A False Belonging [Solo]

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Please identify your neighbourhood location in the Topic Tag: Arata, Deja Point, Hlunn, Cinnamon Hill, The Turtle, Nutmeg Hill, The Gripe, The Pipeworks, Carptown, Windward Market, and Three Flowers.

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Faizra pezre Taci
Posts: 41
Joined: Mon Jun 03, 2019 4:59 pm
Topics: 10
Race: Wick
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Thu Jun 06, 2019 9:16 am

Afternoon, Achtus 22, 2718
Windward Market
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"Hungry, poa’nasister?” The human crouching in front of her was tall, sun glinting off dark skin loosely wrapped in a white cloak, with very little beneath. He grinned at her, full dark lips parting easily.

“I ent yer poa’na,” Faizra pulled her begging hand back, and looked up at him, scowling.

Yaka?No?” The human asked. Dark tattoos swirled over his arms and chest, visible when he shifted, highlighting the muscles bulging beneath his skin. “Ah, mustn’t be, poa’nixamy sisters] get fed.”

“You sellin’ something, dura,” Faizra’s tone was a warning. “I ent buying. No ging for it, ye chen?”

The man chuckled, low and soft like a rumble in his chest. “Knew you was a wika. Tofts like me, we ent miss somethin’ like that.”

Faizra reached back against the wall and pulled herself to her feet. For a moment, with him squatting and her standing, she was taller than him. Then he rose, smooth like fresh yogurt, and grinned down at her from an even greater height than before.

Ma’ehauGet lost,” Faizra gathered what moisture she could in her mouth and spat on the street at his sandaled feet. She turned, deliberately pulling a shoulder between them, and walked away.

“Offers like this ent come every day, poa’na!” The man made no effort to stop her. “Y’ ent gon t’ hear me out at least? S’worth a ben’na, ‘t least.”

Faizra stopped, a few feet from him. He chuckled again, and she gritted her teeth, although the motion sent pain landing through the loose one on the back right of her mouth, the one what hadn’t felt right since she’d bit into a stale flatbread a week back.

“Hot ‘n fresh, poa’na, and if it ent you take it ‘n go.” He took a few steps closer, and Faizra could feel the heat of him nearly against her back, warring against the heavy sun beating down from overhead.

Faizra gauged her pride against the growling ache in her stomach and found it wanting. “Fine,” she turned back to look at him, scowling again. “But I ent yer poa’na.”

He bought two flatbread with real coin, spiced ground meat sprinkled on top, and handed one to her, taking a causal bite of his own. Faizra bit down and ripped a piece free with her teeth. The meat tasted free, or at least spiced enough so one couldn’t tell, and the slippery oil left a mess on her hands.

“Better, yeh?” He asked.

“Y’wanna talk, talk,” Faizra replied through a second mouthful.

“I seen you on t’ streets,” the human told her. “Ent right, wika like you begging. You got skills, yeh?” He fiddled long dark fingers. “Why’s you waste your time tryin’ get them jents t’give you their gings?”

Faizra didn’t answer, taking a third bite instead, chewing carefully around her bad tooth.

“Yeh, maybe y’ pick a pocket or two. I ent talkin’ ‘bout that. I’m lookin’ fer someone, ‘n I mean t’ make a mant manna ging.” The human continued. “Got some talent already, yeh, but no vroosmagic-users. Join wit’ me, you ent go hungry, you sleep proper wit’ a roof, and you got folks t’watch yer back.”

Faizra glanced down at the last two bites left in her hands, and took another one, slow and careful and deliberate.

“M’name’s Kofi pez Adana,” the human said, leaning forward to look at her. “You got a name, or I should just call you wika?”

Faizra glanced at him, then slowly finished chewing and swallowing. “Faizra pezre Taci,” she said, rolling her tongue over her teeth to check for bits of meat. She ate the last bite of the flatbread, sucking the grease off dirty fingers, and turned to go.

“You ent given me an answer, Faizra pezre Taci,” Kofi grinned at her, still holding half his flatbread, for all the world as if he ate such things every day, as if he felt no need to rush at all.

“I ‘ave,” Faizra told him, glancing back over one shoulder. “I ent buying, Kofi pez Adana.” She left him there; she could feel his gaze boring into her back as she walked away, but she didn’t turn to look again.

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Last edited by Faizra pezre Taci on Mon Jun 24, 2019 9:36 am, edited 3 times in total.

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Faizra pezre Taci
Posts: 41
Joined: Mon Jun 03, 2019 4:59 pm
Topics: 10
Race: Wick
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Writer: moralhazard
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Thu Jun 06, 2019 9:24 am

Morning to Evening, Achtus 25, 2718
Windward Market
Kofi found her again, not the next day or the day after, but three days later, as Faizra stood in line at a market well, loose scarf pulled over her mouth as protection against the dust.

“Faizra pezre Taci,” his voice in her ear, low and warm, was the first sign she had of him.

Faizra turned, her hand flicking in an automatic gesture, and the tip of her knife pressed solidly into the hard stomach visible beneath his open white cloak. She tilted her head up to look at him, scowled, and pressed a little harder, hard enough that he lifted his hands and stepped back.

“Ent no need fer that,” Kofi said, smiling at her again. “Jus’ lookin’ t’say a friendly hello.”

Faizra slid the knife away with an equally practiced flick of her wrist, turning deliberately back towards the line, shuffling forward towards the well. Kofi stepped in close again after a moment, following her. When Faizra reached the front of the line, his hands were there without invitation to make the chore easier. Faizra scowled but didn’t protest, drinking several full mouthfuls of the cool water, before pouring the last of it over her scarf and wrapping it around her head once more, a cool trickle dribbling down her spine, a length at the bottom left loose and dry in case of sand.

Kofi reached for a drink of his own, and Faizra didn’t wait even a moment, walking away from the well as fast as the crowd would allow her, maybe a bit faster. She thought she felt his eyes on her again, but she didn’t look back to check. All the same, Faizra made her way through the market without stopping, until she was sure that she was swallowed by the crowd.

Kofi found her later anyway. Faizra was crouched in the shade of a wick’s stall, sorting the pebbles from handfuls of lentils for a few coins, sensitive fingers effortlessly flicking lentils into one basket and small occasional stones into another.

“Kid work, ent it?” Kofi crouched in front of her again, smiling.

“Ma’ehau,” Faizra spat the word, looking at him then away again, back out at the street. Her hand never paused its smooth, even motions.

“Jus’ passin’ by,” Kofi said, words as easy as his smile. “No need for that, is there?”

“You ent,” Faizra said, looking back at him. “You think I’m ovekastupid?”

Bajea(Expression of disbelief)!” Kofi shook his head. “How could you ask such a thing? I jus’ worry fer you, on the streets here alone. Hate t’see yer talents wasted on lentils.”

Faizra shook her head, looking away once more, fingers still fully engaged in sorting.

“We c’n help each other.” It was a few moments before Kofi spoke again. When he did his voice was low and gentle, almost how one would speak to a skittish animal. “I ent askin’ fer more than you c’n give, and you’ll get plenty in return. Think on it.”

Faizra spat on the ground again.

Kofi’s laugh was a low rumble in his throat. “I’ll fetch you somethin’ t’eat.”

Before Faizra could protest he was gone, sandals whisking silently over the dusty stones.

Faizra shook her head, grabbing another handful of lentils and working steadily, gauging the basket. Unless he took a long time she wouldn’t hardly be able to finish before he returned, and leaving meant forfeiting the few coins she’d made already, and the rest she stood to earn. Faizra spat in the dirt again and kept working.

Kofi’s shadow fell over her again not long later. He’d brought yogurt this time, cool in a small clay pot with flatbread to eat it with. Faizra stared at it, then scowled up at him. She couldn’t remember when last she’d had fresh yogurt; her mouth watered at the thought of it, and she wiped it on her sleeve.

Kofi set the pot down, the flatbread balanced over the top, and walked away.

Faizra held herself still until there was a good bit of distance between them, flicking the last of her handful of lentils into the basket. She snatched at the yogurt, ripping off a piece of bread and scooping up a massive chunk of yogurt, eating greedily. It was cool and sour, thick and smooth. Faizra ate all the yogurt she could with the flatbread, and the rest with her fingers, not leaving even the faintest white smear behind. She was so full that she was almost sleepy, and it was a few moments before she could start sorting again.

The yogurt meant Faizra could keep the few coins she’d earned, and so she stashed them and made her way out of the market, making her way through the stalls towards the abandoned hut on its edge where she’d been squatting lately. She was crossing the edge of an empty square when she heard a sharp yell, and the unmistakable sound of fists on flesh. Faizra glanced over more reflexively than anything - and there he was, Kofi, held by two men while a third hit him in the stomach again.

Faizra gritted her teeth hard enough that the still sore one in the back of her mouth throbbed, coming to a stop despite herself. It wasn’t none of her business, she told herself. He was nothing to her, and she owed him less than that. The third man pulled back, and the next punch caught Kofi high on the cheekbone, snapping his head to the side.

Faizra cursed aloud and hurried across the square, keeping to the shadows. She called to the mona, asking them for help, and a gust of wind struck one of the men holding Kofi in the chest, shoving him back hard enough that he had to let go. Kofi’s eyes snapped up, focusing on her. Faizra scowled at him and kept chatting, asking still for further help. She squeezed her eyes shut, and through the lids saw bright lights burst into existence, dazzling in the evening dark.

Then Kofi’s hand was on her arm and he was running, practically towing her behind him. Faizra didn’t pull away; she was running too, stumbling barefoot over the stones behind him at first, then finding a long, easy stride to match his. There were yells from behind them, angry shouts, and neither of the two slowed their strides for the many twists and turns through the little alleys on the edge of the market.

“Here,” Kofi came to a stop in front of a large warehouse, a heavy chain slung across the front entrance. “Better not t’go back into th’ market,” he had let go of Faizra’s arm at some point while they were running. He crossed to the side of the building, stepped up to a narrowly cracked window and shoved it further open. It was a high ledge and he reached a hand out to her.

Faizra scowled, a stitch aching in her side. the yogurt didn’t churn in her stomach like a lower quality meal would’ve; she didn’t feel any need to be sick, despite how hard she was still breathing. She glanced back over her shoulder. How long ago had they lost the men? This area wasn’t one Faizra knew well; she didn’t like her odds finding her way around alone.

All the same, she didn’t accept Kofi’s hand, placing her own strong ones on the window sill and lifting herself up and over, giving her skirt a quick tug and shake to keep it from getting caught. She landed lightly inside the warehouse, and Kofi came through the window after her, striding across the floor without hesitation. Just ahead, there was a collection of makeshift tents and bedrolls with a few lanterns scattered between them. As Faizra approached she noticed - and smelled - some cooking stoves in the little camp. They were maybe twenty total, mostly duri with a few of what might’ve been imbali. Faizra didn’t sense any fields among them, even when she got closer. Kofi was already among them, laughing and chatting, brushing off questions about the bruise darkening on his cheekbone.

“Ey,” Kofi called, looking up when she approached. “This is Faizra ezre Taci - she helped me out of a pinch jus’ now. Give ‘er a proper welcome, yeh?”

There was a burst of names and introductions, Kofi’s crew ranging from a few children young enough to wriggle through the smallest spaces to teenagers of both genders and a tough looking group of men, all with hard muscles and scars.

“Y’can sleep here,” Kofi said, casually. “Ent much, but sand mostly don’t get in and we’ve pillows t’spare, and them as’ll watch the entrances.”

Between the yogurt, the magic and the run, Faizra felt bone tired, too tired to face the rat warren of market streets and find her way to another squat. One night, she told herself, wasn’t joining his crew - it was just a night. She hadn’t laid her head on anything as soft as a pillow in months, and though she dragged it a bit from the main group, she was close enough to hear soft comfortable chatter and the occasional burst of laughter. It lulled her to sleep easily enough; if she had remembered her dreams, Faizra would have known they were of a better time when the soft voices were her family’s and she had no cares beyond learning a new trick and playing games in the river.

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Last edited by Faizra pezre Taci on Mon Jun 24, 2019 9:38 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Faizra pezre Taci
Posts: 41
Joined: Mon Jun 03, 2019 4:59 pm
Topics: 10
Race: Wick
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Writer: moralhazard
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Mon Jun 24, 2019 9:32 am

Afternoon, Achtus 30, 2718
Windward Market
Faizra walked into Windward market slow and careful, glancing first one way than the other. The purse she has lifted minutes earlier was left behind in an alley, the coins tucked here and there in the tight folds of her clothing and head wrap. She stopped at a stall to exchange a few of them for a handful of skewers, and gnawed carefully at one as she walked between stalls, as easy and casual as if she belonged there.

Faizra finished the first skewer, picking leftover bits of meat and gristle from her teeth with her tongue and the flimsy bit of wood. The ache in her belly was sated, for now. The other skewers were no less tempting than they’d been before, but the desperate, urgent need was gone. Faizra glanced around, searching for a spot in the shade.

Her eyes landed on a familiar group of kids. Kofi’s kids, three squatting together, rolling what looked like hand-carved dice on the ground. Not as thin as some, but still too-thin, scrawny little things crouched out of the sun. Faizra knew the hungry looks on their faces, the way they focused on the die to keep from feeling it. It wasn't the first time she'd seen some of his folk since she'd been to his squat, but mostly they'd been walking, not just sitting. And mostly they hadn't been so young. The oldest couldn't've been more than ten - the youngest not six. Faizra worked the last bit of gristle from between two teeth, sucking on them to be sure, and glanced down at the skewers in her hand, counting them once in her head.

Faizra dropped down next to the kids with a nod. Sana’hulaliHello.” She extended a skewer to each, keeping the last for herself.

DomeaThank you,” there was a chorus of two voices, and a third followed a moment later. The three children sucked the meat from the skewers with single-minded focus, as if the rest of the world had vanished. Faizra ate hers with nearly the same focus.

After they were done, a grubby little hand reached out with two dice, offering them to Faizra. She took them, rolling them between long fingers. “Whatcha playin’?”

“Lowest roll’s winner.” One of the others piped up.

“What d’ye have?” Faizra asked.

“Eight,” the older boy grumbled. “Six,” the littlest scuffed her foot against the ground. “Three.” The third, a little boy somewhere indeterminately in the middle, grinned and puffed his chest out.

“Three’s fair benny,” Faizra lifted the dice, squinting at them, raising and lowering them in her hand to check the weights. “Any stakes?” She lifted one die on a fingertip and rolled it down into her palm with a little wriggle, then did the same with the other.

OhanteHonor,” one of them said, and all three giggled.

Faizra cupped her hands, blowing on them once with a look of deep concentration, and rolled. The dice rattled on the stones and landed, both on one.

The three kids stared at the dice, then looked as one up to Faizra. She grinned.

“C’n you do it ev’ry time?” The oldest asked.

“Ea,” Faizra scooped the dice up again. She shifted them around in her palm, spat on the ground, and rolled again - two ones.

“Is it only ones, like?” The middle boy leaned forward over his scarred, bare feet, staring down at the dice.

Faizra let out a huff of air between her teeth, scooped up the dice, and rolled two sixes.

“You using magic?” The middle boy accused.

“What, fer you?” Faizra grinned again, teeth flashing in her dark face. “Ent worth t’ bother.”

The three kids nodded, all accepting the answer, apparently pleased by it.

“Do it again,” the littlest said, a dirty thumb creeping into her mouth. She was a bit old for it, but she sucked at it anyway.

Faizra shrugged, scooped up the dice, and rolled two more sixes.

For a time, all four hung close to the nearest wall in the shade. Eventually the afternoon sun slanted and the shadows lengthened, and they made their way to a half-abandoned well tucked into one of the market’s corners, Faizra accompanying them without comment. The little girl held Faizra’s hand with sticky, dirty fingers, and Faizra made no attempt to stop her.

Two boys lounged at the well, wrapped in smooth white cloth looked as if it had been clean maybe as recently as a few days ago. One even wore sandals, scuffed things tied carefully to his feet.

“Well’s fer the river frogs,” one said, loudly, looking at the four as they approached. “Else there’s tax.” He thrust out a hand too large for his body.

Faizra straightened up to her full height, letting go of the little girl’s hand. She stepped forward, looking between the two boys long and slow, any hint of a smile gone from her face. She spat on the cobblestones, and raised an eyebrow. The cloud of mona around her flexed and both boys shuddered as her glamour brushed them. One took a reflexive step back and Faizra grinned.

“Witch,” the other boy muttered.

“Oes,” Faizra looked between them. They were maybe fifteen or sixteen, lanky but both still taller and heavier than her. She muttered a few syllables of monite and bright lights flared around them, close enough to sting the eyes. The boy who’d flinched back cried out and covered his eyes and Faizra turned to the other.

“Y’wanna see what else I can do?” She asked. “Or y’wanna let us get some water?”

The boy covering his eyes backed up another step, half-tripped, then turned and fled. His friend scowled, looking Faizra up and down, then turned and fled after him.

The little girl took Faizra’s hand again. The two boys were laughing, calling taunts at the retreating boys. They all four drank, until the youngest was so full of water she looked drunk.

“Ye ent careful, ye’ll sound like a waterskin when ye move,” Faizra knelt and poked her distended stomach. The girl giggled.

Faizra walked the three of them back across the market with full waterskins. By the time they reached Kofi’s hideout, taking a long twisting route that the littles seemed to know by heart, Faizra was carrying the youngest and her waterskin, the girl drooling on the wick’s shoulder as she slept.

Faizra went in to set her down on one of the bedrolls, leaving the waterskin with her. She returned a few nods and greetings, making her way back to the exit. Behind her, the two boys were dumping their water into what looked like a communal pot.

“Why go?” Kofi was leaning against the wall just inside the door.

Faizra stopped, looking at him.

“I can’t be there t’protect ‘em always,” Kofi scowled. “Well was safe yesterday. Glad you was there - this time. An’ what if you hadn’t been?” His eyes flickered to the sleeping girl, passed out where Faizra had left her. “Pe’a, Faizra. Jus’ think on it, s’all.”

“I ent changed my mind,” Faizra said. She knew from Kofi’s grin that he could see the weakness in her eyes, and she scowled, rubbing at her face with one hand as if she could scrub it away. She stepped past him; he didn’t reach to stop her.

“You could be one ‘f us.” Kofi’s voice followed her out, slow and soft. “F’you wanted.”

Faizra stiffened, nearly missing a step, then kept walking. It was a long way to her squat still, a long way alone.

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Faizra pezre Taci
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Sat Jun 29, 2019 2:13 am

Afternoon, Achtus 37, 2718
Windward Market
“When y’wan t’catch a fish, nanabo,” Faizra watched her da’s strong hands as he spoke, standing at his knee and admiring the way he deftly pulled a squirming worm from a pot of dirt and thrust the hook through it, “y’have t’make sure he sees the worm and no the hook. Ye chen?”

He winked at her, that same hand reaching to ruffle her wiry curls.

Faizra giggled. “Oes, da. S’bait.”

“Oes,” Her da agreed. “Now, t’fish, he sees that fat worm,” he jerked the line, making it wriggle, and Faizra giggled again, “‘n he don’t think twice to bite it.”

“I’ll fish!” Faizra clambered up onto his knee, reaching for the rod.

“Patience, nanabo,” Her da didn’t stop her, though, bouncing his leg once to settle her into place. “You listen now, oes? There’s them as think we ent no smarter than that fish. They goin’ to dangle things in front of you, nanabo, right jinga things.” He lifted the rod, making the worm dance in front of Faizra’s face.

“I ent no fish!” Faizra swatted at the worm.

“Tha’s right,” Her da agreed. “You ent,” his hand smoothed down her back, and he positioned the rod in front of them, holding it and letting her smaller hands settle in above his. “An’ don’t you forget it.”


Faizra woke stiff and sore with wetness on her cheeks. She was draped over the top of a wooden ledge built high off the ground in an old warehouse. Winds stirred the dust on the floor, blowing it over abandoned empty crates.

Faizra leaned her head over the edge of the slat and spat a reddish blob on the floor, running her thick tongue over fuzzy teeth, ignoring a sharp tearing of pain in her lip. It was a few minutes before she could remember what happened - in the market, maybe the day before to judge from the pale light streaming in, going for a coin purse and missing, her fingers slipping and tugging the target’s waistband. She’d lost the wallet and they had chased her down besides. She’d fallen - someone kicked her, maybe not just one, definitely not just once - gingerly, Faizra probed her ribs, hissing through her teeth at the aching pain that spread through her.

She didn’t remember how she’d gotten back to the squat. Faizra checked her head, finding a tender lump. Her fingers wandered over her face next - she could see fine, no soreness around her eye sockets. Her lip was split, painful, and one nostril was crushed with blood. Faizra leaned over the slat and spat on the ground again, wanting the taste of blood out of her mouth. It didn’t help.

She wriggled back, slow and careful, and eased herself down the half-broken ladder propped against the wall, bare toes probing each of the remaining steps before she dared put any weight on it. Her head swam more than once, but she made it to the ground before she retched. Nothing came up; just Faizra on her knees, gasping and coughing at the ground, head spinning.

Water, Faizra thought dizzily. Water. Her mouth pulled and ached at the thought. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to think. It was flooding dry outside, no hope of rain water. She’d have to risk the abandoned well. She wrapped her ripped scarf around her face with shaking hands, muttering incoherent prayers to Hulali under her breath.

Faizra stumbled out of the warehouse. The sun was high overhead, beating down on her. Her vision blurred, but she remembered to stay in the shade tucked inside the fence, watching until she couldn’t see any trace of another person. Only then did she slip out, wriggling the loose board closed again behind her.

Walking, Faizra told herself, squinting through the dusty air. She made her way slowly towards the well, a crumbled thing of falling stones. Faizra gripped the edges with her hands, then heaved herself over, dropping to the pit below. She landed in a crouch, but her legs gave out without warning, dropping her sprawling and dizzy on the ground. It was a long moment before she could move, but finally Faizra crawled across the round floor of the well, and pulled herself into the low tunnel that led from the opening into the earth. It felt like she went for hours, mud dirtying her knees and hands, but really there it was just inside - a tiny puddle of water.

Faizra stared at it, head throbbing. She began to whisper to the mona, asking them to help her, to purify it for her. She scooped up a handful and cradled it between her palms, watching in the dim light as the murkiness cleared. She bent over, drinking greedily from her palms first, then scooping up another handful, another, until she couldn’t scrape up any more drops, whatever she tried to hold falling through her fingers. She untied her scarf, soaking it in the little remaining, and eased the heavy wet thing back around her head, cool relief against the painful throbbing.

That was when she heard it.

Voices, coming from - behind her? Faizra, awkward on her hands and knees, couldn’t turn around, couldn’t look back; she closed her eyes and listened. Two voices - familiar, Faizra realized with a weak shaking feeling of relief.

She crawled backwards along the tunnel on her hands and knees.

”Bajea!” Yelped a small voice. “Hulali’s tits, somebody’s ‘ere!”

“Hush up, oveka,” grumbled a second, older, lower.

“Jus’ me,” Faizra called back, her voice shaky and hoarse in her throat. “Faizra.”

There was a pause, silence, then - “Faizra!” The younger voice cheered, happily.

Faizra couldn’t exactly explain the feeling of it. She wouldn’t’ve bothered to try, really, but she hadn’t heard her name said like that in years. Aiiolqaeiem, vreska maybe, wika at best, those were the names for her now. She stopped, head aching, still half in the smaller tunnel.

Two sets of hands grasped her, one big and one small, and pulled. Two sets of dark eyes looked at her in the deep cool darkness of the well, the oldest of the boys she’d helped out a seven day back and one of Kofi’s older boys, nearly her age but a handful of inches taller and with visible wiry strength.

“Bajea!” The younger boy gasped again. “Wha’ happened t’ye?”

Faizra shrugged, standing clumsily, moving with care about bruised and aching ribs, sore and stiff muscles.

“But -“ the younger boy stared up at her.

“Kofi’s been lookin’ for you,” the older boy said.

Faizra shrugged again. “Ent matter t’ me.” The bottom of the well seemed to pitch and Faizra stumbled from standing still.

Then two boys exchanged glances; it was more or less the last thing Faizra saw.

Faizra woke up again, this time lying on something soft. A small hot body was curled up against her, breathing in a soft gentle rhythm. The little thing twisted - again, Faizra realized - and a small foot dug into one of the bruises on her thigh.

Faizra glanced down to see the little girl from a sevenday past, face smoothed in sleep, curled with her head tucked beneath Faizra’s chin. The world throbbed. Faizra knew where she was; it was the bright hot color of mid afternoon, and by now she could recognize Kofi’s place. They must have brought her, she thought fuzzily, although she wasn’t quite sure who they were.

Faizra shifted, wrapped a skinny, bruised arm around the little girl, and fell asleep again.

When Faizra woke up again it was late, cool now. The girl was lying against her - still? Again? She seemed to be as deeply asleep as ever, although she’d moved around a bit. Another small body was at her back, just as warm. Faizra eased out from between them and rose, her tongue like sandpaper. She took a few steps, careful and slow, looking around with heavy, aching eyes.

“‘Ere,” a familiar hand extended a cool metal cup, Kofi looking at her.

Faizra scrubbed at her bruised face with one hand. She took the cup and drank, inhaling the water so fast that she coughed and had to stop. Kofi’s hand reached out again, holding the cup steady as Faizra shuddered, then drawing back to let her drink again.

“Porridge?” Kofi offered. “S’not much, but... f’you think you can keep it down.”

Faizra missed the small warm bodies against here already. It wasn’t cold, but something like a chill went through her. “Ea,” she said, and added, ”domea domea.”

Kofi grinned at her. “Ent nuthin’.”

He gave her a rough bowl full of soft spiced grains, warm rather than hot. Faizra ate them with greedy hands, slowly but without hesitation, aware of Kofi studying her.

“Y’gon t’go, then?” Kofi asked as she finished. “Can’t make y’ stay. Ought t’ know yer welcome.”

Faizra sucked the last of the sticky, starchy moisture from her fingers. She looked at Kofi; she thought not of the water and porridge, not of the pillows that had been heaped beneath her or the roof overhead, but of small wet hands in hers and hot bodies cuddling her as she slept, of her name said in a tone of cheerful excitement, of the relief that had flooded her when she realized who was in the tunnel.

Something in her chest ached, but Faizra didn’t know what or why.

“Guess I could stay fer a pinna mana time,” Faizra shrugged.

Kofi started. He’d taken the bowl from her at one point and half turned away, but now looked back. He was grinning, grinning with the same easy confidence he had had when they first met. “Ea?”

“Ea,” Faizra shrugged again.

“Fair benny,” Kofi grinned wider. “Get some sleep, then, ‘cause you look like y’ need it. Time’ll come for the rest soon ‘nough.”

“I ent ‘greed to nothin’ but stayin’,” Faizra said softly.

“‘f course,” Kofi nodded. “Just some rules and all, ‘bout watches and keeping us all safe. Ent nothin’.”

“Ea,” Faizra rubbed her still tender head, fingers skimming the bruise there. She winced once. “... night, then.”

“Good night, Faizra pezre Taci,” Kofi said, smiling at her.

Faizra made her way back to the heap of pillows and the two hot flailing bodies. She sank easily into the space between them, and she fell back asleep without effort, the gentle thrum of belonging in her chest.
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