Shelter in the Storm [Nala, Japikoa]

[Nahali]

Day 70 of Spring, 510 AV

The sandstorm had come out of nowhere. One moment, the wind had been little more than a breeze, sending the sand swirling around Nahali's ankles; the next, it had become a furious, churning gale that hurled the same sand at speeds that would scour a woman's skin from her bones. The wind howled past Nahali's ears like the baying of a pack of golden wolves. In an instant, her entire world was filled with blinding sand that blotted out the sun and lashed at her exposed skin. Crying out in pain, Nahali knotted her shawl tightly over her head with trembling fingers, hunched her shoulders, and buried her hands in her sleeves as the wind tore at her clothes. It was a true Hika-Zulrav, a god-spat storm that wore away at the very rocks. What chance did a mere mortal have in this?

If only she could turn around and run with all her strength back to camp, where she could take shelter in her family's tent until the storm passed! But Nahali knew she had to press on. For an hour, she had been chasing after a pregnant she-goat that was very near her time. They had been returning to camp, in fact had been in sight of the tents, when the she-goat started snapping and kicking at other goats and then lumbered off determinedly into the depths of the desert.

Before Nahali even understood what had happened, the small goat had disappeared amid the rocks and sand. With a sigh of pure frustration, she directed her sheepdog, Abir, to guide the rest of her flock back to camp while she tracked down the wayward she-goat. Nahali worried that she might run into trouble on her own, especially with her time so close, and might even injure herself or the kid if she wasn't brought back safely to camp.

The search had been difficult enough before, with the daylight fading. The color of the goat's coat was only a little darker than sand, which made her difficult to spot. Then, of course, the sandstorm had started up.

Yahal only knew where that troublesome she-goat was now. She had always been temperamental, and pregnancy had only made her more unruly and willful. Thankfully, Abir was more than intelligent enough to be able to herd her goats toward the tents, as long as he could see them. Nahali knew she wouldn't have to fret about their safety in this sandstorm…just the she-goat's and her own.

Nahali knew she had to find a place to wait out the worst of the storm. Squinting through the cloth of her shawl, she thought she saw the dark shape of a rocky outcropping ahead, about chest-high. It was not much of a shelter, but it was better than nothing at all.

She fought her way against the wind, feeling half-blinded. When she felt the hard edge of the rock against her hip, Nahali gratefully sank down against the outcropping. At least, it gave her a place to huddle against until the storm died down. Actually, she thought, this outcropping was actually quite roomy. She could even lie down, if she felt tired. Of course, that would be the height of foolishness in a storm like this, but it was rather interesting to know that she could if she wanted to.

[Japikoa]

Japikoa and Nala had struck out into the desert to track down an eypharian jackal that had been skirting the edges of their Clan as they made their way across the Burning Sands. The Clan of the Red Crow would not have cared, but for the jackal's attempts to steal a newly-foaled colt before he'd even managed to take his first steps - and an attack on their horses was not tolerated. At least not by this particular Tatsuwaat. Her Clansmen had simply wanted to post a few extra guards and hope the creature would go on its way, but the warrior-woman refused to let it lie. Better to track it down and kill it than lose a foal or, Eywaat forbid, one of the children. So she'd proposed a trip, and Nala had readily agreed. Japikoa always preferred to be away from the rest of her Clan, and most especially with Nala in tow. The woman was no huntress, but she was an invaluable companion and Japikoa found it hard to be away from her smiling presence for very long. They were a few days out from the Clan's last campsite, following the trail of the jackal who surely knew he was being tracked and decided to lead them on a merry chase, when Japikoa's head snapped up and she held a hand out to the distant horizon. "Sandstorm," she whispered, turning wide, black eyes on her partner. "Come, quickly!" she hissed, grabbing Nala's hand and dragging her across the dunes. They ran for several chimes, until Japikoa spotted what she was looking for - an outcropping of rock, just enough for them to build a shelter in. Like most Chaktawe who roamed the open sands of Eyktol, she feared the storms that blew from nowhere. But more than that, she feared for Nala - gentle Nala, who always found reserves of strength and patience, who constantly surprised the warrior with her sheer will. Had she been alone, Japikoa might well have simply dug in beneath the dunes and prayed that the gods see her through it, but she was unwilling to trust her lover to Zulrav's mercy. They made it to the outcropping of rock just as the first winds made themselves known, and she quickly began scooping out as much sand as she could from beneath the meager shelter, sending it flying much like a dog digging a hole, trying to make as much room as she could for them before it struck. They had less than five chimes before the storm was upon them. She pulled Nala close, looping her cloak over both their heads to protect them from the winds that howled around them. As the storm settled and fully descended, the rock proved to be invaluable, blocking most of the wind from them. She sat curled up with her back against it, panting with adrenaline and an edge of panic, and looped an arm around Nala's waist to reassure herself that they had made it. Her eyes shuttered closed, and so she didn't even notice when the other woman stumbled against the rock and crawled into its meager shelter - and it was unlikely she'd see them at first, the cloak draped over them made to mimic the sands and provide camouflage where no cover could be found.

[Nala]

Nala was learning so much from living with Japikoa and the Tatsuwaat. Some people said that hardship introduced a man to himself. Maybe that was so – but for the Benshira girl, it was something that she was enjoying very, very much… and she knew it was all because of the woman she had befriended. Without her, she would like as not be dead by now – Nala was no fool. Surviving in the Burning Lands took a lot of skill and a lot of work. The first she had some of, natural instincts that came from generations of Benshira of how to survive in their region, untrained and unpracticed as they were. The second she was not afraid of and perhaps her cheerful countenance helped as she went about it.

She had listened patiently as Japikoa taught her what they were looking for as they went, and she was a willing and eager student. As they progressed, Nala was beginning to learn to pick up on the signs, such as they were. Blue eyes scoured the sands for tracks, tufts of fur, droppings, anything that would indicate the jackal having passed this way. Zulrav did not help. With the wind, it wasn’t easy for Nala, who lacked the special sensors that Japikoa had for detecting things - it kept blowing tracks away, covering them but for a few indentations, and sometimes not even that. It might well have been easier to track with a dog’s assistance, and the Tatsuwaat certainly kept dogs, but Nala knew that she would never learn how to do it for herself if she always relied on a dog. If she didn’t learn it, she felt she would be letting Japikoa down, and that she was determined not to do. She didn’t want to disappoint the Chaktawe.

She had been crouching to investigate some paw prints when Japikoa held her hand out, and rose to her feet, looking off in the distance. “Hika-Zulrav?” she breathed, eyes widening. No sooner had she got te words out before they were off and running, practically flying over the dunes. Nala gathered her skirts with her free hand to keep them out of their way. The last thing she needed was for both of them to trip over her long brown skirt and cloak. She ran with her friend, her teacher, her lover, absent the many, many bells she usually wore at her wrists, ankles, and ears. The only jewelry that adorned her was the many copper rings held in suspension in her ears. She knew that the bells were of no use for tracking, not when she already made too much noise as a complete and utter beginner.

The Hika-Zulrav. Zulrav’s spit, those furious, rending winds. One could hardly not know the hazards of sandstorms. When she was young, and had been on one of her few trips outside of Yahebah, the caravan had been caught in a sandstorm. They had been able to find shelter, but one of the young men who had been acting as a scout had not made it back. They had found him later, still astride his horse… both of them dead in the sand, flayed alive by the desert wind.

When they reached the outcropping, Japikoa started to dog, and Nala got out of the way of the flying sand, crouching to help scoop and shovel as best as she could. She pressed her weight down against Japikoa, burrowing into her embrace, shaking all the while as she hung on tightly, her chest heaving from the run, the work, and fear. With some careful exercises, she had her breathing under control eventually, resting her forehead where Japikoa’s neck met her shoulders, lightly stroking the Chaktawe’s skin. She thought she felt something move the hem of the cloak, camouflaged in as they were, and wasn’t sure if she peek out. If they didn’t already know they were there…

She carefully lifted the edge of the cloak with one hand, the other on the hilt of her gladius as she risked a look around. It seemed rather like a disembodied had had emerged from the sand as Nala peered around just enough to expose her eyes, looking around until she was looking straight at Nahali, the deep blue a startling contrast with the white paint protecting her eyes, tanned skin, and the sandy cloak.

[Nahali]

Once Nahali had settled into the shelter of the outcropping, she leaned heavily against the sun-warmed rock and began to brush the sand from her shawl and robes. As she swept her hands along her sides, Nahali started in alarm when her fingers suddenly brushed against an unfamiliar fabric, more like animal skin than the goats'-hair wool of her own clothing. Reflexively, she quickly drew her fingers back and turned around slowly, wondering if someone or something had already taken shelter beside the outcropping.

She nearly jumped with shock when she saw a pair of blue eyes staring at her from what she'd thought was a pile of sand near the outcropping. Squinting for a better look, Nahali realized the "pile of sand" was actually a yellow-brown cloak draped over the huddled form of a woman…or possibly two women, tightly clasped together. On second glance, she recognized the blue eyes as belonging unmistakably to a Benshira woman. Perhaps these fellow occupants of the outcropping were Benshiran shepherdesses who too had gotten caught in the open by the sandstorm. They could be sisters, mother and daughter, or just friends belonging to another Tent in the same region of Eyktol.

A warm, protective feeling rose in Nahali's heart as she gazed at what she supposed to be her fellow believers in Yahal and refugees from the sandstorm. She lowered her shawl to reveal her own Benshira features and smiled at the blue-eyed woman. Slowly, to show she meant no harm, Nahali extended a hand to her.

In Shiber, she said respectfully, "Greetings, sister. I am glad to see you have found this place, a small haven from the storm. It seems we may be here for quite a while, from the sound of the wind." She paused and then added, "I am Nahali, from the tents of Abiel, of the sons of Jeroab. If I may ask, sister, what are your names and what brings you out here in the deep desert?"

[Japikoa]

It was perhaps unfortunate for Nahali that Japikoa was as exhausted as she was - for when she noticed the movement of the cloak and lifted her head to see what her partner was about, all she registered was a fog of foreign words and a hand coming for Nala. She reacted instinctively, giving a feral hiss as she rolled up to her knees. In one swift motion she planted her left palm against Nala's chest and pushed her back and away from the stranger, and the other snatched Nahali by the throat. The woman who now held her was obviously not Benshira - she had the moon-face and burnished copper skin of the Chawtawe, silken black hair hanging freely down her shoulders. Her cheeks and forehead were covered in thick white paint just as the other woman's had been; but where Nala had the warm blue eyes of a Benshiran, Japikoa's were shining black holes, no iris or pupil to distinguish, just oil-slick pools of shadow framed by thick black lashes, focused with a snarl on Nahali's face. While she held the woman still - and could crush her throat if she so chose - the Chaktawe didn't choke her or even hurt her very much, more concerned with keeping Nala safe than anything else. "Do not touch her!" she hissed in Common, blinking once as she finally focused on just who exactly she was dealing with, and recognized the Benshiran features. She scoffed, but her grip loosened slightly. "Nala, you know this girl, you?" she asked.

[Nala]

Nala didn’t bring her own hood from her cloak down, nor did she move her face to expose any more of her face over the folds of Japikoa’s cloak at what was a silent invitation to do so – etiquette said she should. The other woman had unveiled herself, so Nala should have done so as well. They were Benshira together. But what Nahali had no way of knowing was that the younger woman had given up all claims to being Benshira – including the lengthy names that offered a genealogy. Furthermore, Nala had been careful to avoid straying into the sight of other Benshira since she had left the protective walls of Yahebah. She could only imagine what her mother would have said to find out her daughter had taken up with the Chaktawe. There would be much wailing, weeping, and several days spent in prayer to Yahal to try to understand why her daughter would do such a thing. Besides, if it ever got out…

Nahali from the Tents of Abiel, of the Sons of Jeroab… Nala wracked her brain to see if it rang any bells. It didn’t. Presumably they were one of the nomadic families rather than those that lived in Yahebah. She knew those, after all, particularly with girls around her age. The laughing, dancing child had never hurt for friends growing up, even if she had started to isolate herself by the time she became a teenager with her fascination with Makutsi and her Raindancers. But she didn’t recognize the name. That was good. That wasn’t to say they didn’t know she was gone, but that was a stretch. She was almost beginning to relax, just a tiny bit, when Japikoa flew out of cover.

In an instant, Nala was flat on her bottom behind Japikoa, her hood off to reveal the white paint that covered her face and eyes, much as the Chaktawe’s was, her dark hair framing her face. She was partially entangled in her own skirts and cloak, and Japikoa’s cloak, and she began to sort them out. Deft fingers worked at the cloth as wide eyes watched the scene unfolding before her. “No,” Nala shook her head slightly when Japikoa asked her if she knew her. “No. I don’t know her.” She was on her feet behind her lover, then, holding onto Japikoa’s cloak over her arm, the spear in her hand, and she gently took Japikoa’s free hand with hers. “Let her go,” she squeezed gently. It was okay now, but Nala would never blame her for the way she had reacted.

She would have had the same reaction, too, with her gladius, had she and Japikoa’s roles been reversed. As it was, blue eyes peered beyond the white paint and past the copper-skinned woman to the other Benshira. She hadn’t been sure whether she should say her name, but Japikoa had addressed her, so that meant that Nahali knew. “My name is Nala,” the girl raised her voice ever so slightly, still holding onto Japikoa’s hand. Her next words would probably be quite a shock to the other Benshira, considering their naming traditions, if she was a particularly devout follower of Yahal. “Of the Tatsuwaat tribe.”

[Nahali]

At that point, Nahali was so flabbergasted by the various revelations of the last few moments that you could have knocked her over with the proverbial feather…that is, if she hadn't been held by the throat by a Chaktawe woman with quite strong hands. Nahali held herself very still, not wanting to be choked to death by this unexpected and hostile stranger. Only her eyes moved, the dilated pupils in their clear green irises flicking back and forth rapidly between the two women in disbelief. So, it had not been two Benshira women embracing beneath that cloak, but a Chaktawe and this Benshira girl who introduced herself as a Chaktawe.

In a matter of seconds, a situation that had seemed cozy and companionable had become dangerous and bewildering. There were too many mysteries here. Nahali recognized the white paint on their faces as the mark of the Suli tribe, which resided in the northern regions of the desert near Ahnatep where Benshira Tents rarely ventured. However, Nala had identified herself as of the Tatsuwaat tribe. There was no mention of her Tent or her line of descent from Biyram whatsoever. Yet, the girl's voice had the slurring, singsong accent that Nahali heard for a week every spring when her Tent visited the city. This must mean that the girl had left behind her family, the people who had loved and nurtured her from birth, to become a Chaktawe. Even more confusingly, she was holding hands with the Chaktawe woman and gazing tenderly at her, like a wife at her husband. Considering how closely they had been huddled beneath the cloak, all manner of disturbing suspicions sprang up in Nahali's mind.

What in Yahal's name was this Benshira girl doing? Had she abandoned her people to take up with this Chaktawe woman, this Rakva? But why?

Despite Nala's words, the Chaktawe had not released her grip. Unable to help herself, Nahali coughed hoarsely, drawing their united attention back to her. To Nahali's eyes, they really did move as one. She writhed inwardly at the implications, but wisely did not carry out this action outwardly as well.

Instead, she explained in heavily accented Common, looking back and forth between the Chaktawe woman and Nala, "I am sorry if I startled you. I meant no harm to you. Either of you. I had recognized Nala as one of my own people, and I greeted her as a sister in Shiber, the language of the Benshira. I offered my hand to her in friendship, not to harm her. I apologize if my simple gesture appeared to be a threat."

That sounded diplomatic enough, Nahali thought. However, she couldn't restrain herself from adding, "Now, of course, it seems that I was mistaken. It does not sound as though Nala is any sister of mine. Not if she calls herself a Tatsuwaat."

[Japikoa]

Nala's hand on hers was a comfort, and she trusted the girl to know better than her what might motivate a Benshiran woman. She turned her gaze to her lover and they exchanged some silent sign between them. Her fingers loosened from Nahali's throat, releasing her altogether when she heard the cough and seemed to realize that she was still touching the woman. Black eyes snapped back to her as she spoke, and she nodded as the woman explained herself. She even went so far as to open her mouth to apologize for her reaction, something she never did. And then the woman insulted Nala, and a harsh scowl twisted her face as her apology turned into a fierce hiss of disapproval. "Watch your tongue, you, and the tone that sits upon it," she snarled, bristling once more. She was exhausted, had been afraid, and defensive, and her temper was none too forgiving at the moment. Were Nala's fingers not still entwined with her own, she might very well have slapped her.

[Nala]

Nala squeezed gently as Japikoa released Nahali entirely, and the teenager still did not let go. She wouldn't, either. Not if her life depended on it. Besides, with the sensors in Japikoa's fingers, she could read Nala without looking at her. She knew every non-visual tell that the girl had, and what each meant - and all of which could be sensed by their closeness. Nala couldn't hide a thing from her, not that she would dream of doing so.

There might have been a time when Nahali's words would have stung... long back before she had left Yahebah and had never come across her Japikoa. But as it was, they rolled off of her like drops of rain, and Nala merely stepped up behind the Chaktawe, one step closer, her boots soundless on the sand as she met Nahali's gaze levelly. There was no upset, no hurt, no pain there; not one ounce of shame anywhere as her grip tightened until her palm was pressed against Japikoa's, their fingers intertwined. "You are mistaken," Nala told the other Benshira, a slight, calm smile on her face. "I am not Benshira." At least, not any more. She had given all of that up when she had left - but Japikoa had accepted her and brought her into her tent when Nala had never expected anyone to do so again.

"That is not your concern, and I owe you no explanations for that," the girl looked at her from around her lover, "so none will be forthcoming." She settled down against the outcropping, then, trying to coax Japikoa down with her, pulling her into her side. It gave her an out - Nala didn't want her collapsing from exhaustion, so if she was pulling her down, it saved face. She wasn't about to try to put herself between the two, natural go-between as she might have been - Japikoa would never allow it. So Nala settled for looking at Nahali around her. The topic needed to be changed, and immediately. Like it or not, they were trapped here for now. They could sit and stew quietly, or attempt a conversation. There was no knowing how long the storm would last, so the girl decided on the latter. "What brings you this far out here? Where is your tent?"