"Creation" Chapter 5. If Time Had Been Kind

"Creation" Chapter 5. If time had been kind

A/N: I realy really really apologize for making you wait for two days... Publication of the chapter was complicated by a boil in my eye. Right now, there is still no use in treating it. Yeah, I'm becoming a regular patient at the local hospital, what a hell... But I couldn't keep putting it off. I hope I was able to live up to expectations and pleasantly surprise

Word count: 5,4K

Warnings: indirect insults, blood, brief references to murder, oppression of women and children, themes of slavery and parenthood, post-traumatic memories, perverted religious motives, killing of an animal, fear of men, beating, attempted rape, veiled intimate prejudices, implied xenophilia (forcing the events seemed to me simply a necessary tool after so much forced narration — the rope is tied in an unexpected knot! And then — more. But gradually ...)

🎧 Joel Sunny — Luminary

Bustle and hubbub fill the Eagle Clan so suddenly, that you don't even have time to blink. For the last week, certainly, you've noticed preparations for some unknown holiday — but now that summer has come into its own, everything and everyone has become a jumbled mess.

Everyone seemed to become a single, coherent mechanism.

And you seemed to became like an unnecessary, defective detail.

Because, no matter how much Suna, or Kantis and her husband Ogun in two voices, or omnipresent Anaya, tried to explain you what the essence of the holiday was — to you didn't become clearer. It seemed that the very concept of the celebration needed to be explained to you anew. With patience and deliberation. After all, those celebrations that were imprinted in your memory — obscurantist and didn't bring any joy to anyone, except those, who reveled in the annual harvest of cruelty.

***

The vines, woven into intricate garlands, exude an unfamiliar sweetish aroma. Children rush about, hanging them everywhere. Lum, Lup and Elan, with six small nimble hands, help you decorate your home with vines, which is gradually acquiring a lived-in appearance.

Every now and then the kids ask you, vying with each other, about the things in backpack. About things from your blurry past, next to things from your equally blurry present. When you're done with the decorations, you tell them about the purpose of each thing. About the almost unfaded photographs and the events captured on them. About the spools of thread and rusty needles. About the calligraphic inscriptions on the worn-out pages of a prayer book. About the tiny mirror, that only fate hasn't broken. About the broken comb. About the slightly chipped camera, waiting for new pictures. About the grumpy patches on the clothes and the backpack itself.

About everything, that consisted of, and still consist to that day, your best memories.

It's unusual to be in the narrator's place.

Kids listen to you, cuddling the rabbit that has recently stopped being afraid of hands. Now not the rabbit without a name — but the rabbit, that you named Daisy.

For some reason the name seemed to suit brown fur.

You're sitting on the floor, right in front of the spacious cage Noa has built, your hand through the bars. You're stroking the rabbit's sides, still skinny — and at the same time, you're ruffling the kids' hair... When suddenly someone places on you a fragrant, elegant wreath.

“Now you look like... a princess!” remaining standing behind you, Kaidy claps her hands.

"Natural princess!.. It's good that here are no evil dragons!" Paco laughs, flying like a whirlwind into the hut with a lot of tangled vines and curved branches, tied with intricate, hand-woven ribbons.

"Indeed, exactly the same as" You pick up the childish delightful exclamations, adjusting the thin droping branches. "And a young knight would definitely protect me from the dragons, right?"

And, taking the decor, you wink at Paco. He immediately nods, proudly — and Kaidy, not missing the opportunity, playfully pokes him in the nose. Boy gives in to her, allowing girlish mischief to prevail. Now they are already running from corner to corner, running outside. Somersaulting in the june grass. Threaten each other with tickling. Sincere, sparkling laughter fills your house and the emerald-lit lawn nearby, making you forget about the sad memories that had already flooded in. Having called the breathless mischiefs over and seated them, you ask about the ribbons. They are directly connected with the approaching holiday.

It's your turn to hear stories about the purpose of things. And you can't hold back curiosity.

With children this is not necessary at all. And it encourages you.

The explanation, that children use — understandable intuitively, although it's blocked by an insurmountable cultural barrier.

Looking back at the recent past, you had already forgotten, that gratitude could be dedicated to an entire day in the season and on the calendar.

"This is a holiday of gratitude... for everything... Whatever you decide to thank";

"Elders thank nature... for the sent gifts... For a good catch of fish or for the quick sprouting of shoots";

"For a winter without winds... and for a summer without drought";

"We thank our mothers and fathers... Brothers and sisters... Grandmothers and grandfathers... Whole family... For that we have them. For that we are... together";

"For that we able to quickly learn something... or grow up";

"Also, those... who are older, thank... their wives and husbands...";

Answers came out, as in cornucopia. Everyone, who could be considered an adult, gave much more succinct answers — like, you yourself should understand what to what.

But how should you understand without explanations, if this holiday, with its laudatory ceremonies, is too different from the holidays, that celebrated in the settlement?

There, the derogatory, disregardful traditions became an integral part of a colorless life long before you — and more others, like you — were born. There the scum, calling themselves men, amused themselves with bloodshed and misogyny.

Do apes, living on land unspoiled by other faiths, know what meaning "misogyny"?..

If you yourself know this term only from books about the vague science, that studies the human brain.

You can't just go and spill out, like from a leaky sack, those customs, that there called "ceremonial".

No, of course, there was no female circumcision or anything worse. The physical harm was constant, and don't need to be set aside for a separate day. Instead, at the beginning of the festival, women, girls and young women, who were already someone's property, were given shameful collars. And, driven like cattle into rooms, they were locked with all the locks until the end of the festival. On the second day, all the girls, who these boors call ownerless, were brought out to the main platform. And they moved on to the sacrifice. One of the horses — one of those, that remained tied up at the top, — was tied up, eyes were gouged out, ears were cut off, hung up, and then ripped open so, that the blood oozed out and collected in a huge jug. Or did you, looking around furtively like a mouse studying the corridors and tunnels, assume, that there horses were, because the neighing, snorting and clattering of hooves often came from above. But if the horses for this numbing ritual were obtained from other, neighboring settlements...

You felt sick every damn year, because couldn't not show up to this flayer spectacle. Just as couldn't turn away.

Those who turned away were ripped open in the same way, as sacrificial horses.

When the jug was full — contents were given to those girls, who's came of adult in that year. Those girls, who were obliged to go into use of men and begin to fulfill a debt that no one needed. Slave labor and carrying future slaves in the womb.

On the third day, the girls were prepared for the first night. They were fed the meat of a killed horse, soaked in something unbearably stinking. On the fourth day, the girls were taken behind iron doors, which from behind could be heard maddening screams, blows and crying. On the fifth day, the girls came back out, already women and already broken. Beaten until their internal organs bleeding and having lost the will to live. Sixth and seventh days passed like a bad dream, with a din of blasphemous prayers and dancing of cackling scums with limp rag dolls. That's all... Apart from this holiday, which lasted a week, all the others were celebrated casually.

No Birthdays, no Christmas, all other holidays were forbidden.

Except for this devilry. By misunderstanding called God's Feast.

You won't be able to talk about feasts and games, which they have entertain with there, under the meters of earth and rust. If you dare to talk about it, you will be considered as perverted, as those who came up with it. Otherwise, why would you talk about something vile, unnatural?..

It's like a dome of soul-sucking memories hangs over your head. You're transported back there, to the main platform, a year ago. You're seventeen and you're frantically looking for something to look at — to not look at the endless streams of blood from horse's belly.

Then they threatened to rip out your guts and feed them to those, who wouldn't turn away. Now you're eighteen, and you're not going through the circles of Hell.

And you don't know, who to thank for this.

Five little chatterboxes shake you by the shoulders, finally bringing back to reality.

"So what would you thank for?.. And what?.. Or who?"

They are curious without any underlying reason. Like all children their age. But you don't answer them right away, pretending to be much carefree — so as not to frighten them with your dejected look. If answer with all honesty, then you're grateful to God for sending Noa on the path, that you were walking without hope of salvation. You're grateful to Dar and Elders. You're grateful to every mother in the clan, because they all trusted you with their children. You're grateful to every child in the clan, because not one of them was afraid of you, an stranger.

But above all, you are grateful to Noa. Even though you don’t know how to express this gratitude. Even though the circumstances are favorable now, for Noa you're none of the things the children have listed. So if you say, what you said in the middle of the frozen plain a few weeks ago again, in front of so many eyes and ears, it will be taken the wrong way. Or not seriously. One is no better than the other, however. Touch the cross hanging around your neck, you ask yourself a very strange question.

How can it be that you grateful to God and Noa almost equally?..

"I would like to start by thanking you. For being my assistants in everything" After a short pause, you saying, smiling broadly for the first time in the past few months.

"Because with you... it's always interesting!" the cubs smile back. "Even doing boring things!.. And else?"

"There are still many things and many people. I would like to thank my family. But, unfortunately, I can only thank the memory of my family..."

Why? With your family happen something... bad? Kaidy gasps. The smiles instantly slip off the children's faces, when you find the strength to only nod.

Mischief on children's faces gives way to compassion.

Just at that moment Noa's voice is heard from outside the door.

Without the fears, as it was before, you allow him to enter and ask, why he has come.

"Just wanted to... help with decorate the house... And with nest" Noa looks from under brows at the wreath that hugs your hair. Noa looks at you for a long. Not at all, like he usually does. "You're like a queen in this... crown"

"Oh, right!.. But this a princess's crown. Queen can't rule without a king" looking away and laughing carefree, you clarify. "Maybe you'll sit down?"

Hanging an awkward silence. Is this a coincidence, nothing much more?..

You don't know, how to hide your commotion. Is Noa really serious? You thought, all this talk about the ritual of raising a companion — was nothing more than just covering up the gaps in your knowledge. It turns out, that this apes ritual concerns you, a human, directly.

In Noa's hands is a pile of branches, vines and... fluff? Nests in the bird pen, where the tiny chicks, just hatched from their shells, are kept warm and well-fed, are lined with exactly the same material. You heard, that everyone in the clan, upon reaching adulthood, undergoes initiation by proving responsibility for their own bird. Does this mean, that you are allowed to stay not out of pity, but as an equal?.. But then first you need to find the egg yourself and watch over it tirelessly. You weren't rushed with this ritual — and now Noa has literally provided you with all the necessary supplies. All that remains is to build a nest, as Soona and the other females taught you. Perhaps, being here, this is the only thing, that you have learned to do correctly...

And, probably, after that you will have go to the eagle's nesting place on the rocks?

In an awkward silence, Noa lays out everything he brought a short distance from your bed. Then he sits down, an arm's length away — so as not to trigger the anxiety, that's still gripping you by the scruff of the neck — and scratches Daisy behind the ear.

Meanwhile five pairs of children's eyes are looking at you fixedly, waiting for the continuation of the untold story.

"With my parents happen something very bad. And someday, later, I will definitely tell you about it..." but you're looking not at the children. It is too early for them to hear such monstrous details about the far world.

You looking at Noa. Was not was. Maybe, that's a good way to hint at how important to you were his actions?

After all, what else, expect honesty, can you thank him? He deserves to know that about you.

And you're almost ready to share it with him.

And he imperceptibly nods to you.

"But now I don't want ya'll to be sad. So I'd better tell you who else I would thank..." you take a deep breath of morning air, to satisfy returned for children curiosity. "I would thank Nature and the Lord. For being able to be here. To look at the sun, the moon and the stars. I would thank the Elders. For sharing their wisdom with ya'll and being indulgent towards me, who doesn't know, how to do anything that is customary here.

"Not true!" Paco exclaims, and the others immediately echoing him. "You already know everything, that should know... a real ape! You plane... spears and beams on par with Master of Birds!.. And mess around... with the little ones no worse than their mothers"

Immediate praise makes Noa smile at the corners of his lips and move a little closer to you, chuckling.

"By the way of the little ones. I have to go to them, while their mothers are busy. And ya'll, I have no doubt, will turn this hut into real royal chambers by the time I return" you feel your heart warm from what you've noticed. And you laugh quietly, when you see the enthusiasm of the five assistants.

Ask Noa to stay with them — while you, according to your recently habitual routine, go to look after the babies of the mothers-gatherer.

Mothers will return only in the evening, bringing berries, roots, and medicinal herbs. So during the daytime hours you — a full-fledged nanny.

And this new status, this necessity is flattering even after fusion with responsibilities.

***

Soared into the twilight sky sparks fascinate you. Official, if it may say so, part of the celebration came to an end — all the gratitude was carefully absorbed by the crimson evening. As for you, you plucked up the courage to say thank not only to the sky and the earth, but also to name all the names. Elders, impressed, remained on the logs that resembled perches. Noa, — Master of Birds, confused by your sincerity, — having listened to you, answered the same way, as he answered all the others who spoke, if don't count smile from ear to ear. True, he immediately left the field back towards the huts. And promised to return later.

Your knees were shaking, when you spoke. But, even those who hadn't had the best opinion of you before highly appreciated this step. Isn't this a success, albeit a minor one?

It gives you confidence — but not so much, that you join in the general, strange to you, fun. You look at dancing crowd through dancing fire. Movements to the accompaniment of huge drums are so outlandish, chaotic. But not grinning. As in, it would seem, human society. Dance is like fooling. Although very frivolous, but fooling. Without any vulgar subtext. Well, unless this context was desired by the dancing couples.

Yes, only couples danced. Married, heading towards marriage.

Or friendly teasing. Like Soona and Anaya, for example.

So you, sitting on a fallen log, enjoyed strung on a peeled twig mangoes, leaving the dancers aside.

Was unnecessary to put on a parade dress, only to feel uncomfortable in it now. It wasn't that much parade. Gray, washed out. Wreath still adorned you — and it was the only thing, that calmed you down in the motley mess. It was fun to watch. But you didn't want to take part in this mess. What, if you did something wrong?

"Why are you sitting here... alone?" Kantis sits down next to you. Must be, she upset, that you're not with the others.

"The scar on my leg still hurts" you lie with all your might. But don't keep quiet about the real reason. "Besides, I've never danced in my life. My clumsiness could ruin everything."

"Is that... such a problem? Let me... help you find... a cavalier, who won't be afraid of your clumsiness?" she giggles, putting her arm around your shoulder in a family-like manner. But then she falls silent. "...Or is it you're afraid of something..? Right..?"

“Yes,” squinting from the smoke from the fire, you sigh. “Not here, in the clan. Place, where I grew up, was different. In a bad way. That’s what I’m afraid of"

Smoke spreads in the gusts of wind, and you wrap yourself in the sky-blue fabric over your dress, so that you feel like a caterpillar. It takes Kantis less than a second, to hug you tighter, realizing your words. She says nothing. She rocks you from side to side, like a frightened child. She says nothing, because she understands, what you mean. That's why you're was silent as a fish.

Waving his hands and laughing, Ogun beckons Kantis — she can’t sit like this for the rest of the evening, saddened along with you — back.

And you move away from the dancers. Maybe, this will be better?

It seemed, like you were alone not in a firelit field, but in the entire forest. But that was okay. A little uneasy. But okay.

It didn't feel, like loneliness.

And would be better if it were loneliness.

Anything would be better, than appearing out of nowhere Jeru. You realized right away, he was the same as the bastards from the settlement, when he opened his filthy mouth and was supported by the embittered jackal and mutt. Over the months of living in the clan, you always managed to fight off his advances. More precisely, there were always those nearby, who could fight him off. Now you only hoped for the favor of fate, so that this bastard would stop bothering.

"I think... if we have fun with you... properly..." drawn-out, mocking phrase makes your soul run to your heels. "No one will notice... the loss"

"Go away. Right now. Or I'll call everyone, to see, how you're enjoying yourself" there's not an ounce of firmness in your voice, but there's plenty of determination.

"Are you sure, that... you... at least someone will hear? Because you're... so far from the others"

You look around in all directions. To make sure that situation is hopeless. Now Jeru is with one of his henchmen, nameless and brainless. They are accompanied by the same intention, with which lustful male hands climbed under your skirt. They reek of the same intention to have fun. One thought is spinning in your head: "Not for anything show fear!" Jeru waddles up to you. Looks you up and down. Calls you muck again. Tears the fabric off you with one greedy jerk. First he reaches for the buttons on your dress. Then he spits somewhere under your feet, shod in worn-out shoes. Four fur slimy hands grab your elbows, dragging you deeper into the thicket.

Wreath of delicate flowers falls, getting lost in the grass.

As you trying break free, you scream. Heart-wrenchingly, to the point of squealing, to the point of wheezing. Loud to the point of madness. Grip becomes crackingly strong. Slap, that Jeru gives you, blazes.

Falling, for a few moments you grow into the ground. You faint from the washed over you icy rain of horror. You decide, which blow would best suit his vile mug.

You clench your fists until dark spots appear before your eyes, waiting for the right moment — you hit furiously, not knowing, what you're doing. Hit the bastard, wherever you can end up. Continue to scream, hitting the second one. Your rage to them, is like a club to an elephant. Grunting like a pig, Jeru leans on you with his heavy body, squeezes your boobs... And one by one, tears off the buttons of your dress.

While the nameless jackal, having dropped down, raging tries to pull off your underwear.

Fire's glow is invisible behind the trees, bushes and moss. Sparks don't fly off. Smoke don't curl.

Tears roll down your cheeks involuntarily. Miserable, ugly tears.

Everything repeats itself.

Bring your legs.

You're kicking.

With his hands around your throat, ripping your dress to shreds and clawing your boobs with a ravenous greed, Jeru grabs your thighs. Everything blurs and darkens, just like that night. Even worse. It's your own fault, for being separated from the celebration. You were out of place there. But there was safe.

In the grass flashes barrel of a pistol. It wouldn't take any effort to reach it, if you won't suffocate.

Knock the jackal off yourself, bite the bloated bastard on the strangling hand — and, crawling away, reach for the pistol. Taking aim, pull the trigger...

Nothing happens. You miss, twice — the bullets grazing the ear of one and the chin of the other, whistling off into the night.

No more bullets. Damn it!.. Shaking themselves off, they pounce on you again. The gun flies off, you can't reach it again. They dig their four hands into your knees. With terrible force. Until crunch. Your kneecaps are probably broken. Only now you feel, how cold in your skin, because there is almost nothing left of your dress. You can't move from the paralyzing pain, but you continue to fight back. So that they, having changed places, don't dare to reach the same place, where tried to reach those insignificant scum. You resist, but the resistance is cut short by a beating, from which your jaws tremble. You bite through your tongue and cheeks. You choke on your own spit and blood. And you continue to scream in despair, as your bones continue to break under the brute force of Jeru and his lackey. Fangs snap in front of your face. You squeeze your eyes shut. Already preparing to accept the fate, that awaited you...

Until out of the blur of night blue looms approaching Noa's shadow. His strides are wide and uncharacteristically fast. Too fast. Noa breaks you free of his predatory grip and swings at Jeru, backhanding the nameless shakal, that has sunk teeth into your thigh. He rains down more blows on them, until they are spitting blood on their knees. Then Noa says something, that you can’t understand — in your temples pounding your own heart. You spit into the scarlet-stained grass. You feel sick to your stomach, the contents of your stomach spilling out in a liquid mess. You can hardly even hold your head up, because you want to lie down and bury yourself alive. You press your hand to the frighful wound on your thigh, but it doesn't help. Noa hits Jeru again, when he tries to continue the fight that just ended. Noa growls at him in isn't his own voice. He utters only one word: "Away." The bastards, indistinguishable from other bastards, evaporate into thin air.

You can hardly see anything through hair, which hangs down like nasty wet straw.

Not hovering, but sitting down opposite you, Noa stretches out his palms to you — stained with blood and rotten earth, again saving. You reflexively put forward one disobedient palm, with the other trying in vain to cover your nakedness — shameful, unforeseen, and almost absolute. Noa offers you to put on the bright blue scrap of fabric, that covered his shoulders during the holiday and that he threw off in anger. Half-dead from beatings and shock, you are unable to do this. The dress hangs on your waist in uneven stripes.

“Can I..?” with this unfinished question, Noa himself wraps you in the robe that just belonged to him.

"You can watch... What now a difference..." you smile without any emotion. It's unbearably painful to extract sounds from yourself. With incredible persistence, Noa avoids looking at your scratched nipples, visible under the fabric.

"If... I do this... I'll be no better than them" in Noa's words are clear both, desire and regret. He again intertwines his fingers with yours. And looks exclusively into your eyes. "But I don't want to be... like them... in your eyes. I want to... you look at me... differently. I shouldn't have... left. Everything... should have been... not that"

Your heart skips a few beats, dropping and pricking like a pin. Just a few steps away from the two of you in the flattened, low grass sparkles a handmade bracelet.

Beads on it are transparent-blue. Cut from precious stones.

This can't be, no-no-no...

These bracelets signify a proposal to become a couple.

This bracelet is thin. Braided to size of your wrist.

All you able to think about — is the overwhelming realization, that you aren’t safe here either. Yes, with Noa to you nothing straitening. Yes, under his robe you’re covered from your neck to your broken knees. But the fabric is immediately soaked with your blood, clinging to your body as you failed try to rise. You can’t stand, let alone walk. A portion of bloody vomit accumulates in your mouth. You shudder. Shrink. Road to the hut is short, but winding. And Noa has just confessed to you it something, that you could hardly even imagine. In that case, how long will Noa, whom you have only recently begun to trust, be able to maintain control? How long will he do impossible, being with you, in this state, so close?..

"No one will hurt you... again. Never. Y/N, I promise you" Noa carefully helps you up. Still trying not to look at you. Although in vain, but causing you to feel a surge of endless respect. "Let's go..?"

“Let’s go...” you can only sob and sound like a bloodless echo, allowing Noa to cover you with wide, warm palms. “I'm so much want to go home...”

Noa could have long ago undress, lay and dishonored you.

Noa could have gnaw off your virginity, and leave you in total darkness.

But Noa holds you so gently. Gently!.. Damn... Tears are eating away at your eyes, and you tossing in Noa's arms, to wipe them away. The fabric bunches up, sticks, revealing the curves and hollows of your collarbones.

You no longer mind, how many inches of your body are exposed to his excited gaze.

For some reason, for some unknown reason, he is not like all the men, who you have met before. He doesn't harass, but almost begs. He expresses sympathy, crush, which you only knew about from fairytales.

For some reason, even more mysterious, inexplicable reason, even if you had the strength to defend yourself, you wouldn't. He doesn't give you that spine-crawling anxiety, that you're used to.

If time had been kind to the two of you, Noa could have become your closest friend. You've called him friend out loud more than once in the past month.

But to become a couple...

What does Noa know about you? Does he know, why you were so hostile? Does he know, that you were subjected to attempted rape more, than twice? Does he know, that you can't always tell the difference between the stretched from the past nightmare images and the real events? Does he know, that you thought of him as a dirty animal, even while acknowledging his nobility? Does he know, that you were seriously prepared to kill him in the middle of a fragrant plain? Does he know, that your hatred of the man kind has only begun to dull thanks to... he himself?

Barefoot walking on rocks and branches is unbearable. You barely move your feet, hoping to see your lost shoes.

Stumble, you grab onto Noa as tightly, as you had, when you staggered in the saddle. Just like yours first met...

His cleared long glances still don't added up into the puzzle...

When and why did he think of you in that watercourse?..

Is even possible that union?..

"Wait..." the seconds seem like years, when you, almost falling, pick up glittering in the light of the scattering stars bracelet. You would have fallen, if Noa hadn’t held you on.

"So that... none of them... ever try to..." Noa pauses, but doesn't let go of you. His gaze is focused on the bracelet in your weakened palm. "You... can... become not my mate, but... my... woman?" he speaks so quietly and so decisively, that you are almost afraid, having misinterpreted his words. "I will not touch you... Will just... live under the same roof. I will always... protect you. I swear"

Everything happens fast. Too fast. You don't know, what to answer to the asked question.

You have never before talked so much.

This is unusual.

Harassment will continue anywhere.

Because women have become valuable commodity, important trinket, everywhere. Wherever you go. Besides, you have nowhere else to go. And you scarcely get far. A worthless cripple. That's who you are now.

Of all the things, you've had the misfortune to endure, Noa — isn't the least of your evils. Noa — is a blessing. And you don't want to hurt him by refusal. Even if agreement will lead you to an unpredictable future.

Noa looks, like ashamed of his own suggestion.

Noa looks, like he stabbed by a dagger.

"Can we... pretend? No one will dare look at you like a... thing. We can live not as... husband and wife, but... as allies..." you feel so sick, that the treetops curl into spirals. Sensing something is wrong, Noa holds you tighter.

"We can pretend, that concluding marriage. But we know, it won't be a marriage..." It feels so awkward to talk about, so that you sit back down on the ground. Halfway to your home. "I don't know, what prompted in you that thoughts, Noa. I don't know, how I can be useful to you."

“It’s... I want to be useful to you, Y/N” determination comes from Noa. He breathes on the top of your head, adjusting your hair. Your world turns upside down. “For you to stand behind my back, Y/N... I want to be... your man"

"If you become my man, what will be the condemnation of your own congeners?.. You deserve another union. Truly. We're different..." bowing your head, you sigh deeply and hopelessly. Laugh. Tremble. You look at Noa for a long. Completely different, from usual. "If we return to the clan with this intention, we will condemn each other to eternal loneliness..." what is happening seems unreal. You give him all your secret thoughts. And your wrist. "But if you intend to help me, I will help you as much, as possible. You are the only one, who I trust completely. I owe you my life. Therefore, I entrust my life to you. Whatever the consequences"

"Shall we ask the children... to weave a new crown?" turning it into humor, Noa actually giving you time to change your mind.

"As soon as king takes queen back to chambers" you answer this question with consent too, smiling. And without changing your mind.

Putting aside doubts, you present to Noa your claw scarred wrist.

Putting aside doubts, Noa places the bracelet on your wrist unacceptably carefully.

***

It's impossible to challenge taken decision.

It's too late to retreat.

All that was left of fire is a handful of ashes. All that was left of dancing crowd is a handful of those, who were not tired yet remained — and looked at Noa, who was leading you not into your, uninhabited, hut, but into his own, the leader's hut, not with suspicion, but with acceptance. Someone called the healers.

Ground tilts, heaves. Unaware of yourself from the pain, you press yourself into the wool on Noa's strong shoulders. You, falling, fading, are caught by reliable hands. Everything plunges into darkness, emptiness, oblivion.