13th Summer, 515AV. Eighth Bell
"Oh, Skurak!" The Myrian curse word slipped out of Ayatah's mouth before she could stop it. Instinctively, she clapped a hand to her mouth tightly, glancing around her to see if Kuame had heard. Even though he couldn't speak Myrian, she did not want the boy to hear the furious sound of the swear.
A relieved smile escaped Aya's lips as she slowly remembered that her son was staying at a friend's house for the night. Silently, she thanked the Gods yet again for Jerome's mother, Hannah Sequil. The other woman had understood and accepted Ayatah's frantic requests whilst they waited outside their sons' school to collect them:
"Hannah-please-can-Kuame-stay-at-yours-tonight-I have-a--" The only time Aya had breathed before finishing her request was when she had struggled how to define tonight's meeting.
The awkward pause was enough for Hannah to fully understand what Ayatah's plans involved. Elbowing the Myrian and wearing a grin, she had winked before saying, "oh, I see. Of course he can! We don't want the young lad seeing anything unsuitable for now, do we?" Ayatah had been mortified at the other mother's crude suggestion. But her stunned facial expression and blushing cheeks only bought about more jokes and teases from Hannah.
Kuame's absence for that evening had initially been a Godsend for Aya, though now she missed his sweet presence. He would have been a welcome distraction. She was unbelievably nervous, but also incredibly excited. Her stomach was in knots; her heart was in her throat. Her fingers tumbled clumsily with her hair as she tried to knot it into a loose plait. It did not go well. So she tried again, looping one handful of hair over another, crossing a third under and repeating the movement. In the end, and in a fit of frustration and rage, Ayatah swore loudly again and gave up. Loose hair would have to do, and it cascaded down the Myrian's back in a fan of raven locks.
For a final time, Ayatah checked her appearance. She wore the only none-Myrian styled garment she owned: a violet dress that was made with a delicate chiffon material and fell to her knees at the front and flowed down to her ankles at the back. Maybe she was over dressed, or not dressed enough. What if he didn't even bother arriving? What if Ayatah fell over or spilt wine down her front whilst they were out?
The Myrian growled lowly as she paced back and forth. She had faced Dhani, Yukmen, Myrian tigers, jungle hounds. And yet an evening out with an Akalak suddenly felt like the greatest challenge she had ever faced.