PM to join [Alements] Stirrings of Another Soul (Rosela)

[Hirem]

3rd of Winter, 514 A.V.

In his mind's eye, the razor slipped from his grasp and slid freely against the taut flesh of his neck. At first it left only a scar in its wake, heavy and dark red. His eyes widened and his grip loosened on the blade. Tilting forward, Hirem's throat then burst into a shower of blood that hailed into the wash basin, the last drops of blood he'd ever shed.

In reality, the shaving passed without incident, his rusty fingers still manoeuvring the razor with enough care to avoid self-harm. In the end, it was coarse black hair that lay strewn about the basin, not gore. He stared dimly at the sight, wondering how long it had been since he had last taken a sharp edge to the beast growing on his face. A year? Two, maybe? Who knows, it might be three. For all intents and purposes, three empty years of his life were now clinging to the sides of basin, cut free by a slight sting and a determined hand. He looked upon that sad mess, that horrible beard, and realized that it was all he had to show for the last nine years. A mangy beard, a sore body, and a wounded spirit. My friends have gone and acquired wives, herds, respect... and I have this petching beard. His fingers ached, itching to take the razor to himself once more, to strip away the unnecessary and cut to the truth of who and what he really was. Perhaps if I saw deep enough, I will gain the power to remake my being. Perhaps then, I will truly be able to distance myself from the past.

Sighing, Hirem set down the razor and pressed his fingertips to his burning cheeks, staring at himself in the faded mirror. He looked... different, that much was certain. The beard had made him appear years, perhaps decades older than he really was, and Hirem had once thought that a virtue. I was merely pretending at wisdom, he remarked, by imagining myself a Rapa with a flowing beard and Yahal-branded skin. And I couldn't even get the beard right. Now that he was clean-shaven, the Benshira appeared much younger and more spirited. Narrowing his eyes, Hirem practised the look that he had grown fond of using to corral the patrons of the Rat Hole; clenching his hands into tight fists, he cocked his head slowly and locked his gaze with his mirror self. I look fiercer, Hirem thought, approving proudly of the change. Now I will not be gazed upon and pitied for my harsh travels. I will be feared and respected. His fingers traced the thin scars that raked across his cheeks, left behind from the beginning of the Summer, and wondered if their failure to heal completely served him well as a lesson in selflessness. Get yourself involved in dumb quarrels that don't involve you, he remembered, and you'll end up dead.

Cleaning himself up, the Benshira then left his room at the Kulkukan behind and head for Alements. The heat of the day had already fled the city as twilight set in, bringing a chill to Hirem's skin and a chatter to his teeth. Damned be the god that was so clever to conjure up the first, "winter".

His swift arrival at the tavern prevented him from being seriously affected by the numbing cold. Once inside, Hirem, wrapping his arms about himself and taking deep, hot breaths, took stock of the clientele inside. Caelum must be around here somewhere, he figured, deciding not to go searching for the Eth. If he wishes to make himself known to me, he will. Though Hirem had grown fond of frequenting the inn as of late, he did not recognize many of the patrons now gathered inside - perhaps because a fair few were just trying to escape the chill - and had little desire to approach any one of them. Instead the Benshira offered a quick greeting to Elise, ordered a mug of ale, and claimed a seat near the back of the house where he could enjoy it in peace. Though the inn was fairly populated this evening, most spoke in low enough whispers that Hirem could close his eyes and imagine the sound was nothing more than a whistling breeze. The ale that he sipped, while once a foreign beverage to him, had become an acquired taste over the past season. It warmed his throat and dulled his senses into a peaceful daze... and for that, Hirem was willing to pay any cost.

After sitting in silence for a few moments, the Benshira bowed his head and closed his eyes, and almost began to pray - but instead of speaking to Yahal, or to Nysel, he spoke to his father. What did you dream of my future? He asked, pleading with him. Surely you must have had some inkling of where my destiny might lead. Tell me, did it ever involve this? Did it ever involve where I am now, who I consort with now, and what I am called upon to do? And if you cannot give me a straight answer, then I will no longer turn to you for guidance. But his father offered no reply, the words, "you are meant for more than lambs and jackals", whispering throughout his mind. Who am I? Hirem wondered.

More importantly, who am I becoming?

[Rosela]

Rosela sucked in a breath as the wind kicked up, sending her cloak fluttering and a violent shiver up her legs. Her hands fumbled as she worked to lock the door of Red Diamond Fashions behind her. It was the end of another long day and she was exhausted. She hadn’t needed to come in herself, as it was Hudon's day to watch the desk, but after so long away from her precious shop, it was calming to walk the floors again. Her ankles were beginning to swell as she neared the middle of her pregnancy, but she strapped her stylish little boots on just the same and tried not to let it show. The lock finally clicked into place and as one hand stashed away the key into her purse, the rest of her hands yanked her cloak closed again.

”Are you-“ She turned to Hudon, her front desk clerk, only to see him nonchalantly walking away already. The wind billowed his cloak as much as hers, but like many Riverfall natives, he was seemingly unaffected by the cold. Where he once may have struck up small talk, asked about her night, perhaps even escorted her home, he now had no interest in niceties. Rosela’s lip wobbled once before she bit it hard, her tears always looking for an excuse to spring to her eyes. It was the third day of the season, and her third day back to her shop, but she still had a hard time acclimating to the new Hudon. Courlut, her sweet butler, had turned on her as well, leaving only her Talvis to lean on for support.

Two hands curled around her burgeoning stomach at the thought of Likhren and his open invitation to dinner. Despite what he’d…done to her, he was a kind man and just the thing she needed. She didn’t want to need him though, and she knew the Old Rosela would have balked at such reliance. It was mostly out of respect for the person she once was that she didn’t outright move in with him. This same attempt to respect Old Rosela kept her out still, and her feet moved towards the third tier, and towards Alements.

Caelum had been a kind heart to reach out to in the days after she’d been released from the healing center, and the warm atmosphere of the tavern he’d founded was a balm for her soul. It wasn’t too crowded by the time she’d arrived, the late evening bringing in the odds and ends of the city. Rosela passed by the bar and quietly ordered a tea so she could sit and not have to get up again. As she waited for the young woman to deliver the cup, Rosela surveyed the room, looking for familiar faces. She hadn’t run into anyone but Caelum here yet, but still hoped-

Her eyes settled on a dark-skinned man near the back. His face struck a chord in her and she wondered why. He was clearly Benshiran, the race her old self had so oddly hated. While she’d changed a great deal, she still could pick those features out of a crowd. The realization came upon her like a touch of static. The man, from the summer, he’d visited her shop. It had been such an odd encounter, debts and amends and such miserable, terrible hate she’d felt for him. How odd that such a physical reaction to him seemed so far away now. She felt immediate guilt for the way she’d treated him.

The small clink of the cup being set next her brought her from the depths and she almost absently left a silver miza on the counter. Rosela didn’t know how, but she wanted to make amends to this man. She couldn’t tell if he knew she was there as she wound closer, cloak folded over four hands as her other two protected her cup of tea. The cloak hid her belly; somehow she didn’t want that to be the first thing he saw. There’d be no hiding it once she moved the cloak to sit, but…she wanted him to see her face, and hopefully see something different there.

Coming to a stop next to the table, she cleared her throat discreetly. ”Mind if I join you?” Her voice was soft and weak, as it always seemed to be these days, but she didn’t repeat herself. If he wanted her there, he would ask.

[Hirem]

Empty promises and maddening thoughts were swirling about Hirem's mind as the Eypharian approached, the whispers of years past coming back to haunt him. Dark days without meaning were relived and horrible sights revisited, his hands tightening around his mug of ale. I thought I had worked past this, he thought, his teeth clenching together. I thought, at the very least, that with this great change in the wind that sent everyone in Riverfall on different paths... that I might have been set free from the nightmares that bind me still. Hirem was beginning to understand that there was no way for him to evolve and combat the wounds of the past. Try as he might, he could not separate them from his shaking flesh, no more than he could an arm or a leg and be all the better for it. Idly he scratched at his bare cheek, wondering how much good the act had really done him. The past was a part of him, etched deep into his soul, and he must learn to accept that.

But sometimes, when the wind sent a chill through his bones and the shadows seemed to grow especially dark on the wall, Hirem wished that he had just died in Hai and spared himself the trouble.

"Mind if I join you?" came the hesitant question, freeing the Benshira from the depths of his mind. Blinking his bright brown eyes, he turned and stared at the figure standing beside the table. Eypharian, was his first thought, a word that echoed in a tone halfway between a sneer and a plea. A flash of steel, a cry in the dark. Pushing that vision aside, Hirem noticed that it wasn't just any Eypharian standing before him; dressed in brilliant winter garb was the Eypharian seamstress that he had met during the summer. Rosela. She looked very different - paler and weaker, less happy and more frail - but he could not easily forget the woman nor their first encounter. The memory shamed him as he bent his thoughts towards it, as he remembered how he had grovelled before her whining pathetically about a debt that needed to be paid. What debt did I think I owed her? I did nothing to her, nor she to me. To think that she deserves my kindness because of my past, in spite of the fact that she was a pompous Rakva... I was truly acting quite the fool that day. And now here she was again, two seasons later, standing before him in resplendent finery while he still wore his ragged clothes from the day's work. No doubt she has grown all the wealthier while I am down to my last mizas.

But that begged the question of what she was doing here. As in, why had she chosen this table to approach, out of all the tables to approach in the tavern. Is she about to accost me of tracking the dirt in? No... if she were to do that, her voice would never quaver so. Something is wrong with her. Curious, pushing down the distasteful bile that was threatening to ruin this conversation, Hirem gestured to the other side of the table. "I do not mind." He said plainly, keeping his tone level and his eyes faint of emotion. "Sit where you like." An attempt was made to avert his gaze so that it did not seem to her that she held his full attention - an act of pettiness, to be sure. But that attempt failed when the Benshira noticed, out of the corner of his eye, the noticeable bulge that protruded from the woman's cloak. Is that...? He glanced up to her face and then looked away. So, the desert flower has fully bloomed. This only adds further mystery to the matter. He felt as if asking a question would be customary here, but none came to mind, so instead he fell silent for a long while, sipping quietly from his mug.

All the while, he wondered how he felt about this sudden approach. She came to me, out of all the many patrons of this tavern. She wants something from me, that much is obvious. But she also must know that I have nothing to offer, and would give nothing if asked. A more foolish Hirem would remember the damnable debt and render his services freely, but I will not. Is it... is it forgiveness she hopes for? The thought was almost too ridiculous for him to contemplate - an Eypharian hoping to make amends?! - but Rosela had come to him in a remarkably vulnerable state. What does she have to apologize for? It was in her nature to look down upon me. One does not curse the jackal for snatching away the lamb, for that is simply its way. Still, if she was going to attempt to be civil today, the least he could do was honour that attempt.

"Falim hak-tsipora." Hirem abruptly said, turning his gaze back to Rosela's. "That means, 'Hello little bird', in Shiber." Taking a low breath, he brought his elbows onto the table and leaned closer. "My mother was skilled at many things, but above all, she was an excellent midwife. She actively encouraged the members of our Tent to lay together, just so that she might have more children to deliver. She knew all the local herbs that could be used for curing the illness of the morning, and could guess the baby's gender with just a glance at the belly." The Benshira folded his arms and nodded softly, allowing a small smile to form at the pleasant memory. "And whenever the labour was finished and a newborn child lay in her arms, she would lean in close and say the same phrase every time: 'Falim hak-tsipora'. Welcome to our family, little bird. My mother, you see, believed that we were all birds, who, at some point in our life, spread our wings wide and let the winds carry us where they will. Some spread their wings and trust in Yahal, others in Rhysol, and yet others trust in no one. And where we choose to roost becomes our home. So my mother wanted to let each child know, as soon as they were able, that they had the power to fly free."

I've never told anyone that before, Hirem remarked to himself, ignoring the implications as he waved dismissively to Rosela. "If you have to come to offer me your forgiveness, you need not bother. I am not angry at you; your hate fell on a hardened soul. You are free to do whatever you wish with this quiet evening."

[Rosela]

There was a moment of silence after Rosela’s question where all that passed between them was empty breath. She watched the hints of emotion flicker across HIrem’s eyes, not catching them all, but seeing the unmistakable flashes of irritation, anger, and, perhaps the best she could hope for, curiosity. It seemed the changes that had affected so much of Riverfall during her time asleep had also affected him, as the sad, pleading man who’d entered her shop was clearly nowhere to be seen. For a moment, she considered crying off, but found herself slowly setting down her cup and sliding into the seat. ”…Thank you.” Her cloak was laid carefully to the side, the white fur folded up to keep it off the floor.

Her armor was gone and her weakness, her condition, was laid bare. She saw him see her and she self-consciously straightened her dress. She felt overdressed next to him, all chiffon and wool next to his…dirty cotton. Or possibly linen, she didn’t want to lean too close to check.

She started at his sudden greeting, the Shiber sounding rough and guttural to her ears. Color rose to her cheeks at his open talk of her pregnancy, the notion still fairly new to even herself. He seemed to lose himself in a pleasant memory and Rosela felt a stir of jealousy – she had no such pleasant memories of the process of giving life, only talks with the Oathmaster.

”Thank you. ‘Little bird’, I like that. I think we both flew a little far from home.” She attempted a smile. When sharing memories, wasn’t it proper to provide one in return? ”My mother…She didn’t talk much about…” The words stuck in her throat and she glanced down at her stomach, bare inches away from the edge of the table. ”Just that I ruined her figure.” She looked back up with a smile and half a laugh, realizing it had sounded funnier in her head.

Though his words claimed he held no anger for her, she couldn’t help but feel there was still some there. Still, he was more forgiving than she had once been. Unable to meet his eyes, she looked down again. ”I’m not here to offer forgiveness…You didn’t… I want to ask for it, I suppose. I wanted to say I’m sorry. I treated you very unkindly that day we met. I don’t know what you were going through – I don’t need to know – but I should have received you with more decency. I’m a different person now; I’m not sure if it’s this, or…” She laid a hand on her stomach, two other curling around her teacup. She didn’t want to give name to the awful changes throughout the city, much less consider that it could be the reason for her own change and not the events of the summer.

”You look different too?” She initially meant in spirit, but she also realized physically. Her Common failed to produce the right words and she waved a hand vaguely around her chin. ”Your beard, you lost it?”

[Hirem]

"I think we both flew a little far from home.” Rosela said, to whose smile Hirem responded with one of his own. It was strange that he found his mouth curving at the comment, for his mind was still filled with dark, lingering thoughts, but the Eypharian had made a good point. No matter our histories, and no matter how we feel about each other, one thing remains clear: we are the children of Eyktol. The same desert that he had wandered for years, had been traversed by her as well. The same cities that he had grown to love and despise, had served as her homes as well. They might have even met during the Festival of Dira four years ago, though bore would have been wearing a guise at the time. More than anyone else in this city, Rosela understood his past and his upbringing, simply because, for her, it wasn't a story about a faraway land but a memory. For so long, Hirem had only ever known the Burning Lands and its hardy people - now that he was exploring new and foreign lands, connections to his home grew ever more rare and valuable. The thought made the Benshira look a little more favourably upon Rosela.

Her next comment even made him feel a bit of sympathy for her. ”My mother…She didn’t talk much about… Just that I ruined her figure.” The way she stumbled over the words, and the manner in which she paused, gave Hirem some faint indication that the relationship Rosela shared with her mother was less than warm. Or it might just have been a joke. There's no need to look too deeply into this matter... but something tells me that Rosela might speak more happily of her mother if she had more happy memories. His brow furrowed, his hands clasping together. "Was she, ah - " Hirem swallowed. The question, Was she a good mother? seemed ridiculous to ask, for it made light of a great many complexities and unspoken feelings. It was harder still to contemplate what having a bad mother might be like when his own was so completely beloved. Jaliya made every effort to see me happy, even when I turned away from happiness and voluntarily adopted sorrow. "I am sure that your mother must have only been joking," he then said definitely, nodding his head. "Mothers grow to love the child inside of them, regardless of circumstance. What you are feeling, or might one day feel, for your child will mirror what your mother felt for you."

Then the unthinkable happened. Hirem's suspicions about why Rosela had come turned out to be correct, and he tried not to look surprised when the woman revealed she had come to seek forgiveness. Forgive her? Haven't I already done so in my heart? But as Hirem considered the thought, he knew, deep down, that it wasn't entirely true. He had reconciled Rosela's pride with the knowledge that it was the Eypharian way, but that hadn't blunted his anger towards her in any way. He hadn't actually considered the fact that Rosela might just be worthy of absolution on her terms. And the more he thought about the matter of forgiving her, the less clear the issue became. When the Benshira glanced her way, in one moment he saw Rosela the owner of Red Diamond Fashions looking back at him, and in another he saw the whole of Ahnatep staring back, some of them bloody and reminding him of his guilt. To shake off the vision, Hirem focused instead on the next question she posed him. "You look different too?" She asked, and he smiled at her attempts to convey the word, beard, across. Then again, the only reason I know Common for beard is because Akalaks speak of it all the time.

"Wait, what do you mean?" He asked incredulously, placing a hand to his chin and acting shocked. "My beard! It's gone! I must have misplaced it!" Continuing the charade for a moment more, Hirem eventually just smiled, winked at her, and took a quick sip of ale. There. Let it be known that Hirem the Strong doesn't have to be Hirem the Serious. He reached up and placed two fingers thoughtfully on his bare chin, stroking the skin and marvelling at how different it felt to be shaved. "Ah... in truth, I was getting tired of pretending to be something I was not. All of the wise men of Yahebah wore long, flowing beards, and I thought that getting one myself might impart to me that same wisdom. All it gave me was trouble when I tried to comb it. I am glad to be rid of it." His brown eyes stared about the tavern and tried to discern what was going on at other tables, his shoulders quaking still from the winter chill, before he took a deep breath and looked back to Rosela. He stared into her gaze of emerald - noting how it was both similar and unlike the eyes of his people - and nodded slowly, meaningfully. "Yes, I am different. Very different. I have stopped caring so much for the past," he said, neglecting to mention the fact that the past had not decided to stop hounding him, "for it has done me little good. Now, I am... hoping to find my own way."

There was a short silence that followed this statement, as Hirem pursed his lips and tried to definitively settle the question that was being warred against by his heart. Do I forgive her, or must she forgive me? At other times in his life, he might have been able to clearly choose one or the other... but right now, his mind was divided. Finally, he spoke with a low and even tone. "Rosela of Ahnatep, you indeed should have received me with more decency. We are far away from Eyktol, and yet you acted if you were still a princess of Ahnatep." His words weren't blunted and sounded harsh to his own ears, yet he took some small joy from speaking so plainly of this matter. "But you have come to apologize, and whether or not it is because you are with child or because Riverfall's winds have grown queer, what matters is that you have come. You are forgiven." That might have been the end of the conversation, had Hirem not gone on to add, "And you must know that the debt that I spoke of is based in nothing but the truth. You were rude to me when I came to your store - trust me, that pales in comparison to what I might have done to you if we met in an earlier life. I owe many people, both of your race and mine, greater acts of redemption than an apology. You are not a worse person for belittling the pride of a great sinner."

"Here," Hirem said then, abruptly changing the tone with a lifting of his voice. "To old and new sins!" Though she drank tea and he ale, the Benshira still held his mug aloft for a traditional salutation, bowed his head, and then drained the rest of his drink.

[Rosela]

Rosela tilted her head slightly, wondering what Hirem had wanted to ask about her mother. Was she… alive? Was she still upset? Was she really that fat? Given the options, Rosela wasn’t sure she wanted to press him to finish the question. Her mother was not the lithe figure described to her in tales of her youth, but nor was she exactly plump. Her mother was simply her mother, and had always existed in the manner in which Rosela remembered her.

His words on what she felt for the child growing inside of her initially passed like a breeze, carried by the lighthearted notion that her mother hadn’t really resented her. Hirem’s optimism about the woman was sweet, and Rosela only smiled and shrugged. ”I suppose so…”

It was in the next breath that the connection between herself as a child and the child growing inside of her brought upon a short-lived terror. This thing inside of her could not be a real person...only she knew that it was. This thing would come out of her at some point. It would need a name.

Hirem's brief mime shook the gripping thoughts from her mind like nuts from a tree and she smiled with him as he made fun with her slip in Common. ”I didn’t realize beards required combing. The Akalaks so rarely grow facial hair that I suppose it’s never come up.” She took a small sip of her tea and when she looked up again, he was staring at her, bright brown eyes seeming to swallow up her soul. She wanted desperately to look away. This talk of letting go of the past…it’d been so long since the memory of fire and blood had risen to eat away at her sanity, but it returned now with a twist in her gut that had nothing to do with the baby.

Terrified he would see the secret she’d long since buried under mizas and pretty clothing and jewelry, she turned away. ”One cannot subside on only the past. Like a serpent that consumes its tail, eventually, all that remains are the fangs.” She felt immediately guilty for slipping into Arumenic, unsure how good his was. ”I was consumed by my past in Ahnatep for some time as well. It took a lot of time to let go of what I’d left there. Forward is always the best place to go.” It surprised her that she’d managed to put away her past for this long.

His blunt words on their past together did not settle her guilty heart, and to her further shame, tears sprung to her eyes. She’d been abominable to him and there was simply no excuse for it. She didn’t expect him to forgive her, but somehow he did. Managing to blink back the tears and hoping it wasn’t too obvious, she gave him a small smile. ”…Thank you.” There was not much else to be said. Her anxiety faded as he spoke of his past sins and the mark of Akajia on the back of her neck tingled to know what great sin he’d committed. It would be terrible of her to pry though, especially after the grace he’d just given her. "Whatever you had done in the past, if you choose to leave it there, you can become something new here. Riverfall is good like that. They don't ask what you're leaving behind, only that you do your best while here. They're not perfect," she said quietly, one hand curling unconsciously around her belly. "But they're not bad."

She lifted her mug with two hands and nodded at his toast. ”And to leaving the past where it belongs, behind us.” She took a long gulp of her tea, unable to finish it fully. What did one do at a time like this? The point of her coming over, to apologize, had been fulfilled, and she wasn't sure if he wanted to socialize. "To speak a little more of the present, are you keeping well?" As when she approached him, if he wanted peace from her, he would say so.

The burden of her trespass against him had been lifted from her heart, but in its place were the dark memories of the past she'd buried. Her old self may have brushed them aside, but the person she'd become was not so strong.

[Hirem]

Arumenic.

More than anything else yet, Rosela's transition to the dusky language of her people brought Hirem stumbling back into the past. Common was widespread enough that the Benshira didn't associate it with any one place, and Shiber was as natural to him as walking, so overhearing the tongue didn't give him pause. But Arumenic was a different story. The only reason I learned the language was because I wanted to understand the Eypharians, and the only reason I wanted to understand the Eypharians was because I hated them. Distracted as he was by the memory of dusty streets and treacherous alleys, Hirem only barely managed to notice the turmoil that had gripped Rosela. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the quiet tragedy written into her expression, and wondered what secrets lay buried there. When an Eypharian dreams of home, I expect their bosom to swell with pride... but that is definitely not what I see reflected in the seamstress' eyes. Indeed, if he had managed to bury his tragedy below the surface of his skin, Rosela had buried hers deeper still. So deep, in fact, that he wagered that if it were not this queer of a night - with old grudges being amended and toasts raised between unsuspecting companions - he might never have glimpsed her hint of weakness.

Struggling to make sense of her words, Hirem eventually pieced out his understanding from the eloquent Arumenic. Dwelling on the past is self-destructive... yes, this much is known to me. But what else can we dwell on, when the future is but a pale impression of what may be? His mind drifted to the Konti seer Eselle, who had given him a prediction of the future with her divining cards. A foolish thought, he reflected, but it gave me some comfort back then to rest my hopes on her fortune-telling. As Rosela said, it is not enough to survive only through memory; combining the lessons of the past with some hope of the future provides one with sustenance.

"Whatever you had done in the past, if you choose to leave it there, you can become something new here." Rosela consoled, and Hirem knew her words to be the truth. Whatever else the Rivarians might be guilty of - such as their young being possessed with arrogance or their system of Nakivak becoming increasingly offensive to his sensibilities - their single greatest virtue was their emphasis on self-worth. Yahebah is a city of the gods, Ahnatep a city of the nobility. Riverfall is a city for the people, and so long as you provide your fair share, you shall be accepted here. Cyphrus was distanced enough from the bloody sands of Eyktol for Hirem to start feeling clean again, and the fellowship he had discovered in this city provided an opportunity for rebirth. I must only seize it, and I shall be forged anew. He wondered once more what secrets lay in Rosela's wake that made the cleansing nature of Riverfall so attractive to her, as it was to him. Are we more alike than I thought? I understand that Rosela has prospered here, as a business owner and a powerful woman... but never once did I think that she came to Riverfall to flee her home, as I have. Can it be...?

His questioning mind disturbed him even as he toasted Rosela's drink, downing the last of his ale with a frown. Groaning, his stomach handled the drink with little finesse, making his insides roil with discomfort. Thirty years of age and I drink like a quaking adolescent, he chided, thinking of the other men that frequented this tavern. I still don't understand why I abstained from the activity for so long. Out in the desert, there was little time for luxuries, but here? Without something to occupy my attention, all I have are luxuries. To her question of whether he was keeping well, the Benshira offered a quiet nod. "Well enough. I came to this city with little gold and have earned only a meagre sum, but it is enough. After living in the desert for nine years, having a bed underneath me is reward enough." He did not add more to this plain description, his mind squirming with fierce intent. All this talk of past and the future and moving on... Could it be as easy as Rosela claimed? Or were further measures required to prepare the soil for future harvests? Was it enough to say that he was ready to walk away from the tragedies that dwelled in his path? I had thought as much, but clearly they linger still in my mind and nightmares. If only I could...

Shave?

Pushing himself to his feet, Hirem set his mug of ale down on the table and walked around it to stand by Rosela. "Come with me," he said, offering his hand to her and helping her rise if she choose to accept his strange request. The Benshira would lead her, no longer by the hand, to the patio of the Alements, away from the main tavern floor. As soon as he opened the door outside a chill swept through his bones, an uncomfortable sensation that made him yearn for the warmth of the indoors, but he merely grit his teeth and pushed through it. The patio was dark and cold and empty of life, thanks to the growing cold of the winter night, which suit Hirem's purposes nicely. Stepping over to the railing that prevented the tavern from tumbling into the Suvan, Hirem closed his eyes and remembered the last time he had stepped onto this patio with such purpose in his heart. It was here that I met Kavala and found purpose in my suffering. It was here that I was given a chance to direct myself to a better heaven. The meeting had been during the summer, when the sun's heat was oppressive and the sea sparkled with beauty... now the Suvan was calmed considerably, the night sky above dulled into deepening shadows.

"It's silly to think, but I haven't actually told anyone in this city my story. Hell, I haven't told anyone my past in many years, Eyktol or Cyphrus." The man murmured, his voice sombre. "At first, there was no one to tell in the empty desert, and those travellers that I did end up meeting... well, I couldn't dare to risk offending them, lest they deny me aid. But now I think I've gotten so used to keeping the past within that it refuses to be released easily." He nodded, then turned to Rosela, his eyes bright in the evening's dark haze. "I do not agree with you, about the past. It cannot be let go. It cannot be walked away from. It must be exorcised. You must take the sword of truth - emedah", he added in Shiber, miming a shaving motion down his right cheek, "And cut every grain of history from your skin. It must be pulled out like a weed, or else it will fester and sicken you."

"I am as you are, Rosela." He added, trying to smile and relieve the seriousness of his words. "I have spoken of sins, and the tears in your eyes hint at more. It is not enough to say that we are rid of them... we must release them from our souls." Gesturing to the patio around, Hirem continued. "A woman named Kavala helped teach me that speaking of our sins, even indirectly, helps to ease their grip on our conscience. My people hold a similar saying - 'Offer your woes to Yahal in full, and he will pluck from them the road to your salvation'." Stepping forward, he placed his two large hands on the Eypharian's shoulders. All that lingered between them, for a moment, was the weight of Hirem's proposal and the chill of the wind. "Offer your sins to the world, Rosela, and they can be taken from you. Offer your sins, and I will give you mine."

[Rosela]

Hirem’s discomfort was apparent as he finished his drink and Rosela hoped it was the ale – for she could smell it from even across the table – and not her company. They spoke of unpleasant things, true, but a kind of accord, or even kinship, seemed to be flickering to life. His present life was meager and as he did not ask about her present circumstances, she did not provide. For the first time, she felt a twinge of guilt that she should sleep in a plush bed in a big house while another from the desert lands had no such luxuries. For her, simply having a bed to sleep on was not enough; it had never been.

Blinking in surprise at his sudden movement, she accepted his hand with a moment’s hesitation and put more weight on it than intended as she heaved herself out of the chair. It didn’t occur to her to question where he led her, only to trust his surety. As soon as she realized he was leading her to the empty patio outside, she regretted not grabbing her cloak and quickly braced herself for the chill. As he opened the door, it swept through her as she expected it would, dragging icy nails over her skin. Goosebumps rose and all six arms clasped against themselves to protect from the cold. The shadows on the patio were long and curious, alone as they were in the winter when the patio was closed. Rosela glanced back at the warm inside, but trusted there was a reason Hirem had wanted to speak away from prying ears.

His words drew her immediate curiosity and she listened in silence. He spoke of his secrets, the darkness that gnawed at him, and the desire – no, need – to cast them from his mind into the world.

The chill forgotten, tears danced behind her eyes as she met his, and she wondered what it would be like to be free of the fire and the blood that stained her memory. What would she be without it? Not the person she was before, the Old Rosela was gone forever, it seemed, but would she be something better if she could pluck this weed from her mind? The mark on the back of her neck, a secret in itself, burned hot. One hand lifted unconsciously to touch her neck, but she stopped short of rubbing the mark itself.

In the end, he made her an offer.

Give me your secret, and I will give you mine.

She longed to take that offer. What did he do? What had he done to bring such torment on himself? She’d encountered this offer once before, from the enigmatic Akalak Riaris, whose own unmarked devotion to Akajia had led them in an intricate dance of words as each pushed to discover the other’s connection to the goddess. After their dance, and after neither had gained any ground at all, he had made her this offer.

Then, she had refused. Could she, should she, do it again?

Riaris had respected the value of her secrets and she’d only refused because she'd had no idea of the value of the secrets he would tell her in return. Hirem’s secret sins tortured him from the inside though, so much like Rosela’s did any time she touched them. While he didn’t seem to understand the value of her secrets to her, he more than understood her pain.

The silence was lengthening between them as Rosela debated, panic growing. To give him her secrets would not only gain his in return, but she may have a chance a true peace from her demons. Could she do it though, give up something so fundamental to herself? Something that, while poisoned, had built the foundation of her self as she was?

”I…my secrets, my sins,” closing her eyes briefly, she called them what they were. She spoke slowly, trying to work out her thoughts as she spoke them. ”They aren’t…weeds. For so long, they were a boulder, a great rock tied around my ankle. I dragged it here from Ahnatep with me, even though it would have been easier to let it tie me there and slowly pull me down to nothingness. I’ve carried it with me for so long. It was always there, even if I forgot I was carrying it for a while. Until…”

She hesitated, looking out into the shadows that watched them with intense curiosity. She wondered, as she sometimes did, if they knew her secrets too. She tried to put herself back when she’d made the decision to move past what she'd done. It was hard, time and the barrier of her old self barring her from seeing it clearly. ”Until I…I had this dream. In it, I took the boulder and I stepped up on it. Instead of dragging it behind me, I was finally able to make it stairs.” Her memory of the dream that had left her so relieved of her burden was fragmented, as dreams often were, and she was having difficulty creating a metaphor from the metaphor it had already been.

As she spoke though, she seemed to become more sure and her voice grew firmer, more confident. ”I stepped up on my boulder, and only after building on top of it could I finally let it go. The problem with treating your secrets like weeds is that once you pluck them out, they may sprout anywhere they land, and who knows where they may spread from there. My sins are my boulder – it hurts to uncover them, but they are where they belong, with me. Not that-“ She reached out and touched his arm softly in what she hoped was comfort. ”Not I don't trust you to keep my secrets. But to lay that burden on you is to add another to myself - I'll never...really...know." The cloth of his sleeve warmed under her touch and she pulled back her hand guiltily.

"This is how I’ve dealt with my pain. But if Kavala and even Yahal are telling you that you'll find peace this way, then that is your decision to make. If your sins are weeds, then I would be happy to help you remove them and I'd swear on Akajia herself I'd never reveal them.” She offered half a smile, though it was full of apologies and regret. ”But I cannot offer you mine in return.”

She felt guilty for the decision, but speaking of it had made her more sure than ever that she was doing the right thing. The fire in her memory still terrified her, as parts of the Old Rosela likely always would, but they were a part of her now as much as this child and the mark on the back of her neck.

[Hirem]

The question was left to dance in the air between them, silent and ponderous, leaving Hirem breathless as he waited for his answer.

Offer your sins, and I will give you mine.

The Benshira sounded absolutely assured when he made this declaration, but as time wore on, the tears in the Eypharian’s eyes growing more prominent, doubt quickly settled into his mind. Would Rosela take him up on the offer? It was far and above what she had come to him for - it had been a simple need to offer an apology that motivated their conversation, nothing more. Was he justified in taking that simple need and transforming it into a confession of guilt? Was he right in asking Rosela for her secrets? Would she take him up on the offer? What’s more… was it possible that he could do the same? For it would be a great and unlikely gamble to chance upon someone with greater sins than I, he thought, his outstretched arms beginning to tremble. There was something powerful in the air around them, something that defied speech and stupefied understanding. It wasn’t a connection between them that generated this energy, however; it was clear to Hirem that Rosela was trapped in her own world, her own past, just as he was stuck in his. He had not discovered a friend this night, nor had he discovered an enemy. All that he had found in the Eypharian seamstress was a kindred spirit, a poor woman that, despite their many differences, had found a similar enough journey to his own.

If he had closed his eyes, Hirem fancied that he might have seen the two’s chavi aligning, the cords of their destiny parallel for one precious moment in time. Underneath the surface of his skin, growing more familiar by the tick. He did not know who Rosela was, or what her sins had been, but he felt as if he might understand what she saw, felt, and tasted. He could feel the dusty streets of Ahnatep swallow him whole, pulled from his own memory, and imagined them his home. He recalled the interior of Red Diamond Fashions, and felt the nearby rack of fur-lined clothing, growing proud at his work. He saw himself as Rosela must have seen him: a dark spectre, barely understood, bringing back a history best forgotten. This was all fancy on his part, but Hirem could not deny that there was the strangest sense of familiarity about the Eypharian, that made him lapse back into the ocean of his past. I am as you are, Rosela, he had said earlier. The reverse was also true: the experience that Rosela had undergone, the event that brought her to Riverfall… it must have been the same for him. The circumstances may have differed, but the emotions, the torment, the resolve… they might have been reflections of each other, if wildly distorted.

But it was important to remember that they were not the same, and wisdom could be gleaned from understanding the differences. Hirem listened attentively as she offered an answer to his question, looking troubled but determined all the while. ”…I-I had this dream,” she told him, ”In it, I took the boulder and I stepped up on it. Instead of dragging it behind me, I was finally able to make it stairs.” She spoke of her sins as a foundation, a platform from which she may build and aspire to the heavens. Rosela didn’t want to release them, because in doing so, she would strip herself of that foundation, and everything she had built would fall into ruin. The Benshira understood this because it was easy to tell that Rosela had built something of herself, something that could not and should not be easily undone. A business, a reputation, a life… she has created her own altar in Riverfall, dedicated to the god of success. He admired that determination, and smiled back at her when the Eypharian placed a hand upon his arm. It is not my right to demand that she change the way she handles her pain. We can only ever guide ourselves into salvation.

Rosela made it clear that she was unwilling to offer her secrets; that was an answer Hirem would accept. Now, the only question that remained was of his own mysteries. ”If your sins are weeds, then I would be happy to help you remove them and I’d swear on Akajia herself I’d never reveal them.” She offered him an apologetic, accepting look.

He stared at her for a long time, an equally sad smile on his face.

The chilly wind moaned against the Alements tavern, whistling through the darkened night.

Through the crack under the door, quiet conversation could be heard, muted voices languishing in a happier, separate realm.

He had to describe his sins, but he did not know where to start.

Finally, Hirem gave a quiet exhale and nodded. ”When I was twenty-one, I left Yahebah and my life behind in search of Yahal in the desert.” A good start, a solid start. ”I was convinced that my purpose was not waiting for me among my people, but was hidden out in Eyktol, buried under the sand, and I must attempt to find it. My parents did not understand, but wished me luck all the same. My friends offered to go with me, but I turned them away. It was a journey that I knew I must attempt on my own, and I left Yahebah only three days after I told them I must leave.” He folded his arms, stared down at the patio floor, and struggled with conveying this next part of the tale, for how outlandish it sounded. ”You see, I had glimpsed a dream - much like your own - that changed how I saw the world. It was a vision of the Ahnatep slave markets, where my people - where I - was being put for sale, treated like cattle. The dream infuriated me, and I thought that perhaps Yahal had sent it as a sign of what I would change about Eyktol… or a warning, of what may happen to the Benshira again. I did not know the full truth of the vision’s significance, but once the idea was planted in my head that I must head into the Burning Lands, there was no stopping me.”

”For the next three years I wandered alone through the region, surviving from day to day and trying to explore what the truth of my destiny was. I never wandered into a city, but found refuge with wandering Benshira tents and Chaktawe clans, as well as a few merchant caravans. I let the winds take me where they willed, thinking that just beyond the next rise, I would glimpse my lord’s glory in the flesh. It was a simple life, and I grew to enjoy it, after a time. But every day I became more frustrated that I was not finding my destiny yet, that the truth of my purpose was yet eluding me. I thought of returning to Yahebah several times - many times, actually - but never did. I kept thinking, ‘This is all a test. The Lord of Faith rewards those that persevere through doubt and believe fully in the righteousness of his cause.’ I wish that I had returned,” he murmured, rubbing at his eyes. ”But there is nothing that can be done about it now, right? We must use our sins as a boulder, and not drag them behind us as a counterweight against our progress.”

”Two and a half years after I left Yahebah, I met a group of Eypharians stranded in the middle of the desert. At first I watched them only from a distance, as you would any stranger in the Burning Lands, but eventually they waved me over and asked for my help. ‘We are lost!’ the eldest cried, shaking all four arms at me. ‘You look like a man that knows these sands! Can you guide us to Yahebah?’ Thinking that I would be remiss to decline this offer of aid, I entered their midst and introduced myself. They were all part of one big family, a clan of ‘misplaced nobles,’ as the elder, Shasti, said. There were three young men, two women named Rumala and Deriah, a small girl, and Shasti’s wife, who kept calling herself ‘Pressorah’. They claimed to be a forgotten noble house sadly run out of their fortunes by the scheming of Eypharian royalty, trying to recover their prestige by becoming great merchant princes. I did not believe them, of course, but Shasti was friendly and Pressorah kept promising me a great reward for my services, so I agreed to help them find their way to my homeland. The three young men each owned an ass with the flanks covered in massive saddlebags, carrying gold, fruit, wine, wadj. It was a very impressive haul.”

”And, for a time, life among them was peaceful. The three young men - Suli, Rajar, and Efrans - were vigorous and playful, constantly joking and playing pranks upon each other. They had these long swords of bronze that they kept practicing with, long into the evening. I spent many happy nights at their campfire, eating Pressorah’s meals and enjoying my talks with the men. But after a while, I noticed them staring at me out of the corner of their eyes, their smiles wrinkling as I approached. Every move I made, they watched, whispering to each other in Arumenic excitedly. They grew more perplexed by my customs, and soon all but the girl declined speaking to me at dinner. That was the beginning of it. Soon, by the time we were nearing Yahebah itself, they stopped pretending that they tolerated my presence. Shasti ordered me about as if I was his slave, and the young men all joked about how they would take me down in a fight. The women shied away from me and suspected me of lusting after them, and took the girl with them back into their tents when I came near. I responded by arguing with them constantly, over the smallest of things - how they preserved their food, how they doubted my direction. Slurs were sent back in my direction. It was all coming apart just as we were arriving at our destination.”

”A fortnight away from Yahebah, I had trouble sleeping and took to wandering the campsite. As I moved through the tents, I caught wind of a whispered conversation between the young men, a plan to turn this situation around to their benefit. ‘The goatfucker’s strong,’ Suli said, ‘he’ll fetch a high price on the market.’ ‘An even bigger one in Kenash,’ Rajar argued, ‘for those hands are just rough enough for handling plantation work. Besides, no one in Ahnatep will buy such an ugly bastard. The Jackals will sooner throw him into the Pillars of Dust than let him stand at auction.’ A plan was made to capture me the following night, with Suli and Efrans escorting me to northern Kenash and the rest finishing the trip to Yahebah. It was all in the interest of ‘restoring their house’s fortunes’, they called it. I knew it as something different: betrayal. I returned to my tent and did not sleep that night, too affixed with anger, too strained to rest. ‘Monsters’, I kept thinking, growing to hate the Eypharian men and women. ‘Monsters without remorse. They are unlike us in every way, they are a plague upon Eyktol. We would be better off rid of them.’”

”Early the next morning, when I was supposed to be taking watch, I set loose one of the mules and watched it vanish into the horizon. It was Suli’s charge, and he grew furious when he saw it missing. ‘Come on, you stupid vagik!’ he howled at me as he ran after the beast, drawing his sword along the way. We followed the mule’s tracks for two bells, stopping when Suli broke his leg falling down a crevice. The sword tumbled free of his grasp, landing on the ground; I picked it up.” Hirem’s words grew soft now, his eyes distant as he relived the dreadful memories he had kept so long at bay. ”Suli was crying at me, asking for me to help pull him free, promising me gold and riches if I did so. I remember staring down at him, sword in my hand, and thinking that I should ask if what he had discussed last night was true. But I didn’t. I just took a deep breath, stepped forward, and stabbed the sword down and down again until his blood was dripping down the walls of the crevice.”

”When I returned to the camp, it took the family only a few moments to realize what I had done. Rajar and Efrans leaped to their feet, drawing their swords and charging at me with wild fury in their eyes. But as angry as they were, I was angrier. There was this haze of steel,” Hirem said, breathing heavily and trying not to give in to the tears, ”a flare of scarlet, and then both men were laying dead on the sands. Pressorah was screaming; Shasti’s face had turned pale white. Without thinking, I charged at him next and cut him down, crying out in a language they didn’t understand. Deriah came at me with a knife, sinking it deep into my back, and I pushed her away in response. Her head cracked against the nearby rock, killing her instantly. Pressorah just kept screaming, and I - I came at her, wrapped my hand around her throat. ‘Stop’, I growled. ‘Stop’. I didn’t release her until… until she too had died. The last of them - Rumala and the girl - had retreated into the tent, too terrified to risk running. I came in after them.”

He fell silent. There were tears in his eyes and on his cheeks, and his hands were clenched so tight they might have burst. Every bone in his body shook. ”Rumala I tried to reason with. I told her to take one of the asses and go, to leave this place behind. But she told me I would hang for what I had done, over and over again. Then she started howling at me, crying to her gods for mercy, and I slit her throat.”

”The girl ran from me and slipped into the night. I lost track of her.” And there was nothing more he could say about that. The memory hurt too much for him to dwell on it.

”When it was all over, I sat in the destroyed camp and tried to make sense of what I had just done. Seven Eypharians were dead by my hand, and the destiny Yahal intended for me seemed forever out of my reach. I might have been driven mad, had I not thought to myself, ‘Perhaps this is what I was meant to do!’ Of course, I began to realize, of course I had been forced to kill those men and women. It was what Yahal had always envisioned for me: to be the spear that stabbed at the heart of Ahnatep and drove the unfaithful from the desert forever. It all made sense to me in that moment, and I was so filled with joy that I began to weep. At long last, my search was done. My vision was fully realized. I had achieved something great.” His tone was bitter, clouded by darkness, and Hirem stepped away from Rosela. Into the shadows he strode, his fists firmly clenched, his gaze cast downwards. His heart felt like it would explode at any moment. His soul wavered and cried out with pain. He wished that he was someone else in that moment, someone far removed from the tragedy and horror that he had wreaked in his lifetime. He wished that he had never been pronounced, “Hirem, the Strong.”

”And there is the truth of my crime: I did something terrible, and pretended that it was my god’s work. I deceived myself into thinking that I was just for murder.” He shook his head, anger boiling from within. ”And the story does not end there! Of course, I could not be satisfied with just seven deaths on my conscience! I returned to Yahebah and gathered an army to myself, all young and dumb men like me. Together we marched into the desert and did what we wanted, killing, stealing, and attacking anyone who got in our way. We were monsters, but I was the master of them all.” Gnashing his teeth together, the Benshira kicked angrily at the table leg nearby, needing to vent or else suffocate from his rage. ”That’s why I sought you out in the summer, Rosela; I wanted to apologize because at one point, I hated you, would have split your skull open without a second thought. I hated you because I thought you were worthy of it. That is my sin. That is why I am here, because my city cast me out with stones and promises of justice when I told them of my actions.”

”It was all that I deserved.” Smiling grimly, Hirem sighed and turned about to face Rosela, fearing the expression on her face. ”Tell me. What do you think I deserve?”

[Rosela]

Rosela wasn't sure if he'd tell her anything now. She'd refused his offer and she'd seen how that had ended with her before. She'd gone away with no more knowledge than she'd started with, and lost was any chance of a bond of connection. Hirem quietly sighed, and Rosela stayed silent. It seemed he would tell her after all, and as interested as she was to know what great sin had driven this man to once beg forgiveness of her, she was no less apprehensive.

She remained silent as he spoke, describing his early times with eloquence that made her feel as though she had been there. In a way, she had been, just on the other side. It was not her people being sold in the slave markets - her people were the ones buying. What she knew of the Chakatwe clans and the Benshira caravans came mostly from rumor and her single, long passage from Ahnatep to Riverfall. His commitment to Yahal was the most foreign to her, as her own devotions had never been strong, and even her commitment to Akajia was more in line with following her example, rather than any explicit commands.

Her mind began to move with him as he spoke of the lost Eypharians, after wondering briefly who they may have been. People she knew? People her parents knew? As he spoke, her imagination attempted to fill the story in ahead of her, and she imagined some romance between Hirem and one of these women. She had an immediate dislike for this Pressorah and her lofty nickname.

When events began to spiral downwards, however, Rosela lifted two hands to her mouth. Not in disbelief, for she could imagine these actions with the clarity of one who had walked that proud, traitorous way, but in pure horror and sadness. She flinched at his language and tears sprang to her eyes as he detailed the deaths of each person. Not just the deaths - the murders. Despite her comfort in the darkness, Hirem seemed to be swallowed up by it, the fluttering lights of the tavern inside hardly touching him. His final confession, of becoming no more than a desert bandit, hurt her still more. She had encountered bandits herself, in the caravan that took her to Riverfall. She started violently as he lashed out on a table leg.

Hirem finally fell silent, his bloody saga laid bare for her. Rosela couldn't find the strength to speak and continued to press her hands to her mouth, tears flowing freely. She had never considered her sins small, by any means, but she had to acknowledge they paled in comparison. Seven people...to say nothing of the people killed during his time roaming the desert with his band of cutthroats. "I...I don't..." Not of her own will, she took a step backwards in fear. Thoughts swirled through her mind like a sandstorm, unwilling to coalesce into coherence.

What did she think he deserved?

Seven people dead.

He'd been cast out of his people.

Wandering the desert, killing, plundering.

He had begged her forgiveness.

Those people, dead...after he was leading them to safety.

After they turned on him.

After they tried to make him a slave.

What should he have done?

The single question rose in her mind like a wall, halting the storm of her thoughts. What should he have done; what would she have done? Rosela had no idea how slaves came to be in their position and had never cared to think on it. Now though, in a city where slaves were so rarely seen, she felt in her heart that Hirem was not meant to be a slave. He was stronger than that. He was better.

And they had tried to enslave him.

What would she have done?

The deaths she had brought with her own hands seemed so petty and cruel compared to this. She had killed to avoid losing her station in life. She could have left. She could have remarried. She had never faced becoming a slave.

So what did he deserve? And who was she to decide?

The silence lengthened, and she feared this burden he had placed on her. She forcefully lowered her hands from her mouth, demanding her mouth to produce something. "I don't, I don't know what to say..." She had asked him to trust her with this; she had to say something. "You...what you did to those people...I think...any sane, free man would have done the same. How many times do the men of this city go into the Sea of Grass and slaughter those wretched Zith and free their slaves? To fight for one's freedom is natural. It's...right. For their deaths, I think your regret is punishment enough." She briefly met his eyes, only to look away quickly, anger rising to color her cheeks and dry her tears.

"But how you reacted to it though, becoming one of the beasts that prey on those wandering the desert...that hurts me more than anything you've said. When I came to Riverfall, we were set upon by bandits on the road. People died. People I didn't know, or even like, but they didn't deserve to be cut down for a couple mizas in their pocket and a satchel of water. I don't know, if they had met you in the desert, that they wouldn't have done the same. The person I was...I don't know if I wouldn't have either. Maybe you're right to hate us." Her voice dropped, lamely, and she looked down in shame, picking at the edge of a sleeve.

"Hate is a terrible, painful thing, and if you let it lead you, it only brings you more of the same." She sighed heavily then, and it came out shaky and ragged. She wanted to hate him for what he'd become, but found she didn't have it in her. What would she have done? "I don't know if I can tell you what you deserve. I can see how much you regret that time in your life. But..." Her voice became small and ashamed. "I can see why you hated. It doesn't condone what you did, nothing does, but I think I can understand it...just a little.

I said Riverfall is a place that lets you leave the past behind. I think you could do that, if you wanted. Maybe your god will want to have a few words with you over what's been done, but as one mortal to another...I think you're okay."

She remembered the step back she'd taken, away from him in her fear. Taking a trembling, tentative step forward, she drew closer to him, eyes darting up to his to gauge whether he would push her away. With movements that were as awkward and hesitant as a baby bird, she slowly opened her arms and gently placed them around him, leaning over her large belly awkwardly. His smell wasn't exactly perfume and his cheap shirt scratched her cheek, but the simple hug was something she could do for him. "I know you don't really care about my forgiveness, and I don't think I'm entitled to give it anyway, but I still think you're okay."