Riyoon's Rebirth, Chapter III - Living From the Land

            I awoke in the morning to an otherwise empty hut, but the warmth of the previous evening lingered, offsetting the chill in the air. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and sat upright. A look around confirmed I was alone; Renkou’s walking stick and hat were missing. Through the one window, the thinnest lines of orange-red light entered. I rose and stretched; perhaps it had been Renkou’s influence, or simply my own exhaustion, but I’d slept far better than I had in a long time.
            I emerged from the hut to find sparse groups of villagers here and there. Some stood in twos and threes, talking. Others traveled up and down the paths to handle whatever the morning had set for them. I, having no work to complete, inquired of one group where I might find Renkou, as well as the dwellings of the Istmemwa. Neither were pressing; I was not done wandering just yet.
            The village took the shape of a great circle, apparent in the way the roads in either direction curved out of sight around the clumps of huts and stalls. In the dark, and under the welcome of the villagers, this had been less obvious. Now that I had the day and but my own company, I could observe more, and so I set off along one great, curving path I knew led back toward the center. I wanted to travel beyond it to see what lay elsewhere.
            A beautiful place, Sik Nati. My sojourn brought me past numerous stalls; the tame yellows and browns of the huts were offset by the brilliant colors of mud-cloth on display- reds and whites and yellows. The smell of incense lingered in the air, along with music of various melodies.  Young children ran up and down the street, shouting excitedly to one another and occasionally running into passerby; some of the older ones played games of Oware in the street. In this regard, it was not at all unlike my village.
            I had expected that Sik Nati might be divided into sects according to the chajman, as color coordinated, organized as they had been in the central chamber. If there were any such arrangement, it lay unnoticed; all of the village seemed to blend together, and if color served as a measure of affiliation for groups other than the chajman, then those groups mixed rather freely. It made sense even for, or perhaps especially from, a chajmanistic perspective- unity above all else; the only source of pride, their sense of community. In this regard, it was quite unlike my village.
            My travels brought me to a space where no huts stood, and beyond the edge of the village I saw a river. Vast and silent, it curved like the village, around the village, a blue-green serpent flowing at a modest pace, either end of which escaped my sight. It hugged the village at an elevation just below the central plateau that, as far as I could tell, held all of Sik Nati. From my vantage, I could see other plateaus, much smaller and none too distant, tall and narrow cliffs whose bases were submerged in the flow of the river.
            Built on the landings of such cliffs, small huts, linked to one another by bridges. I could make out fishing nets draped over the railing. Also affixed to the railing of each, great kudu horns, and torches, unlit, but blackened from use. If there were villagers within, I did not see them. Before the pillars, the river lay relatively smooth and even; just past them, it dropped off a pair of small tiers, two short waterfalls, before continuing on its way.
            I had never seen so great a river before, but as Sik Nati had proven time and again, the list of things I had not seen was rather large indeed. I followed the river as best I could whenever I could find it, my path weaving through the outermost streets of the village. The sun now rested just above the horizon, lighting the western sky ablaze with golden light- it sparkled most beautifully across the water. Along this particular stretch of the river, children had gathered. They piled small rocks upon the shore and began to skip these stones individually across the water. At their invitation, I took one such stone, and with a mighty heave, I…. sank it immediately. A bit embarrassed, I moved on.
             More people filled the roads now; villagers and their pack animals hauling loads or setting off to work. I came to another stretch of open space in the huts, a place where great steps of stone led down to the river. Just beyond these steps, in the center of the river’s bend, I caught sight of a series of floodplains, overflowing with rice plants. They rose on tall, proud stalks from the water, their bent and golden heads amplified by the morning’s light.  The Chaj-Dlo gathered on both shores, their blue and violet robes a lovely contrast to the green and gold that flowed ceaseless between their two groups. Many of them were seated, eyes closed; their breaths came and went as one, and as they meditated thus, I noticed the water came and went much the same. They hummed quietly at first, but the sound grew in magnitude, and the water began to recede. As it fell away, the raised plots of damp earth broke the surface, graced upon their edges by the trickling streams that flowed around them.
            As the Chaj-Dlo completed their meditations, workers, both men and women, descended the stairs and moved into the riverbed with sickles and leather bags. I watched from my vantage at the top as they set to work cutting the stalks. As they did so, another group at the top of the stairs began to clear space, spreading out sheets of leather. One of them turned to me.
            “Newcomer. We are gathering the rice. Would you like to help?”
            I smiled.

            Outfitted with a spare blade and satchel, I made my way down the stairs to join the others in their cutting.  My position had deceived me; from such a vantage, the task appeared quite small. In the field however, I met with a forest of stalks, many of which taller than I and the other workers. I cut them as I had been taught, laid them out in piles behind me, and continued onward- until I noticed the others did not. Instead, immediately after they made their piles, the workers would cut again, separating head from shaft. The former they would add to their satchels.
            Seeing such, I modified my technique, and as my satchel filled, I watched the workers and did as they did. Those who had remained on the stairs now stood in two lines; one of these lines accepted the full satchels, passing them up the stairs to the top, where the heads of the rice plants were deposited upon the leather sheets I had seen earlier. From there, the other line passed the empty bags back down to the workers in the field.
            Working together in such a manner, the plots were cleared rather quickly. Afterwards, we cutters moved from the fields, and the Chaj-Peyi appeared, their green and browns just as vibrant as their brethren’s colors. They descended the steps between the throngs of workers on either side, each of their steps so firm, so solid that the ground trembled in response.  At the shores of the river, they met with the Chaj-Dlo, and together, the two groups shared a breath—in, and out— and both groups put their heads together. From there, the Chaj-Peyi entered the riverbed and began to chant, their voices rising and falling in time with the movements of their feet. They scattered, marching about the now harvested plains, grinding what remained of the stalks into the rich mud.
            As they moved, the soil folded over itself, smoothed, and folded again. The stalks broke apart and sunk into the fertile ground. Despite moving on loose earth, their footfalls came thunderous, resonating in a way that I felt as much as heard. It brought shivers to my being, but I was not frightened.
            “Beautiful, isn’t it?” One of the Chaj-Dlo asked me. Looking, I realized that like Renkou, this one was in-between. I dipped my head in respect and affirmation.
            “This is the soil that supports us. The Peyi move the earth that sustains us. And now you, having contributed, are a part of that strength.”
            The Chaj-Peyi finished their work and departed from the riverbed. Before the Chaj-Dlo, they paused once more with lowered heads, and with them, took deep breaths just as before. Then, they ascended the stairs in the same manner- marching, chanting.  The Chaj-Dlo turned their attention to the river and began their meditations once more. They inhaled, and the streams at the edges of the riverbed began to cross the floodplain in trickles. They exhaled, and the river, complete, resumed its course in full splendor.
            I returned my borrowed tools and went to observe the harvest. The rice would be damp for days still at a minimum. At the top of the stairs, some of the Chaj-Peyi had lingered to watch as the workers began to wrap the rice in the sheets for transport elsewhere. The workers lifted the completed bundles as soon as they became available, each with as much as any one could carry, and they set off. This surprised me; I had expected the aid of pack animals, but there were none to be found. Still, as each of the workers grabbed their burdens, I took my place among them and hefted what I could. The moment I did, smiles broke out among the Chaj-Peyi.
            “The Le would approve of your actions,” one told me.
            I shrugged as best I could. “I’m doing my part, just as everyone else.”
            “You have the freedom to do whatever you wish here,” another explained. “And yet you pit your shoulder to the labor alongside our people. Such an expression on your part speaks well of your character.”
            I smiled. “Thank you for your kind words, and your hospitality.”
            If any still slept when we had started, they no longer did; as we traveled down the road circling the village, many people came out to watch us, to cheer us on. I understood then, at least in part, why we carried the rice. The further we travelled however, the more my bundles began to weigh on me. Perhaps I had taken too many. After all, I knew not how far we were to go. Still, my pride drove me forward. Beyond that, I didn’t want to let the village down. Who could I ask to carry my share? And how could I ask? I resigned myself to it.
            Then, the Le appeared. Clad in their grays and whites, they joined us, running alongside the procession. They flitted and danced about us, weaving in and out, prancing, energetic. Their boundless enthusiasm was rather encouraging to watch, and I found myself smiling at their display.  One of them, a little girl, broke from the rest and fell to skipping in time with my own steps. She peered at me with a curiosity that mirrored my own, and then smiled a little dimpled smile.
            “The Soley would call this a moment of tempering for you,” she told me in a sweet voice.
            “Tempering?” I asked.
            She nodded, a bob that fell in time to dancing steps. “A trial. The sun nurtures all life, but its heat also bears down on us. The Soley acknowledge that this trial tempers us, and those who survive grow stronger still.”
            I smiled at her. I could feel the truth in her words, for the sun held position high above, and I had begun to sweat; it certainly did not help with the bundles I carried.
            “Don’t worry,” she told me then. “Even that which burns away lays a place for the resurgence of life!”
            I found some heart in her words. “And what would the Le tell me?” I asked her.
            She smiled at me so sweetly, and then whirled away without another word.

            Then, I felt it. The Le danced around us. A wind began to blow, somehow cool despite the heat of the day. It swept across our brows and lifted our feet, carrying us onward a little bit at a time. The worries that my burden might overwhelm me drifted away on the phantom breeze. Looking at the others, I imagined it was the same for them; they fearlessly undertook hard work, for they had the village to cheer them on, the Chajman to support them.

            The Chaj-Le led us to a vast lifted circular plain of smooth and steady earth, a space easily large enough for the burdens we carried. We gathered upon one edge of the great plateau, and the Le danced away from us. Some of the workers carefully set their bundles upon the ground and began to lay the leather sheets out upon the earth while we watched. They finished, and the rest of us poured our harvest upon the prepared space. As we spread the rice, the Chaj-Soley approached us, their crimson garments so vibrant in the day’s heat. They stood boldly at the edges of the plateau, watching us with ambivalent expressions.
            Their attention, compared to that of the Chaj-Le, came as something of a shock. I wore a cold sweat under their watch; if the other workers felt so, it did not show. I worked as quickly and efficiently as able, taking care to spread what I had brought evenly. When I had finished, I moved away to stand with the other workers, and the Chaj-Soley took their places closer toward the harvest, all except for one. He was tall, thin, and certainly older than myself, but it was hard to say by how much. He appraised me, his face unreadable. Then:
            “We appreciate your assistance today.”
            “I’m glad to help,” I told him, and it was true. Though the work had wearied me some, it had also been invigorating, in an odd sort of way. Perhaps it was the belonging; the village had come together, moved together as one.
            Behind us, the Chaj-Soley began to strut about the circle with a slow and measured pace. As they moved, they let out a chant in sequence, each member among them voicing a brief note with their stride, and then falling into silence as the chajman before them continued the cry.
            “That is an honorable trait,” he informed me. “That sort of unity would no doubt bring comfort the Nanm. They seek the peace and balance of all things, a community with all things. A harmony with all things.”
            I thought of Renkou then, somewhere in between. Warm, welcoming. I recalled Rive-Gide as well, and thought of the kindness I had felt in their presence. However, a different sort of warmth filled the air now; I returned my attention to the Chaj-Soley, who had accelerated in their motions. The steps came a half-beat faster, the chants a half-tone louder. The plateau seemed brighter than it had moments ago, and the air about it seemed to shimmer.
            “Incredible,” I whispered.
            The Chaj-Soley beside me followed my gaze, wordlessly.
           
           

***

            I found Renkou, or They found me; with Them, I never knew. They smiled at me with the kindness I had found just about everywhere in Sik Nati, and also with a knowing that I imagined was much the same among the chajman.
            “You have had quite the morning,” They told me, rather pleased.
            I nodded, with a smile and flushed cheeks. “I did. I walked along the river and saw much of the village. I worked with the villagers during the harvest and watched the chajman preform rites.”
            “In this village, we do what we can,” Renkou said. They flexed Their fingers on the head of Their stick. “This is greatly the work of the Dlo, for they see the best things in all of us and inspire all they meet to strive.”
            Their words brought much to mind, a happiness and an excitement that all but overwhelmed me. The Le moved with an agile grace that I nearly envied, and the Soley with a strength I admired. I wanted the quiet wisdom of the Dlo, and stood in awe of the Peyi’s reverence. I loved the unity of the Nanm, and all of them together, a family reminiscent, and yet different from any I had ever had.

Pact - Hamartiology

             

            Man-things. Timid, short-lived, arrogant creatures. One watched many man-things, many generations. Most Man-things alike. Man-things fight each other to boast, but accomplish little with short lives. No work of man-thing lasts long. Few Man-things see beyond self.

            Man-things think selves masters, most intelligent of living things. False. One’s kind, other kinds, much more intelligent than man-things. Evidence in man-thing behavior with kin. Many man-things greedy, but deny such. Man-things like primatives of One’s kind- seeking dominion over others. No honor for own works. No honor for kin’s works. Man-things honor strength, forget wisdom, knowing.
            Man-things seek no council. All taken by force, never gained through lessons. Man-things turn aside betters for selfish paths, led by own desires.  Man-things quick to learn only new ways to conquer.
            Man-things watch, but impatient. Man-things miss much, see little. Inferior vision makes inferior knowing, ignorance. Ignorance make man-things think selves greater than One’s kind; believe One’s kin wild, reckless. Believe own kind wise, strong. One learned patience waiting in sunlight for strength, stretching wings for first flight.  Lesson Man-things not learn. Man-thing learn by conquest, fail to ask slain masters secrets.

            One knows such things. Thus knowing, One performed Gunaha. Second greatest of such, a Rakta-Cukti. One bestowed a gift upon Man-thing, a she, monarch. One hopes she will protect the land.
            One knows King, King’s father’s fathers, several ancestors. One watched all. Not despicable, for Man-things. Man-things in One’s land prefer reason to conquest, unlike neighbors. Man-things recognize One’s power, avoid One’s space, respect One’s territory. Rare traits among Man-things. Worth protecting.
            One’s kind remembers all in lifetime. One’s shame lasts all One’s lifetime. Knowing, One makes not choices in haste. One knows well One’s own, and One knows Man-things, but older kin know more. Older kin may judge different. See greed in One, other man-thing qualities, despicable things in favor of One’s territory. Still, One’s Rakta-Cukti resembles that of another of One’s kin.
            One has flown southern seas. Spied Man-things with gift of One’s kin, but not.  One from the seas.  Generations of man-things since, no harm transpires. Shared territory between kinds. Compromise protects both. Older kin bore witness, judged not.
            Now, One flies own territory. Waits in sunlight. Watches kingdom. Older kin will know. May find One, judge One.  Older kin will know One judged the man-things for courage over greed, strength over strength. Wisdom. Respect.  Older kin judge One favorably, One hopes. See wisdom One sees.  One will know soon enough.

         

Riyoon's Rebirth, Chapter II - The Jeli's Tale

            I had not kept track of the time, and really, it did not matter. The sun had long set and only the fires about us broke the darkness. With the others, I moved about, shadows before the flame. In my ears, the thunder of my feet, and several other pairs upon the earth, riding the resonating tones of the drums. The pace quickened, and the rhythm altered; the shift of the music brought a ripple through those who danced, and drew near others who had previously watched.
            I found myself in the midst of a peculiar, double- sided wave as dancers retreated and onlookers pressed in. My confusion betrayed me, evident in the laughter of the villagers around me. Someone took my hands and drew me along with the others. The dancers had subdued themselves to a sort of rocking back and forth, and they were joined by the others in these motions.
            I understood the difference now; along with the drums, the peals and drones of plucked strings, high and low pitched. The lower notes swept me away in a wave of homesickness, for the melodies brought to mind the rababah harps of my homeland. This quickly fell to the shock of notes so pure, melodies so harmonies, things unlike anything I had ever heard previous.
            I could see them before the crowd now; a pair of musicians marching forward and a tall and thusfar silent man strode with them. Each of the musicians carried a gourd joined with a long net and beset by numerous strings. Between the flickering of the firelight and that of their fingers dancing across the lines, I could not hope to count them all. Now, the man lifted his voice. It warbled along with the music, and I could almost make out the words.
            Then a pair of women emerged from behind the singer, thrusting their bodies out from behind him at either side.  As they all marched forward in synchronized motion, their voices harmonized with one another. The drums laid down a beat that was carried further by the lower notes of the harps and the deep and mellow voice of the man. Higher still the voices of the women, weaving between the lifted notes of the instruments.
            This carried on for some time with them singing and dancing and playing, and we, the crowd moved with them, though not as much. They had taken position directly before the fire and we pooled in a semicircle around them. Among them, white and gray garb not unlike the chajman; among us, people of many shades, clothing in many hues. Some among the audience carried instruments of their own, but did not play them. Once such pair, a boy and a girl, caught my eye.  Perhaps it was the instrument between them, not unlike those of the performers- a long necked gourd, possessed of innumerable strings. Perhaps it was the way they looked at me. The girl watched me with a cool gaze, while the boy seemed more animated, excited.
            “Gather, gather,” The man shouted then, and behind him, the women continued their harmony with the music, though subdued for his words. “Tonight, we Nwaj-Oratè shall tell you tales.”

            The clamor of the crowd fell into a hush, and the music dimmed as well so that only the flickering fires and the low and resonating drum beat held sway over the silence.   Then:

            “This is a tale of Hwana the boastful.” As he spoke these words, the women began humming.

            “Do they have Jelis where you come from?” A whisper at my elbow. The boy I’d noticed earlier, still grinning the same foolish grin.
            “Jeli?” I asked.
            He looked surprised for a moment, but gestured to the group before us. “Storytellers!” The girl joined us then, and whispered fiercely to her companion.
            “Let her listen.”

            “Before the times of the three great nations, all the people lived as part of one grand village,” the Jeli said. Behind him, the drums had all but ceased, each beat leading the next by several seconds of silence. The women whispered words so soft as to be indecipherable.  “Now this village was big, and it was beautiful, the corners of it stretching far across the plain.” The gasps from the audience brought a chuckle from the storyteller and he gazed out at us, milking the surprise.
            “See, this was the time when all people were as one,” he reminded them. As he continued speaking, the subdued instruments rose to life, a booming fanfare to back his words while the notes of the harp danced in and out and inbetween.“So all people came together and they shared all of their things. Because the people worked together, just as we do to this day in Sik Nati, life was easy. The harvests were bountiful, with many strong men and women to plant and collect them. Every night was a feast. Songs of heroes were sung throughout all the huts, and the people came together often to celebrate their blessings and give thanks to ingenuity, to wisdom, and to nature’s guidance and protection.”
            I looked around at the people gathered- past the excited face of the boy beside me, to the villagers whose expressions matched his. Warm smiles.
            “Despite all of these good things,” the Jeli went on, “There was one who simply could not be satisfied. His name was Hwana, and he decided that he would become the greatest man the village had ever known.”
            Here there came some murmurs of awe and amusement.
            “For Hwana, it was not enough to want for nothing. Plentiful food did not sate his hunger. Fresh and clean water did nothing for his thirst. The tales of the Jelis, the dances, the celebrations- these did not go far enough, for he longed to be as the heroes spoken of.”
            “Pay attention,” the girl said rather firmly to the boy.
            “Now, it is natural for one to be enthralled and amazed of the feats of our ancestors,” the Jeli explained. “Were they not such strong, wise souls, we would not have the bountiful society we do today.”
            “There you have it,” the boy whispered, rather proudly.
            “But heroes do not become such by seeking it. They do not do the perilous, the difficult, for the glory, nor the hope that they will be worshiped, revered someday.”
            The pair of them exchanged a pointed look, and watching them, I was not quite sure who had lost and who had won.
            “Hwana, however, had no great cause. He had no enemies to fight, nor resources to secure. He had no problems to mend, save for those in his own heart. And so, after the great festival celebrating the triumphs of Sundiata Keita, He decided that he absolutely had to capture such glory for himself.” The Jeli dropped his voice to hardly more than a whisper, backed by the voices of the women and the plucking of the harp; the drums fell to silence as he spoke next. “As fortune would have it, Hwana discovered his quest, for he had head tales of an even greater paradise.”
            A single, sharp drumbeat announced this fact, followed by complete silence on the part of the performers; hushed murmurs ran through the crowd.
            “Stories had been told of the great forming- how the elements came together, and with their union, everything was born,” the Jeli whispered. “Stories had been told of the perfection of that union, the very center of all creation. Untold riches, profound knowledge. Hwana knew if he could claim these things, he would be revered among the great village, and so he gathered his supplies, telling his friends that he would return to them as a god. Saying such, he set out to find this great treasure.”
            The drums adopted a sort of rolling gait, joined by the almost sour notes of the harps, and we traveled with Hwana as he journeyed the savanna.
            “Hwana traveled for several days and several nights, braving the savanna, the jungle and the desert,” the Jeli told us. “Though he thought himself well prepared, his passage did not come without cost. “
            A drumbeat, a sharp twang.
            “In the savanna, he was beset upon by a pride of lions. Thinking quickly, he scrambled up a tree and waited until they moved on.”
            Two beats, and a mellower note upon the harp.
            “When he traversed the jungle, the insects and the plants caused him to fall ill, which impeded his progress.”
            Another beat, and the women lifted their voices for a moment.
            “By the time he reached the desert, he had already used most of his supplies- whatever had not been stolen by the lions, nor lost in fever dreams. Crossing the sands took the last of his stores.”
            There came an air of concern from the audience, but also scoffs; I found myself torn. I myself had left with very little, with no destination in mind; however, my quest had not been one of glory, but necessity. Exile, painful though it was, was life, a free life. I looked around; here was a beautiful village with lively and gentle people. Perhaps, as Renkou had said, I could find home here. Then I looked to the boy and the girl, the latter who watched me, watching her. The boy paid us no mind, enthralled in the story. She turned her attention back to the Jeli, and I did too.
            “Hwana had reached his limit,” the storyteller informed us rather gravely. “He could walk no further under the sweltering sun, and even if he could, he’d come too far to turn back.” The Jeli shook his head mournfully. “Hwana fell to the dirt, oblivious in his hunger and thirst to the point where the blistering sands did not rouse him. He might have wept bitterly had he the tears; he would never realize his dream like this, and had he the energy, he would be furious. But all he could do was bake in the sun.”
            Only the drums played now. One beat, silence; one beat, silence. No one made a sound otherwise. The girl glanced pointedly to the boy at this point; he looked rather worried in response.
            “However, just as Hwana made his peace with death, his friends found him. Greater still, a larger number from the village. Scores of them upon camels and goats, come to find him. His friends pulled him from the desert sands and set him upon a goat. They covered his head and shoulders with a woven shroud and they gave to him a skin of water. All together, the people cast aside Hwana’s desires for riches and wealth, and they returned to their village and the prosperous and bountiful life that awaited them.”
            The Jeli smiled that warm smile, and drew out a reed as he eyed the gathered crowd. “The lone stick is easily broken.” Saying so, he snapped the rod in half, a rather audible sound. “But three? Or ten? Or twenty?” the other performers handed to him several sticks each, and the Jeli, accepting them and flexing with all his might, could do no work upon them. “Sticks in a bundle are unbreakable.”

            After the conclusion of the tale, there came a great feast, followed by another bout of music and dancing. After eating, I was content to watch the celebration.
            “What did you think?” the boy asked me.
            I smiled. “We don’t tell stories like that where I come from.”
            “Pity,” said the girl.
            “We tell them better.” The boy made a face.
            “Lapli!” the girl rebuked. It did not seem to stifle his enthusiasm much.
            I eyed their instruments again. “So you two are Jelis as well?”
            “None better!” the boy exclaimed. He extended a hand to me, then quickly withdrew it and bowed his head some instead. “Lapli Toudenkou!”
            I dipped my head in turn. “Riyoon.”
            “Toujou Kouran,” the girl said simply. “We’re descendants of the five families.”
            “Five families?” I asked.
            “The five Jeli families,” Lapli clarified. “Any true Jeli can trace their lineage back for generations.”
            I looked at them more closely now; they weren’t much younger than I was, and the both of them wore shades of blue. “And which of the families do you two hail from?”
            “Istmemwa!” Lapli beamed. “The greatest of the five.”
            “If you are filled with pride, Lapli, you will have no room for wisdom,” Toujou chided.
            The boy gave her a sour look. “Well it’s true!”
            “Brother and sister, then,” I said.
            Neither denied it. In fact, the matching frowns removed any doubt.
            Renkou chuckled. “I see you are making friends.” For an elder, They moved rather swiftly and silently when They wanted to, and the look on the siblings’ faces suggested they thought the same. “Have you given any thought to where you will lay your head tonight?”
            “She can stay with us,” Lapli piped up. “We have plenty of room!”
            “She can stay where she wishes,” Toujou amended. “Though we do have the space.”
            “We have a spare cot as well,” Renkou told me. “It is yours to decide.”

            In the end, I went with Renkou; already They had shown me so much hospitality, and though I knew there would be no objection, I did not want to impose upon the Istmemwa so suddenly.  As the night’s celebration moved closer to its end, I said my goodbyes to the siblings and departed with Renkou.
            They led me to a place not terribly far from the center of the village, where a cluster of modest huts stood. Each had been constructed in much the same manner as the Vwa’s chamber- rammed earth covered with reed thatching. As They opened the door, I was not sure what to expect. It was simply furnished; a cot simply made from a pile of crushed and worn reeds with a hide thrown over it, a bar overhead which held a spare hat and garment. A table which held a small assortment of wooden dishes. In the center of the chamber, a firepit had been dug, though it showed no signs of recent use. Tucked away in an alcove, a chamberpot; across from the first cot, a second, pleasantly made up.
            “This is home,” Renkou said simply. “You are welcome to it.”
            “I shall sleep here then.” I bowed graciously.

            I took to the spare cot, and though it had been a long day, I found my mind buzzed with thoughts of all the things I had seen. I wondered and worried about Hwana, and journeys and paradise. I wondered about Jelis and their strange instruments, and more specifically, Toujou and Lapli, and their families. These thoughts, along with those of Sik Nati, and then my Ngarobah, would not rest.
            Then, I felt a familiar warmth filling the small chamber, and my heart and head began to settle.
            “All things in their time and place, Riyoon-Trezò.”