyes. She wore her heart on her sleeve, this one; there was no hiding what she felt.

"I don't pretend to know what Izotz feels for you," Zeru began, holding up his hands in a peace offering, "perhaps he does love you. You are a murroi-emazte, so I assume that if he didn't love you, or at the very least didn't like you, he would simply... give you away." He sighed. The pale-face had so many questions! Had no one in the Izotzi tribe taught her anything?

"Listen. I am a Warlord. Yes? I do not have to show my power by making my wives eat after me. Also, we have horrible... what do you say, manners? Even our women. They are messy eaters and I don't want to watch." He smirked. "But Izotz is different from me. He has just become chief. It may be that he shows his power, his ability to lead, by making you eat after him. Or maybe it's because you eat more prettily than our women. I can't know that."

She still looked pained, and Zeru threw up his hands exasperatedly. "And you are so complicated, txikili! I try to explain and I make you sad, and when I try to make you feel happy, you get sad even more." He'd once thought Esti had an unpredictable temper -- at least she erupted in fits of emotion, not leaving it inside to grow like this one! He grumbled about it for a moment, as old men are prone to do, and then finally, some words emerged from the rumblings.

"You will have a place in Central Camp. If Izotz dies or... or he doesn't want you, you will have a place to go. See that as a gift -- in repayment for your worry over my son."

Zeru sat down, and Renna could only blink at him stupidly for a moment or two. Wasn't that against every rule? Her head wasn't supposed to be taller than the King's. But he wasn't the king, and he'd sat down first. Then he started speaking, and she flushed faintly and sat in front of him, crossing her legs in front of her. Really, she didn't see what all this fuss was about. Take away his guard and Zeru was like her grandfather, or a mischievious uncle. The girl blushed at the notion that she might eat prettily and twisted her hands in her lap. She looked even more sheepish when the old man started to grumble to himself, but once again waited quietly for him to finish before she said anything. In the end Renna was glad she had. He was offering her a place at Central Camp! With him. She glowed, and leaned over to take the hands that he had held out to her. They were strong, and calloused, and rough with sun and wind-but to Xixili's mind that moment, they were the loveliest hands she'd ever seen.

"Jaunko!"

She had to recover herself, and once again managed a smile for him. "I'm sorry if I confuse you. I confuse Izotz too-I confuse everyone. And I'm sorry if I don't be happy when you try to make me happy. I love it when people try to make me happy, but as you say, I'm complicated. I told Izotz, once I knew him a little, that he had no idea what he was getting into when he took me. There seems to be an idea that white women are mindless and unfeeling. The truth is that we feel, but are not usually allowed to show it-and we think of things so differently. I still don't like to think of what I am."

The girl bent her head. "You must understand. When Izotz took me I was a stranger to men in every way. The shame of it, the fear! I thought my heart would stop. With no warning I was the property of a barbarian. That's what I was. Far from father and mother and home and safety, and me still very much a child." Her expression became rueful. "I think it's obvious that I still am. Everyone remarks on it. I almost wish I could be a woman....but that would mean letting go of pretending. The real trouble is that I love Izotz, and the night he took me he basically claimed an eight-year-old in a woman's body."

Renna sighed, very softly. "And I had such dreams of my wedding day. Of course he was a white man, and there would be celebration and music and dance and I would look as beautiful as I could and my parents would be full of joy." She'd never spoken any of this aloud before, and was a little frightened to be confiding such details to another human being-let alone someone as mighty as Zeru. But she'd started, and she trusted him. Already she knew she could. He'd proven himself. "Instead I was dragged off a horse and into a tent and made to--"

The weaver had to bite her lip, because it was quivering again. "A wedding night of tears. That's what I had. And I try so hard to forget but at night I dream it all over again. It's not your fault if I'm sad. After it happened my dream changed to becoming Izotz's lover, well and truly...and because I am white and stolen I can't have that either. He doesn't even give the kind of love a brother or sister might give. I have nothing else to dream of-so I am a coward and try to forget. I try very hard. Sometimes it works."

Her fingers tightened around his, and then she lifted her head, sniffed, and smiled through a veil of held-back tears. "So you see speaking about my husband can never make me truly happy. But." Renna let her lips glide over his fingers, and looked at him the way a starving person would look at food or water. "I would love. Love. To stay here at Central Camp. Thank you, Jaunko. It means the world to me."

He felt some pity for her as she recounted the sadness of her 'wedding' night, of missing her home and family, of barbarians and bleakness. But she did not understand that she could have been treated worse. "Izotz is impatient," he said, letting her play with his fingers momentarily, amused by the oddity of her white skin next to his dark. "His name means ice, but he's all fire. Headstrong, like his father Hibai. I don't know why he took you, there was really no reason except for his young hotheadedness."

Zeru peered at her for a moment. "Children in your villages are smaller than you? You're little." He knew what she meant, of course, but she was little compared to them. All interlopers seemed small next to him, even his sacrifice -- a man who stood well above Renna's shoulder -- was shorter than him. Not by much, however; it seemed in his old age, Zeru had acquired a certain slump to his shoulders that made him appear smaller.

Renna ran her lips over the tips of his fingers, and Zeru twitched out of her grasp, removing his hand from her reach slowly. "I'm glad I made you happy," he rumbled, "and I know you want to say your thanks, but you mustn't do that. For doing good, you were rewarded with something good. There's no need to... you are like a child, but that is what makes you good. You are honest. I, on the other hand, am a liar -- I have become great at lying since I was made Warlord. But I'm not lying when I say you can visit Central Camp, and have a place here if anything happens to Izotz."

The Warlord glanced at Renna, searching her eyes briefly, trying to gauge whether or not he had hurt her. He didn't want to hurt her, or make her feel rejected, but at the same time, he was not attracted to her as a man is attracted to a woman. He was attracted to her more out of interest, like a child to a new toy. Was that all she was to him, he wondered, a toy?

Weren't all people, to Warlord Zeru, simply toys?

She looked startled, and seemed to wonder for a moment how she could possibly have offended him. And then realization lit in her eyes and she hastily put her hands behind her back. "Oh, no, no! I mean, I am honest, or I try very hard to be, and I suppose everyone lies at some point and I suppose a leader would need to lie anyway, but I, I didn't-"

Renna flamed brightly red and stared down at her lap. "For my people, a kiss on the hand is how you would thank or greet a great leader. A king. There's nothing-"

Oh, this was embarrassing! He was being quite kind to her, and instead of thanking him properly she'd made him think that she was making advances on him. She! The little interloper girl smaller than their own children, advancing on the Warlord! The weaver wished she would go up in flames for a moment. At least that way she would be spared trying to smooth this over. With some desperation she looked up and met his eyes, then blurted out the only thing she could think of to remedy the situation. "You're like my grandfather!"

"Ah," he replied, "I understand. But what is a King? I know your people have one, this King Aedan, but what is it he does?" Zeru put his hands on his knees, relaxing now that he realized she was merely showing gratitude in her culture's way, and not being forward. If she had been forward, well, he suspected Amaya and Izotz would have had something to say about it... even if the advance was unwanted. And an unhappy sub-tribe was never a good thing.

He snorted, then. "I think I am old enough to be your grandfather. I understand your meaning. I think my daughter would like you... she's 14 summers. Would that make her your mother, then?" Zeru grinned, just happy that she hadn't been offended by his careful putting-off of her affections.

"That would make her child your brother or sister. A funny idea."

Renna sighed in relief and put her head to the side, stroking one hand through her curls and thinking about Zeru's idea. Maybe it was a funny one...but already she was rather fond of it. "No, I am older than your daughter then, by nearly four years. That would be impossible, for her to be my mother. Maybe she could be my sister, and her baby would be my niece or nephew. My, but she's young."

It was a strange thing to say. Girls at home married just that soon-maybe it just seemed young to her because of her state of innocence, a state that had been even more exaggerated at fourteen then it was now. But she returned Zeru's smile. "Maybe you are old enough to be my grandfather, but I think in spirit you are actually closest to my father. A man right in the middle of life and very strong of heart. Oh, but I think you'd like him. He's just like me only wiser and not as prone to doing silly things at the wrong times and in the wrong way."

She hesitated a moment. "'King' is just our word for Warlord, nothing more- he does the same thing. He has sway over all our lives. A word from him and the world moves. If I displeased him much, a bad King could take one look at me and have me killed. I don't know if it's so different from a Warlord at all. But, Jaunko..."

The brilliant eyes went back to him. How to ask this? "....I miss my father very much, and you of all the Zerui are warm to me. Would the Warlord condescend to teach me..." He would probably think she was planning to kill him in her sleep. "Hunting, and use of weapons as Zerui women do? I've no wish to be a warrior but it might be good to know. Just in case. And you must be very good. "

"Young and impetuous," he responded quickly. "She shouldn't have done such a stupid thing, but what choice do we have now? When I die, my tribe will be left to the two of them." Well, if that wasn't an unnerving thought. He shook it off, rubbing at his scarred cheek. "You look as young as my daughter."

Zeru nodded at the explanation of 'king' -- he had thought that he and the king were the same. But it seemed the king had a higher opinion of himself. The captive had said that the men on the border would fight for him, and would pay with shiny yellow metals. He said that the king wore a crown and necklaces of the metal, and he was very wealthy. Zeru couldn't see any worth in the yellow metal, but apparently the interlopers did -- he had heard that the Ekaini warlord had given them a lot of it.

He was surprised out of his thoughts by her question as to whether he would teach her hunting and weaponry of the Zerui women. Part of him wondered whether it was wise... she seemed honest enough, hardly capable of that sort of lying, but still, if it was his life at stake, he was willing to be cautious. "I am very busy, but if I have no time to teach you, my wife, Amaya, and my daughter Esti will." He paused. "Speaking of busy... would you like to meet my daughter? There is something I need to attend to -- a meeting with a chief."

The child twisted her little hands together, plainly nervous, but she nodded at him. 'Yes, thank you. I would like to meet your daughter very much." Four years younger, and already with child! With her brother. Renna suppressed a shudder, and reminded herself for the ten thousandth time that the Zerui didn't know any better. "But let's not talk about you dying. I would be sad."

She gave him a hesitant smile. Maybe Esti was as kind as her father, and she loved horses at any rate, just like her. She was also four years younger. Maybe they would get along. "Anyway it will be easier to weave her a blanket when I know her and who she is. I think I'll like her. Will you show me?"

Renna stood and brushed the grass off her clothes, then looked at the Warlord expectantly. "I'll follow."

Zeru got up from his seat, not bothering to brush himself off as Xixili did, and nodded at her. "Her tent is this way. She should be there at this time of day." Probably still sick, he mused. It wasn't quite noon yet, and Esti usually didn't appear outside her own company until after noon. The sickness was still plaguing her, even though the healer had said it should stop soon, by the end of the month.

He lead Renna to Esti's tent, not too far from his own, pausing when he heard a gagging noise. Zeru peeked through into the clearing, and his daughter was sitting up, making something over the fire, but seemed to be alright. "Come, I'll introduce you -- Esti," he called out, turning from Renna and walking into the clearing.

The girl turned, her eyes red-rimmed. She looked up calmly at her father, but startled a little at the sight of Renna. "Esti, this is Renna, the murroi-emazte of Jaun Izotz sem'Hibai. Renna, my daughter Esti. I've asked Renna to make you a blanket -- I've something to attend to. I thought it would be best if you two met." And with a quiet but cordial nod to Renna and his daughter, Zeru wandered back out into the Gathering again, the crowd swallowing him up like an ocean.

Esti looked up at the stranger. This 'Renna' was an interloper, but their skin color was shockingly similar. Esti's was darker, and getting more so each day in the sun. "Aizu," she said. "Would you like to sit down? I'm... making lunch."

Renna felt her heart go out to the young woman, even more so when Esti greeted her and offered her lunch. Four years younger than her, and pregnant, and nobody knew....pregnant and married. The poor child! And every bit as kind to her as her father was. So the weaver offered her a warm, bright smile, and scooted inside to plop next to the fire. "Aizu. Lunch sounds lovely, but let me help! I know the most wonderful recipe for tea..."

Goldenrod, she reflected. It actually didn't taste all that good but it worked miracles on an upset stomach and shot nerves, and bless her if she didn't recognize the remnants of tears when she saw them. It wasn't as if she'd never cried in her life.

The thought of her never crying made her snort with its impossibility for a moment, but then she remembered that she was speaking with another person and quickly pulled herself back to reality. Renna offered Esti another smile. "Esti. What a pretty name. Here, Esti." She rested a hand on the young girl's shoulder and gave it a faint squeeze. "Why don't you just sit here and rest for awhile and let me finish what you started? My tea is Thiasan so you won't be any use in making it, but I swear it is magic in healing sick stomachs. You'll feel better after you drink it."

Pale green eyes met dark then, and there was a wealth of knowing in the glance. Renna did Esti the honor of not looking at her long when she had so obviously been weeping, and instead set to work. "So, Jaunko has asked me to make a blanket for you. I want to make it the most beautiful thing you have ever owned, so it would be good if you tell me what things you love. It's going to be a small blanket and will probably take a while to finish, but it must be perfect to satisfy me so I will need your help, dear one. Is that all right with you?"

Esti opened her mouth to protest -- no, I can do it myself -- but the pale-face was already going about her work. Why had father brought her here? In fact, what had Zeru been doing even talking to her; he'd said this woman was a concubine. Why would he bother himself with her? Trying to push the questions out of her mind, Esti shifted on the ground to stoke the fire, and felt another wall of sickness come up against her.

Renna touched her lightly on the shoulder, drawing the younger girl's eyes up to meet hers. How odd they were, how pale! She had seen other Baskari with blue eyes or pale amber, but never this color... green, the color of new grass. It was pretty. And the look they exchanged was even prettier, because Esti realized -- Zeru had told her. Here was one person in the entire Gathering that knew. So she nodded, and smiled, and let her make tea.

"Esti means sweet. Your name is Renna...? I've never heard it before. I like it." She watched Renna work, almost wishing she could just touch her to see if her hair, all curly and a million different colors, was really as soft as it looked. If her pale skin was any different than Esti's own. But instead of reaching out, Esti pressed her fists into her knees and just tried not to be sick.

And then she recalled something -- what was that father had said about a blanket? He'd asked Renna to make her a blanket. "Aita asked you to make me a blanket? I... yes of course, that's alright." A small blanket. Esti shot the other woman a sidelong glance, then flicked her eyes to her tent and back quickly. Inside the tent was her loom, the blanket she was weaving for Inaki almost finished. But she wouldn't mention that. "I wonder why he asked."

Renna shrugged at Esti's stated question, and simply watched her concoction steam. "I'm a very good weaver, you know, but I imagine that he asked me as a way of showing that he liked me without actually saying it. Your father has been pretending that he doesn't care about me all afternoon, but I like him so much I know he's acting. He's completely a kindred spirit."

She laughed gently at this, plainly amused by the thought of an interloper concubine and the Warlord himself getting along. Still, when she turned to look at Esti, her smile was happy. "I love him already, and I'm sure his daughter will be just as wonderful. You already said you like my name. No one's said that before. It makes me glad to hear it."

The water began to steam, and Renna carefully replaced the lid on the pot to let it finish boiling. "I like it too. My parents made it for me-and before you ask: Yes, it has a meaning. It's 'song' and 'peace.' Yes, I am this white all over. No, my skin is not hard, and no, I'm not a witch. Yes, you can touch my hair."

Renna laughed again and sat beside Esti with a warm look, then circled her arm around her shoulder. "Poor girl. Might as well distract yourself until that tea is ready; it might keep you from being sick. Right?"

A dark curl broke free and brushed across Esti's cheek, leaving a gossamer touch as delicate as a moth's wing. 'Here, I've an idea. While we wait, you play with my hair, and I'll do yours. There's something soothing in having your hair combed, don't you think?"

Esti laughed, but it was a harsh sound. "My father doesn't like anything. And... well, I do like your name. Peace and song, it's pretty. I think it suits you." She rubbed at the bridge of her nose, trying to make the thoughts fit into her head. She hadn't even eaten lunch yet, but she felt full all over, like nothing else would fit inside her or she'd explode. It was a funny feeling.

Renna put her arm around Esti's shoulders, and as much as Esti's gut feeling was to pull away and fend for herself, she found she very much liked it there. "I'm not convinced -- you might be a witch. You just read my mind, answering all those questions before I even asked them." A strand of Renna's hair brushed her cheek and she smiled, recalling the feeling of feathers, or a butterfly's wing. So soft! Self-consciously, Esti reached up to twine her fingers in her own messy hair, pulling it out of its bun. Her hair was dark, darker than Renna's, but by no means as soft.

"Wait here," she said, getting up to go into her tent. She turned back once to make sure Renna wasn't just an illusion before going inside. A moment later, Esti emerged with a cloth pouch, tied shut at the top with string. Plopping down next to Renna, she revealed the contents to be two bone combs and a crude horsehair brush, some leather ties, and a second, smaller pouch filled with feathers and charms to be woven in. "I left the better feathers inside," Esti said, playing with the teeth of one of the combs, "I'm going to wear them in my hair tomorrow, for the wedding."

Renna was silent for a moment, rather unsure what to say to this. Pregnant and unwed, and both with a brother!....But then she turned her head to give Esti a kiss on the cheek. "You'll be a beautiful bride."

That much was true. She was so little and slender, and while she looked incredibly unsure of herself there was still something striking about the Warlord's daughter. Esti had a spirit to her, and the glossiest hair Renna had ever seen. She let her fingers twine into the black mane for a moment and simply stroked, combing out the worst of the knots with her hands. This hair would be fun to weave. It was thick and coarse enough to stay where it ws placed, and it had a sheen that reminded the Thiasan of a raven's wing. Without another word the concubine began to comb through the dark strands, twisting them around her fingers to form the beginning of a French braid. She had never seen the style used on the Zerui, but she had a feeling that Esti would like the graceful appearence of the richly gathered plait. The weaver hummed to herself as she worked and deftly slipped in the feathers and charms that Esti had offered to her. The little princess was going to look beautiful.

She became aware that she was leaving the younger girl in silence, and all at once smiled. "Once upon a time, a long time ago and very far away from here, there was a jaun who lived in a forest. He was like me, but with hair as golden as Eguzki and much more important. You see, another evil chief had a quarrel with him..." Renna had always loved the stories of the giving robber, and she thought that the part in the tale about the minstrel Allan-a-Dale and his bride would appeal to the girl sitting before her. It was, in her private opinion, one of the best parts of the entire saga because it had adventure, romance, drama, humor, and a completely happy ending. The concubine was careful to elaborate her tale, describing the setting and people to be certain that Esti would understand. She took her time with the braid and the telling, and it was another hour before she patted the last strand of hair into place, took a breath, and whispered "and they lived happily ever after. All done."

Esti just smiled at the display of affection and nodded, wishing she could believe Renna. Beautiful or not, she was a reluctant bride, even though all she had ever really wanted was to be Inaki's wife. Now, though, necessity was forcing it on her, and she was a little afraid. She didn't know how to be a wife, and especially not a mother. And... she touched her belly gingerly, feeling the beginnings of growth there. Ama had told her once, when she was frightened by a pregnant tribeswoman's big belly, that there was nothing more beautiful than a pregnant woman. Esti had believed her then, but now that she was pregnant herself, she was finding it a little more difficult to put stock in the words.

She sat still and listened to Renna's story, losing herself in the tale of the story-teller and his bride, and the feeling of Renna's soft hands braiding her hair. Once or twice she found herself actually chuckling along with the antics of the silly creatures in the story and smiling at their happiness. But most of all, the story made her imagine what her life would be like with Inaki -- married. For the most part, she liked what she imagined.

"That was a nice story," she said to Renna, smiling. Esti reached around to the other side of the fire and picked up a bronze plate, hammered flat and mirror-shiny. She gasped, made a noise of happy exclamation. "Oh, that's beautiful! You'll have to teach me to do that -- if I have a daughter, she'll wear her hair this way every day...!" The younger girl trailed off, looking at Renna with a happy smile but wary eyes.

"Here, now I'll do yours." She knelt down behind Renna, using her fingers to comb through the long, soft curls. "I've never braided curled hair before." She went quiet, and started to twine the strands around her fingers, separating them to make thin braids. Without any stories to tell, Esti started to hum, and then sing, an old Baskar folk song that her mother had sung to her. And then, a quick, upbeat song that the women sang at the Gathering, during the celebration after the sacrifice. A slower tune, a lullaby; a silly song that children sang. Deft hands twined feathers, small brass charms, and glass beads in bright colors into the thin braids. They rested flat on top of Renna's head in lazily looping spirals and curlicues, tied off at the back of her head with thin, brightly colored string, so that the rest of her hair hung loose and jingling with brass charms.

"There," she said, tying off the last one. She slid the plate across the ground to Renna so she could take a look. "What do you think? If you don't like it, it's easy to take out."

The little interloper sat still in utter delight as Esti twined her fingers through her hair and sang. It was very pleasant, both to hear and to feel-although, she couldn't help but feel a little homesick. Anne and Jane had used to do just this; comb her hair and play fortune-telling games and play fairy stories. Quickly Renna jerked her mind away from the past and instead focused on Esti's praise of the French braid. She had liked it, loved it even, and of course she would teach it to her. It would be lovely to have another chance to sit here and speak with another woman; it would be beyond lovely. Renna hadn't realized just how much she had missed female company over the last few months.

"...I'm glad you like the story, and the braid. They're both some of my favorites. I always wished I could marry Robin Hood instead of Marian." She laughed. "I always wished I was named Marian, as a matter of fact...but those were a girl's silly dreams. I like your songs."

She fell silent again and simply waited, lost in her own thoughts until Esti lifted up the mirror to show her. The weaver's eyes widened, and then sparkled, and she threw her arms around the other girl again in utter delight. "Esti, it's beautiful! And you did such a good job, too. Better than me. Curly hair is so hard to braid; I've never been very good at it." She turned the mirror in her hands and admired the result from every angle, then lifted her head proudly. "Why, I look just like a real wife."

A sudden hissing interrupted her, and she swung her head over to the fire. "Oh! Tea's ready!" Renna hopped up and brushed off her clothes. "It doesn't taste very good but I promise it works wonders. Come in and have some."

Despite herself, Esti found she was smiling warmly at Renna's praise. She gestured with her hands -- it's nothing -- and sat primly, afraid to move the wrong way in case the pretty braid fell out. The hug didn't startle her, because although the other woman was more outwardly affectionate than anyone Esti had ever met, she was quickly getting used to the treatment, and gave her a brief hug back.

Following Renna, Esti went to the fire and sat down, producing two cups from a basket near the fire for her to pour the tea into. And, on the suggestion of the taste being bad, a honeycomb, which she broke into two pieces on its cloth wrapper for them to share. "The honeycomb is sweet, it'll take away the bad taste. Thank-you," she said politely, accepting the offered cup of tea. It was golden-colored and smelled familiar... goldenrod, perhaps? Esti took a tentative sip and had to bite her tongue to keep from grimacing at the bitterness. But with a few more swallows, she found it did help to ease her stomach.

A second thought struck her, and she broke a small loaf of bread also. She'd forgotten to eat it when she woke up that morning, like ama had said, and she'd gotten sick -- so before she bit into the too-sweet honeycomb, Esti ate a small piece of the bread to settle her stomach. "It is helping," she said, nodding. "What is it? I thought maybe goldenrod or willow-root, though I'm not sure. It's bitter, but I have some honeycomb and bread, so please help yourself."

Esti remembered vaguely that before Renna had come, she'd been making lunch... and a glance at the fire showed her that the rabbit meat she'd been cooking on a clay slab in the fire had burnt to a crisp. But instead of frowning, she laughed -- somehow, being around Renna made her feel like it didn't matter so much.

"I think I burned our lunch, but I have more bread and some cheese in the tent if you get hungry."