Zafiil, Distant Past, Chapter 2 (Patreon)

We return to the world of the Faulfenza! Chapter 2: In which Zafiil reaches her new home.

***

The sunlight was slanting through the trees when Zafiil woke. She was moving without walking, a fact which caused her some consternation until she realized Jeniiz was carrying her like a baby. 

As she opened her mouth to protest, Jeniiz spoke. “We’ll be walking until third-night. Do you really want to get started on that so fast?” Zafiil paused, and the other Faulfenzair finished, “You seem a wise girl... and resting while being carried would be very wise.”

That sealed it for Zafiil. It would not do for her to prove herself unwise to Jeniiz Qodii, the would-be Fiilzafir of the village.

“Thank you,” she said, with great dignity. “I believe I will stay here for a while.”

“Good. I’ll let you down soon enough.”

As humiliating as it was to be carried, Zafiil was grateful for it, and when Jeniiz set her on her feet later she regretted it. But she thanked Jeniiz formally and strode after Duzai, determined not to show her fatigue. At least her surroundings helped, for the forest had changed completely with sunfall’s start. Amber light laced the turquoise and teal leaves, and the clouds kindled with purples so magnificent Zafiil was riveted. As the forest darkened around her, the sky became the brightest thing in view, magenta and peach and orange… and then the shadows seeped into the sky, and the event descended like a glittering veil, bringing with it the stars.

Zafiil’s heart sped in wonder. It was as Qazen-dii and Jaziin had said... the air was so clear! Surely her spirit could vault into the air and spin those pinprick gems together, until she was bound in them forever for all her life, from start to finish.

“You like the stars,” Jeniiz observed quietly from behind, and the subtle approval in her voice alerted Zafiil to a possible kinship of spirit.

“What’s so special about stars?” Duzai interrupted

“The stars are full of fire and burn like the gift to Qudii. I always thought, anyway.” Jeniiz stared up, eyes glimmering with reflected light. “It’s as if Faulza took embers directly from His cauldron and cast them over the Heavens. They seem so close to Him.”

Zafiil peered up too. “But they do not have more of Faulza than you or me, because He loves us more than He loves the stars. That’s why He gave them to us. And one day… one day I will live there. The stars have promised to wait for me.”

Duzai broke the following silence with a snort. “Stars don’t talk.”

Zafiil said, “How do you know? Who has ever been close enough to a star to try?”

#

It was just past third-night-time when Jeniiz motioned them to a halt in a small clearing. “We’ll sleep here tonight.”

“Dinner?” Duzai said hopefully, and Jeniiz chuckled.

“Yes, dinner. I’ll return shortly with it. Guard our charge, little Qodii.”

Zafiil had already found a likely log to sit on; she was exhausted and footsore and glad of an excuse to pull up her feet for examination. While she picked at the clods of earth and stones that had lodged between her toes, Duzai dug out a pit for the fire and gathered enough kindling to start one. It was burning well by the time Jeniiz returned with a brace of small animals, lanced on thin sticks.

Should she try to help? But what did she know about cooking? Zafiil peeked at Jeniiz between attempts to finger-brush her matted tail, but the operation looked messy and ugly and she couldn’t imagine wanting to eat the results. She wrinkled her nose, both at the smell of raw flesh and her sweaty pelt. Best not to get involved, especially since she might reveal her ignorance. She resumed disentangling her tail and hadn’t finished when the aroma of roasting meat wafted to her nose… and it smelled good! How had something that started out smelling so awful suddenly smell so good?

“Food is ready,” Jeniiz said.

Cooking had not made the food any prettier. Zafiil tried not to recoil from Jeniiz’s offer, and only the strangers’ amusement inspired her to bite into it.

Annoyingly, it was good. But she kept her eyes closed while eating it.

She was washing the meal down with water shared from a curled leaf when Duzai said, “So are you gonna Dance like you said you would?”

Zafiil straightened, trying to hide her excitement, and her surprise. They’d been walking all morning, afternoon, evening, and part of the night… and Jeniiz had spent some of those hours carrying someone. And she still had the energy to Dance? Zafiil couldn’t even walk half a day!

Jeniiz grinned. “I did promise, didn’t I? What would you like to see?”

“The Scroll of Qufal? Oh, please, Jeniiz, I....”

Jeniiz interrupted. “Duzai, we have a guest. Have you forgotten your manners so quickly?”

Reproved, Duzai’s ears purpled with embarrassment. “I.. no... I’m sorry.” He turned to Zafiil, his voice contrite. “Please, Zafiil... choose a scroll,” and then, in a fierce whisper, “but choose a good one!”

Zafiil wrung her hands. There were so many scrolls she loved! She hoarded every performance she watched like jewels. But she had a favorite, rarely performed, and her desire to see it outweighed her fear that her request would be poorly received. “Could you... could you Dance the Scroll of Creation?”

Jeniiz’s dipped ear and twitching tail was mostly positive, if puzzled. Even Duzai looked mildly gratified. Zafiil relaxed.

“May I ask why that one, Zafiil?”

Shyly, though she saw the approval in Jeniiz’s eyes, she answered, “I just like it. It’s my favorite, besides the Promise Scroll.”

Smiling in earnest, Jeniiz dipped her head. “Then the Creation scroll I will Dance.” She performed a few stretches, then straightened into the position of prayer, forming the word for Faulza. Zafiil’s heart began to flutter. She was going to see a Dance, so close that she could touch the Dancer! The stars reached down with their golden webs and settled on Jeniiz’s body, as if the Dance was something that Faulza had made and set apart, like the stuff of stars.

Zafiil watched, transfixed. She knew the words so well, but her mind translated the words as Jeniiz formed them, and each one had a glorious rhythm and symmetry.

`In the beginning before everything, there was Nothingness, 

and that Nothingness was everything and everywhere...

and to that Nothingness came the FireDancer, 

the God, 

Faulza.

And it was that way for a long time that was a brief momentlessness, 

because Time had not yet been Born...

but Faulza, seated in His Forge on the Shoulders was sad and lonely. 

Faulza was Love, 

and He had nothing to Love, and so He felt incomplete....

for the Love of Faulza is such that no matter how much he is given to Love, 

there is still twice as much Love left.

This is the nature of Faulza, whom we love.

Faulza was lonely, in that Nothingness...

and so, in a moment of inspiration, He decided to make the Universe. 

And He made Time first, 

blowing warm breath into His cupped palms 

and letting it out into the Nothingness.

And as Time began, He told the Nothingness the Rules by which it must live.

And then, the God took a spark from His Forge

and threw it into the center of the Nothingness, 

where already Time was swirling and the Rules were coalescing...

and the Universe was born,

flooding out of the center like the Earth sprouting with seed,

and Faulza was the Midwife to its Birth,

for Faulza is every kind of Love in the Universe.

And the worlds began to spin, and the suns kindled, 

and the FireDancer was, for a moment, content. 

But that moment was soon gone, 

for in this Universe, there was nothing that could Love Faulza as He loved it.

And so Faulza knew that it was time for Him to create His Children, 

for He was longing for the faces of His sons and daughters, 

longing to Love them and be Loved by them.

The God took a handful of sod 

from His most beloved and the most beautiful of his worlds

 and set it on His Forge, 

and He began to shape it delicately, but sternly, 

for in Faulza there is the love of the Mother and the Father both.

And soon, He had shaped the first of His Children, 

to be the model for all the others...

but something was missing.

The soul Faulza had made for His first child was quiescent.

It had no spark.

And then Faulza knew what was missing.

He reached with His hands into His own Soul, 

which is all made of the First Fires, 

the Everdancing Light so hot it cannot be looked upon,

and extracted from Himself part of His own soul.

This he put into His Child, and to His wonder and delight, 

the soul sparked.

With love,

Faulza put His Child down on the most loved world

and was content as His Children grew stronger and grew to love

Him as He loved them.

And so the Universe was born, and Time Became,

and we were Made, His Children.’

Zafiil’s heart beat in her mouth as she drew in every twirl of Jeniiz’s figure shaping words flowing into sentences into truths, her body drawing behind it a curtain of invisible star-bonds, golden and glistening like an ethereal cape. It was over too soon, and Jeniiz was standing in the ending-prayer stance, face lifted.

She wanted to ask questions, for she’d forgotten about the spark that Faulza had put in all his children. Was that how Jaziin had known about it? But how could it be the same spark as the starstuff, and everything else? How could she possibly sleep when confronted with so many beauties and mysteries? But the day had been taxing, nap notwithstanding, and before she could articulate any of her thoughts or questions, Zafiil was asleep, the soundest sleep she had slept since she was a babe in her mother’s arms.

#

Each day they rose and walked until nightfall, until at last they reached the day of their arrival. As they set off down the broadening forest path, Zafiil fought her growing anxiety. Her coat was dusty and matted with burrs and her tail was so tangled its twice-tufted length had crusted into a single grayish mass. Zafiil did not want to enter Qodii looking so disheveled... but Jeniiz and Duzai hadn’t seemed to notice their own grime. How could she mention it to them? Maybe being dirty was normal on Quafiirla? Did they not have rain-rooms or baths? What a horrible thought!

Zafiil peered through the brush as she trudged behind Duzai, hoping for a glimpse of her new home. What would Qodii be like? It couldn’t be anything like Paidiiza, where she’d lived in a one-family estate, a most modern and beautiful one. What would it be like to live with many other families? In small homes? A village didn’t have large homes, did it?

Duzai interrupted her thoughts by dropping her bag on a stone, and Zafiil belatedly smelled water. They’d reached a stream, and Duzai was grinning at her, a brush thrust toward her in one hand and a bag of zala in the other. Jeniiz extracted a second brush from her bag before hanging it on a tree branch.

Zafiil’s expression must have betrayed her because Duzai started chortling. “You didn’t honestly think we were going to make you go straight from the three-day-path to the house of the FireMother without stopping to groom, did you?” 

There was no answering that without being ill-mannered, so Zafiil accepted the brush with a huff and waded into the stream with what she decided was commendable dignity. Once in the water, though, she dunked herself and set to her hide with vigor. How she hated to be dirty and matted! Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Jeniiz finishing her ablutions and starting on her brother, who was splashing water at her. They looked like they were having fun, but Zafiil was too old for such games, and even if she wasn’t, she wouldn’t play them with strangers. 

Zafiil was wondering how to foam her back without her mother’s help when a jet of water struck her cheek. She whirled to confront Duzai, freshly scrubbed and still foamy, stifling his giggles behind a hand. Badly. It would be so satisfying to squirt water back at him! But she wasn’t done with her bath.

A few moments later, a reassuringly firm brush started stroking against the flow of her wet back-fur. “Little Paidiiza...,” Jeniiz said. “What a marvel you are. Like a tiny adult. It’s a wonder you haven’t pulled these back muscles, as rigid as you hold yourself.”

Zafiil’s ear-tips purpled. Was that a compliment, or was Jeniiz making fun of her? But the lather felt wonderful, and she couldn’t help a pleased gurgle. “I am not a child anymore,” she said. “Or I wouldn’t be old enough to be fostered.”

Jeniiz’s ‘mmm’ sounded far too much like an adult pretending to agree, but at least she did a thorough job on Zafiil’s back.

“You think too much!” Duzai called from the bank as she and Jeniiz finally clambered out of the stream. “You should spend less time thinking and more time having fun.”

Zafiil couldn’t sustain her irritation with the sun drying her clean fur and her hair hanging around her shoulders in tidy tresses again. “That sounds just like something you would say.”

Duzai’s grin wrinkled half his muzzle as he chewed on a blade of grass. “Of course it sounds like something I would say... I just said it, didn’t I?”

The resumption of their walk intensified Zafiil’s anxiety, and her excitement. Was the village in the forest? Or was it in the open, where she would be able to see the sky? How many people were in it? What would her foster parents be like? Were there any mature young Faulfenza her age? She was aching to know these things. Qazen-dii had drilled her on the brief ceremony she would undergo on first entering the village; her escorts would take her to the home of the Fauldii, the FireMother of the village, where her foster parents would be waiting. There was a short exchange, and then her new parents would take her away. Would her new mother be as pretty as Qazen-dii? Zafiil shook her head defiantly. No one was as pretty as Qazen-dii!

The forest parted onto a wide clearing on the edge of a bright, sunlit plain. Their forest bordered it on one side in a great smooth curve; the other was girdled by a mountain range that rumpled into green hills. A large lake was set in the plain, reflecting the smooth and cloudless sky: Quapendai was just visible in that inverted bowl, a globe of faded blue-green against the horizon.

Qodii sat alongside the nearest bank of that lake.

It was nothing like Zafiil had imagined. Its little single-story houses had been built of earthen bricks, burgundy with long orange swirls, and instead of a door each house had a shelter-wrap curtain in glorious colors: turquoise, gold, cobalt blue, fiery scarlet. The dwellings were set around a path that led to a circle of perfectly uniform orange soil: the Dancing Place, the center of the village. Just beyond the Dancing Place were the homes of the Tradition-Keepers, the Quadiizafiri, the Teacher of the Dance; the Quazafir, the WisdomDancer, and keeper of the scrolls; and the FireMother to whom belonged the largest dwelling of all.

Zafiil’s heart pounded in anticipation as Jeniiz led her to the center of the village; all around her, other Faulfenza went about their own affairs, only one or two glancing toward their procession. She was doubly glad of the bath she had taken in the morning. Her fur was just beginning to dry and she was confident that she looked her best. She was the daughter of Qazen and Paden of Paidiiza! Now if only she could have taken her bag back from Duzai, so she’d have something to clutch….

The FireMother’s house was patterned in broad vertical stripes of alternating burgundy and orange, and the shelter-wrap that hung in the doorway was not one cloth, but two and a curtain of intricate beads, sparkling in the sunlight.

Jeniiz paused outside the doorway and turned to Zafiil. “Are you ready, little one?”

Zafiil was too preoccupied to bridle at the nickname and gestured a vague affirmative, trying to remain calm so her sweat wouldn’t stink of worry. 

Jeniiz called through the curtains. “I request the audience of Fauldii Qodii!” And she assumed the stance of the Escort-Waiting, holding the shelter-wrap just open so that a shaft of white light fell onto the floor inside.

“Who wishes this audience?”

Zafiil shivered in fascination and fear. It was the voice of an ancient woman, and it made her think of earth’s power, and fire’s.

“It is I, your daughter and servant, and the Escort.”

“Come then, my daughter, and with you, your charge.”

Jeniiz kept the shelter-wraps apart with a hand as Zafiil tentatively passed into the FireMother’s home.

Sunlight shone on the pillows, poured in through the ceiling’s skylights, glowed against the walls and floor. The fire flickering in a small firebowl in the corner was washed out by the light, and Zafiil wouldn’t have noticed it had it not been for the thread of smoke rising from it, and the strange, sweet scent it gave off.

The FireMother was seated on a black stool in the center of the room. She held a black staff, a striking contrast against the white coat that marked her as one of Faulza’s Eyes. His oracles and seers were so rare that Zafiil had never seen one, and her knees began to tremble. No one had suggested that an Eye might be hidden in some tiny village on Quafiirla! She was like a star, burning inside with an old fire, and Zafiil felt simultaneously both cowed and drawn to her.

And then she remembered that Faulza had put the same spark in her as he had in the FireMother, greater than any star. In that instant, the strand of gold sprang up between herself and the Fauldii, and her spine straightened. She raised her eyes to meet the FireMother’s, and didn’t flinch.

“FireMother, this child seeks guidance and enrichment through our ways,” Jeniiz said humbly from behind Zafiil.

“So it has been since we came here and so it will be ever.” The Fauldii extended one aged hand to her right, and a female, who’d been standing in silence beside one of the back walls, stepped to her and placed her palm on it.

The FireMother held her other hand out to Zafiil. Her fur faded to white skin on the palm, and when Zafiil gingerly placed her own palm on it, it was warm. 

The Fauldii pressed their hands together, and Zafiil looked up at the female who would be her foster-mother. The Faulfenzair’s coat was a rich loamy gray-brown with ruffs of white and fire-surfaces of deep scarlet, and she had kind green eyes.

“The two of you shall be as mother and daughter,” the FireMother said, squeezing before letting their hands drop. “So I have said. So it shall be.”

Zafiil’s new foster-mother stepped to her as Jeniiz moved away. “FireMother, who is model for all mothers, is there some advice or insight you might grant me?”

There were several ritual responses to this question, but the Fauldii did not respond. Instead she studied Zafiil. Maybe it was supposed to scare her, but Zafiil refused to bend. Hadn’t the stars said they would wait for her? And stars were much older than any Faulfenzair.

“Do not teach her to Dance,” the FireMother said, “she already knows.”

Her foster-mother started, but inclined her head in acquiescence as she said, “Yes, wise one.” A gentle hand guided Zafiil out of the building as her thoughts frothed in outrage and confusion. Not teach her to Dance? She already knew? But she didn’t! And the FireMother’s word was law... did that mean they’d prevent her from joining the lessons? Could the FireMother be wrong?

Her foster-mother drew her from her thoughts by sighing in relief. “Thank Faulza that’s over! Rituals are so nerve-wracking!”

Shocked to hear these sentiments expressed by an adult, Zafiil looked up to find her foster-mother grinning with a merriment she had never seen in Qazen-dii: gentle amusement, perhaps, but outright merriment? And yet, though her new mother looked older than Qazen-dii, she was sprightly, with springing steps and swishing tail. Zafiil couldn’t have pictured anyone more different from her real mother, which inspired both a pang of homesickness and a thrill of interest.

“What’s your name?” she asked, as they walked past the Dance-Place.

“I’m Baila,” she answered cheerfully, “and my lifemate is Neden. Faulza did not give us children, so we decided to be foster parents instead… you’re our fifth fosterling.”

Five children! Zafiil felt dizzy. “Are… are they all living with you still?”

Baila chuckled. “Oh no... though that would be exciting, wouldn’t it? The last one left just a month ago. You came just in time; we were getting lonely! What is your name, dear?”

Zafiil puffed up slightly. “I am Zafiil Paidiiza, daughter of Qazen and Paden of Paidiiza.” 

“Paidiiza is the place with the beaches, isn’t it?”

Pride flushed Zafiil’s ears to their tips. “Yes! We have the prettiest beaches in all of Qufiil!”

Baila looked suitably impressed. “In all of Qufiil? Who said so?”

Zafiil’s pride suddenly gave way to unease. “Well... ummm... they said so.”

That seemed to satisfy Baila. “Well, we have some pretty beaches near here. They couldn’t be as pretty as Paidiiza’s beaches, but I think they’re rather nice myself.”

Good humor restored, Zafiil could be magnanimous. It wasn’t Baila’s fault that her beaches couldn’t measure up to Paidiiza’s. “I’d like to see them.”

Baila wrinkled her nose in a grin, and they drew up to a modest, one-child home on the outskirts of Qodii, on the side with the lake. Teal vines crawled up the exterior walls, sprouting bright flowers in white and blue, a pleasant and cooling contrast to the orange and red of the walls. Baila pulled aside the sky blue shelter-wrap and gestured inside.

“Welcome to your house,” she said. “Duzai left your bag with us, the scamp... it’s in your room.” She paused, and added, hesitantly, “I hope you like it.”

Curious, Zafiil stepped inside the roomy antechamber. Body-comforts in blue and purple stuffed with fragrant fronds decorated the corners, and shelter-wraps in white with blue edges framed the windows. Another shelter-wrap, also white with blue edges, had been pulled away from the arch leading down the hall to the family room. Zafiil was surprised to see that the vines curled through the windows and crept to the ceiling, sprouting flowers there. Spirals of green and turquoise and been painted over the middle of the walls. It was a bright and happy place.

“I do like it,” she said. “May I go down the hall, please?”

Baila laughed. “Zafiil! I would say this is your home, but your home is Paidiiza; suffice to say that it is your house and you may feel free to roam in it as you like. From now on you are my daughter, and have all the rights, privileges... and chores... of a daughter in my house.”

Zafiil wondered how Baila had been wise enough to realize that Qodii could never be home, but she was grateful. Accepting the invitation, she slipped down the hall to the family room. It was more rectangular in shape, and a small table had been set near the kitchen, a pretty round window encircled with flowers. In an alcove alongside the opening for the bathroom was a stack of body-comforts in cool colors, their fern-frond scent mixing with the vineblossom perfume and the aroma of something delicious being cooked in the kitchen.

Curiosity must be satisfied first. Zafiil pointed at the flowers as Baila joined her. “What kind of flowers are those?” 

“Those are apaiziin,” Baila answered, “I collected some seeds from the forests near my parent’s home and brought them with me, so I could always remember them.”

Zafiil glanced at her foster-mother, then caught a glimpse of a room behind a blue shelter-wrap. “Is that mine?”

“Yes it is!”

Excited, Zafiil pushed past the shelter-wrap; two round windows, one on each side of the corner, gave her an almost uninterrupted view of the mountains and brought in pools of afternoon sunlight. The walls were more burgundy than orange, painted with swirls of vivid purple and blue. Her bed had been arranged across from the windows; it was made of red-orange wood, and she could smell the fresh reeds, flowers and ferns that filled her mattress and her body-snuggles. Her bed-wraps matched the swirls with their blues and purples. There was a small bed-table with an oil-lamp and a large mirror above it. Her bag was sitting in an exquisitely made chair of more of the orange wood, a design meant for rocking like Qazen-dii’s in Paidiiza.

“Oh, it’s wonderful!” she exclaimed, clasping her hands in the sign that she had no signs left to express herself, and Baila made a pleased sound.

“I’m glad. I’ll leave you to put away your things while I continue making supper. You’re free to go exploring if you like, just don’t go outside the boundaries of the village alone.”

After her foster-mother left, Zafiil unpacked her bag. First, her favorite body-snuggle from home, the one her brother had given her on her eighteenth birthday; Zafiil set it down next to the others on the bed. A vase her mother had helped her to make out of some of the rare clear sands of Paidiiza’s beaches—she had intended it to be a single graceful curve but a moment of clumsiness had malformed the lip of the vase. It was embarrassing, but her memories of Qazen-dii, leaning over and holding up the opposite side so she could sculpt the front, were worth the chagrin. Her brushes for teeth and coat and hair she put in the table’s first drawer along with several hair-ties and her father’s special recipe shampoo and lotion. The jar of Paidiiza’s special sands in layers of black and burgundy she placed on top of the table with the vase. And lastly, a special book Paden-aul had bought for her, all creamy, smooth blank pages, and a set of special pencils for writing and drawing. Zafiil hid those in her second drawer, and put her bag away in the final drawer.

Having disposed of all of her possessions, Zafiil considered Baila’s suggestion. She had never lived near a forest, or the mountains, and there was still all of Qodii to discover on her own. Padding to the kitchen, she paused. What should she call her foster-mother? She couldn’t bring herself to use the suffix for mother—Qazen-dii was her real mother!—but she could surely use the suffix for respect without dishonoring anyone. “Baila-ai? I thought I’d go look around outside.”

“I thought you might.” Baila-ai flashed her a quick smile. “Be back before sunfall, and remember what I said about going beyond the village.”

“I will,” Zafiil promised, and left. Outside, the afternoon sun was still shining, and it was warm and breezy. As she glanced at the homes next to her new foster-parents’, trying to decide where to go first, she heard a familiar voice.

“Hey, Zafiil!” Duzai skipped to her side, ears playfully cupped and tail in a waving arch. “How did the ceremony go? Jeniiz didn’t say! Was it fun? What did the FireMother say? Wasn’t she magnificent? Do you like your new parents? What are you doing outside? Did you find your bag?”

“Well, sort of, not much, oh yes!, she’s nice, exploring, and yes!” Zafiil said, trying to keep up with him. Abruptly they started laughing.

“Exploring, huh?” Duzai said, the wide grin growing, if possible, more wrinkly. “What do you wanna see? I could be your guide!”

Zafiil brought her hand to her muzzle, brow furrowed. Her eyes swept the huddle of homes, the orange of the Dancing Place and just beyond, the FireMother’s house, and from there to the forests, the mountains, the lake, the plains....

“I want to see the fields,” she said finally, “Baila-ai said I could if someone went with me. I have to be back by sunfall, though.”

“Ha!” Duzai said. “I know the fields backward and forward. I’ll get you back by sunfall, no trouble at all! Come on!”

He scampered off and Zafiil ran after, tail waving like a pennant. They darted across the middle of the village, dodging bemused adults, until they reached the high golden grasses just outside the village perimeter. Zafiil paused for breath, turning slowly in place to survey the shining fields. Beside her, Duzai dropped onto the cushioning grasses, feet splayed in the air. He was laughing as he rolled in them, and it looked like so much fun Zafiil couldn’t resist dropping to the ground and joining him. The air smelled rich and brassy, and the grass was stiff, providing a more than adequate support for her back. She twirled until the smell enfolded her like an invisible blanket. Maybe she could just lie here forever and stare at the sky….

“Catch me if you can!” Duzai taunted.

…or maybe not. Zafiil leaped to her feet and sprinted after him, the golden grass swishing away from her churning legs and parting behind the thin blade of her white and crimson tail. 

Duzai was slowing abruptly. If she pushed herself now, she would catch him! Pumping her arms and legs, Zafiil stretched her hands out and squealed. “GOTCHA!”

She crashed into him and Duzai yarled in surprise; Zafiil saw a flash of his startled eyes as they tumbled head over tail into a tiny creek.

“Eeeeeeeeeee!”

“Aaahhhhh!”

The creek was both narrow and shallow, fortunately. Zafiil sat up, bewildered, and looked from one end of it to the other. It was barely visible amid the grasses. “Well,” she said at last, streaming water, “I didn’t know I was going to take two baths today!”

Duzai pushed his hair out of his face, his cheerfulness unabated. “Well, if you hadn’t pushed me in....”

Zafiil sniffed. “You did say to catch you! Didn’t I?”

“You cheated!”

“I did not!”

“You did too! I had to slow down because of the stream!”

“That doesn’t mean that I cheated! It just means that you slowed down! I caught you fair!”

Duzai colored, then he started laughing again. “Maybe this time. Next time you might not be so lucky!”

His laughter was contagious. And really it was ridiculous. “You want to try again and see?”

Duzai snorted. “Two baths in one day is already two baths too many.” Which made Zafiil giggle even harder. The water was perfect after the exertion of running in the sun. Her upper half was warm and damp, her lower body cool and wet. It was wonderful... until Duzai splashed her.

It had looked like so much fun when he and Jeniiz had been doing it. And who was here to see them, anyway? She scooped up a handful of water and flung it back, and caught the boy mid-laugh. “Ohhh,” he sputtered. “So now you want to do this? Here we go! No, wait, not yet!”

They were both laughing and coughing up water by the time they dragged themselves out of the creek and flopped beside it.

“It’s so nice out,” Zafiil said with a sigh. “It makes you want to nap—Duzai?”

Her companion was staring up, frowning. He jumped to his feet. “Come on, let’s get back.”

“Something wrong?” she asked, following him.

“Storms come suddenly here.”

“But…” Zafiil looked up. “The sun’s shining—”

“Not back there it isn’t.”

Zafiil glanced over her shoulder, saw the shadows massing on the horizon. “How quickly can a cloud move?”

The grasses hissed as a wind suddenly pushed them against Zafiil’s body, and thunder rumbled. The answer was, apparently, very fast. She grabbed Duzai’s hand and they ran for Qodii. Halfway back, the rain started: light at first, the wind sifting it so that it matted their fur and fell in rivulets down their backs. 

“Now we’re in for it… faster!”

Zafiil’s heart jumped as he pulled her hand hard. Curtains of water were falling now, and lightning flashed in reflection off the rain. The ground beneath them turned to mud, sucking at their feet, and Zafiil could feel the thunder vibrating the pads of her feet when they touched down.

“Your place is closer!” Duzai said as the first houses of Qodii appeared through the rain. Disoriented by the storm and armed only with a fleeting impression of the village’s layout, Zafiil let him lead. Her legs were bogged down with mud now, and the frequent lightning dazzled her eyes.

Home! It was right in front of her and there was Baila-ai, running out in a keep-dry to escort them inside.

Dripping and shivering with cold, Zafiil stood in the antechamber with Duzai, amazed that the storm had come so quickly. Lightning and thunder came only breaths apart, and outside the shelter-wraps Baila-ai had drawn over the windows the rain was so hard Zafiil couldn’t see the house beside theirs, much less the mountain.

She became aware of other things as her heart gradually slowed; the heavy humidity in the air, the muting of the pounding rain’s noise, the rich scent of dinner... her mouth began to water. Baila-ai sat down beside them, chuckling as she handed Duzai a make-dry, and began to rub Zafiil with a second. “It seems like we’ll have an early summer this year, doesn’t it?”

Duzai gave his body a cursory scrub, shook himself once, and grinned. “Yep! Is that food I smell?”

Baila eyed him affectionately as she handed Zafiil the make-dry so she could finish scrubbing. “It is, indeed, little mischief! I assume you want some.”

Duzai screwed up his face into a look of such adorable misery that Zafiil stared in fascination. “I can’t walk through that rain to get home,” he said mournfully, “and it’s not going to stop before dinner, I’m sure of it!”

Baila sobered, gazing outside. “No, you most certainly cannot go home in that. And the storm will last for another half-hour at least, if I’m any judge. Well! It’s settled.” The merriment returned to her eyes. “I suppose you’ll just have to stay for dinner, Duzai. But you’ll have to wash up properly first! Go to it!”

Giggling, they scrambled to do so.

#

Dinner was delicious; Baila had cooked a succulent stew with chunks of perfectly roasted naadiize and various plants Zafiil didn’t recognize. There was fluffy iidai smeared with nectar and boiled petals of four different flowers. Zafiil was grateful since she was sure she had never been as hungry as she was today. Beside her, Duzai devoured his helpings and was not shy to ask for seconds and thirds.

Her foster-father Neden was introduced to her at the table, a black-coated Faulfenzair with crimson-tipped cream ruffs, almost the classic coloring that Zafiil herself wore. He seemed good-humored; though he didn’t join the banter between Baila and Duzai, his smiles were like the sun breaking over the horizon, and his soundless laughter striking to watch. Zafiil couldn’t help laughing too; meals at home had been far more decorous and while she missed their tranquility she liked the jokes and teasing. The food was filling, it was wonderful to be dry while the rain fell outside, and she was in the company of people she had decided she liked. Maybe Qodii wouldn’t be so horrible after all.

Washing the dishes was fun; instead of using the water in the kitchen, Zafiil and Duzai held their plates out the window and let the rain scrub them clean, laughing as the downpour plastered their fur to their arms and fingers. Neden built a fire in the family room in the fire-pot and let the flames chase away the humidity.

An hour after dinner the rain slackened to a drizzle. Baila wrapped Duzai in a thick keep-dry. “Run along home, now. Your parents must be worried.”

“Aw, they know I can take care of myself. I’m not a boy anymore, you know!”

Baila chuckled. “I know... so get out there and take the rain like a grown Faulfenzair.”

Zafiil grinned at Duzai, who suddenly looked forlorn as he gazed out the door at the wet world. “Come back tomorrow! Maybe we can play another game of tag.”

“I’ll win this time!” Duzai boasted, and before Zafiil could object he had ducked out the door and was racing into the rain.

Baila’s grin wrinkled her nose all the way to its bridge. “That boy. I wonder what he’ll be like when he actually does grow up.”

“Probably the same as he is now,” Zafiil said, feeling very wise. “Paden-aul says that people never change.”

Her foster-mother smiled and pulled the shelter-wrap over the front door again. “You must be very tired. You walked all morning to get here, then romped all afternoon!”

“Tired?” Before she could stop herself, a monstrous yawn escaped her. Zafiil touched the end of her muzzle, surprised, but did not resist when Baila-ai walked her to her room. Her foster-mother waited for her to pull her feet into bed before tucking the bed-wraps around her, just as Qazen-dii would have.

“Baila-ai...,” she murmured as her foster-mother was moving to the door; she could sense the other stopping.

“Yes?”

“Does Neden-ai never speak?”

The voice was very soft, softer than Zafiil had ever heard Baila-ai’s voice... or maybe it was because already she was drifting off to sleep, and the sound of the rain outside, so comforting, was muffling it....

“No, Zafiil. He doesn’t.”

She thought she heard Baila-ai bid her good dreams as she drifted off.