Fall, 492 AV
Ekytol never really cooled down. It never would. It was always a blazing desert. In the hottest days, the tents of Lebaoth traveled under Leth, seeking refuge from the blistering passion that Syna had to offer. Under the moon and stars, the Benshira could still see, and the relatively colder temperatures made it easier for all involved. Lebaoth was a merchant, after all, and being one meant travel. Rather than leave his family alone in Yahebah he simply moved them all with him.
Hilana was five, and hadn’t seemed to have left the terrible twos. Putting her in skirts and shawls left Sarala chasing a naked little monkey around while scooping up the extra garments from the sand, trying to redress her, and repeating the experience. So Hilana, or little Lana, as they called her, was dressed in clothes one would expect on a boy – dark pants tucked into soft boots, and a bright orange-gold shirt. Her long hair was tied into two thick with old ribbons Sarala had managed to convince Namah to let go of in exchange for new ones from her father. Hilana had been offered new ones in exchange for giving Namah back her old ones, but the child hadn’t taken the bait, and was happy with the faded and frayed adornments. Motherhood, Sarala found, was a balancing act at the best of times.
They had arrived the night before, setting up camp. Sarala watched the girl sleep in the morning light, and reflected on her sister’s youngest true child – that monstrosity that had come from her, and that had been the death of her, did not count. The only time the girl behaved, Sarala reflected, was if she was sleeping or if she was being bribed into it. The rest of the time, she ran wild. She was like a scourge from on high, especially compared to her elder sisters. The woman had spent much time in prayer to Yahal, seeking a solution to dealing with the devil-child. The less boundaries she made on her, the more wild she became. The more she tried to control her, the more she fought. If they tried to bind her, she fought every step of the way. She didn’t know if it was because of her lack of a mother, or something else, but Hilana was very, very different from even Athalia, the closest to her in age.
The peace of the morning was shattered, though, when Hilana was up, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and zooming about to discover where they had set up, now alive with activity and the sun’s light. A few snatched bites of breakfast, despite entreaties from Sarala and Namah to sit down and eat found the girl racing off to explore. Lebaoth only shook his head, and looked to see where the wildling had gone - apparently off to follow the herders who looked after the flocks. Namah let out a rather unladylike sound into her tea. “At least she’ll be with her own kind.” At a look from her father, she hastened to elaborate, “The animals.”