The days passed slowly, each one blending into the next. Ravenna and Dahlia had been in the tribe for almost two weeks, and life had settled into a quiet routine—calm, but not without a sense of duties.
Each morning, before the sun had yet burned through the mist, Ravenna would leave the hut quietly to meet the tribe's women and walk the path to the stream with them, carrying along her own pot to collect water into. The path led through tall grass and whispering trees, and the cool air smelled of damp earth and leaves. The women often laughed together, their voices light as the water they came to gather. Ravenna didn't always talk much, her words were usually careful and the others welcomed this with smiles and nods, slowly getting used to her reserved nature.
Sometimes, she stayed after with the older women beneath the fig tree near the village square. There they wove baskets and mats from dried reeds and palm, their hands quick and skilled. They welcomed her stay, and she followed their guidance patiently while attempting her own craft alongside. They gently corrected her work, teaching her with soft encouragement. And then these women would chat about the weather, their families, and old stories, Ravenna listened. Even when she didn't understand everything, the calm of their company gave her comfort. Weaving became more than a task—it gave her something to focus on, a place to let her mind rest.
Other times, she had gone and helped the younger women in the gardens past the northern ridge. They worked together, harvesting herbs and roots used for medicine. Ravenna learned what to pick, what to dry, and how to sort it all for storage. There was a quiet joy in the work. The dirt under her nails from the digging of the soil, the weight of her basket on her back, and the soft scent of the herbs on her hands.
Through these various acts, she had become well known and accepted by the villagers, no longer seen as a stranger.
When she had done all that and the morning sun was just rising, she would return to her hut. A bowl of porridge or stew usually waited.
Cooking was a mystery to her—one she had never been by herself to solve. Thankfully, the young servant girl assigned to her and Dahlia by the Grandelder saw to this and other rudimentary chores. The servant girl was also kind, unintrusive, and gently attentive to Dahlia, tending to her when Ravenna was away at the stream or seated among the weavers.
But it was in the evenings that Ravenna felt most... still. She would sit in the open courtyard of the hut, her back resting against the thick trunk of an old tree. There, under the cooling atmosphere, her gaze would drift upward, watching the shifting sky.
Her thoughts would wander restlessly in those hours. Sometimes, she would catch herself gritting her teeth, or releasing a long sigh that left her chest relieved from her frustration. At times, she'd draw her knees close and wrap her arms around them, resting her chin there, unmoving for long stretches.
These small gestures, quiet and unspoken, betrayed a waiting.
Ever since the day she stepped out of the hall where the elders and grandelder had welcomed them and was directed to their hut to settle in, she hadn't seen him—Baole. It was as though he had vanished into thin air, or perhaps, was deliberately keeping his distance.
Each day, as she went about her errands, her eyes would unconsciously sweep across the village square, searching. While weaving mats with the women or gathering herbs at the communal gardens, she would casually ask about him, her tone light, as if the question meant little. But their responses were always the same—gentle shrugs, polite smiles, and vague answers. No one seemed to know where he had gone. Or perhaps, they knew, but didn't think it was their place to say.
She had asked more than once, but over time, she noticed how the question seemed to tilt the air awkwardly—bringing with it a silence too sudden, or a glance exchanged too quickly. That was when she stopped. Still, the curiosity lingered like a quiet itch beneath her skin.
More than once, she had been tempted to pry deeper—to ask the women directly about Baole's life. What of his parents? Whether he stays with them or lives alone? The questions stirred at the edges of her thoughts, pressing for release. A few times, she nearly asked. But each time, she stopped herself.
The unease and wariness she had carried upon entering the tribe's mountain gates had slowly faded over the time. In the beginning, she had been cautious, as though hiding from something—or someone. But nothing had come. No trace of the fear that had haunted her steps. When they first arrived, the villagers had emerged from their huts out of curiosity, but even then, she had seen nothing that stirred that old dread.
This made her long for Baole even more. Questions spun in her mind like leaves in the wind. Was he avoiding her because she'd criticized his beard? Because she had insisted he call her "sister"? Had that pushed him away?
If she truly wanted to find him, she could—but doing so too openly might stir suspicion among the elders. It might appear as though she were sneaking through the shadows of the village, prying into secrets like a spy. That kind of misunderstanding was something she could not afford.
With a sigh, Ravenna leaned more fully against the tree, folding her arms behind her head for support. For a moment, she slipped into a peaceful stillness. The wind whispered gently through the leaves, birds chirped in a soft rhythm, and it all blended with her momentary calm. She was at ease now, her restless thoughts pushed aside—if only for a while.
A soft footstep approached from behind, stirring Ravenna from her stillness. Her eyes opened slowly.
"Levi?" she asked without turning. "What is it?"
Levi stopped just behind the tree. Her voice, always quiet and tinged with hesitation, carried a faint tremble.
"Um… the healers," she began, "they said Dahlia's condition isn't improving. They've tried everything they know, but…" She hesitated, as though the next words weighed heavily on her tongue. "They say it's… beyond what they can treat."
Ravenna sat up abruptly, her spine stiffening, breath catching in her throat. Her heart began to pound. She had suspected something was wrong—had noticed how long the treatments were taking and how little Dahlia seemed to respond—but hearing it spoken aloud hit her like a blade.
Levi, sensing the growing panic, hurried to continue.
"Miss—please—it's not that all hope is lost," she said quickly. "The healers recommended another path. They say... maybe the shaman can help."
Ravenna blinked, confused. "shaman?"
Levi nodded, stepping closer. "Yes. She performs rituals—spiritual ones. She's the one who offers sacrifices and speaks to our god. They say she knows things beyond healing herbs."
For a moment, Ravenna said nothing, her mind racing. Then she rose to her feet, a spark of hope reigniting in her chest. "Where is she?"
"She lives in the mountain caves," Levi answered cautiously. "But… you can't just go to her."
Ravenna frowned. "Why not?"
"No one meets the shaman without her consent," Levi explained. "No one can meet her. She must invite you. Or be asked… properly."
Ravenna's shoulders tensed. "Then how do I reach her?"
"There is another way," Levi added quickly. "You could speak to the Grandelder. If anyone has the right to contact the shaman, it's him. Even though he's not granted that much free access, it's said he can reach out—perhaps once or twice, if the matter is urgent enough."
Ravenna exhaled, a flicker of relief easing the tightness in her chest. "Good. That's something I can do."
The Grandelder wasn't distant or hidden—he was approachable, respected but not unkind. If all it took was a respectful request, then she would make it. And she would make it count.
She stepped forward, eyes resolute. "Take me to him."
Levi nodded without hesitation. "Yes, Miss." She turned, and led Ravenna toward the Grandelder's quarters.
—------
Levi led Ravenna through the winding paths of the village, and approached a modest yet dignified hut adorned with tribal symbols and guarded by two stoic guards.
Levi bowed respectfully. "We seek an audience with the Grandelder."
One of the guards nodded and stepped inside. Moments later, he returned, gesturing for them to enter.
Inside, the Grandelder sat cross-legged on a woven mat, his eyes closed in meditation. He opened them slowly as they approached.
"Ravenna," he greeted, his voice calm. "What brings you here at this hour?"
Ravenna bowed deeply. "Grandelder, I come with a plea. The healers have done all they can for Dahlia, but her condition has not improved a bit. They suggest seeking the shaman's aid. I humbly request your assistance in reaching her."
The Grandelder studied Ravenna for a long moment, his gaze deep and unreadable. Then he spoke.
"I have heard of this as well. I've been keeping a close watch on both of you."
Ravenna wasn't surprised. It was only reasonable—after all, she and Dahlia were strangers in a guarded land. Caution was expected.
Without hesitation, she sank to her knees. "Then, Grandelder… I beg you."
The Grandelder let out a slow sigh, folding his hands over his lap. "The shaman is not someone who welcomes company. Her dwelling in the mountain is sacred, and she allows no one near unless she wills it."
He paused, then added, "Still… I will send a word. But prepare yourself—there is no certainty she will grant your request."
Ravenna lowered her head, her eyes and voice filled with gratitude. "Thank you, Grandelder. That is all I ask." She said and rose from her knees, ready to leave, but then paused and turned back to the Grandelder.
"Grandelder," she said softly, a hint of hesitation in her voice as a slight blush colored her cheeks.
The Grandelder looked up, surprised by her tone and the blush that coloured her face.
"Yes? What is it?" he asked gently.
Ravenna tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers fidgeting slightly.
"I was wondering... if the shaman agrees to meet us, could Baole be the one to deliver the message?"
The Grandelder paused, then laughed heartily.
"Ah, I see," he said with a knowing smile. "I understand."
Ravenna's eyes widened. "It's not what you think, Grandelder," she said quickly with a gesture.
The grandelder raised an eyebrow, still smiling. "Oh? Then what do I think?"
Ravenna sighed, realizing it was futile to explain.
"Very well," the Grandelder said, his tone kind. "I will send word through Baole."
"Thank you, Grandelder!" Ravenna said, her face lighting up as she exited the chamber.
After she left, the Grandelder sat in silence for a moment, then chuckled to himself.
"Ah, young hearts," he mused, shaking his head with a smile before returning to his meditation.