In Gansa, there were no such things as Quams, Dommes, or even pillow forts.
A nation clinging to the river of life far to the east of Ori'ehem, its people thrived within their own means, never venturing far out, or sought to enrich their lands by taking those of others. These Gansans were a strong shapely people, skin dark and brown, eyes bright and lively as a result of the bustling activities of the day which are delegated to certain members of every community, who each took a part of their own expertise to serve others. That was how they survived for so long, amidst the changing economies and histories of their neighboring nations who've adopted advanced means of production or taken on new gods in the form of Dommes, a beacon of wisdom and pathfinding.
The Gansans don't believe in that. They had their own problems to deal with. That would take a greater precedence than the words of a mythical dove of the East.
As a Gansan herself, Nerren never liked the feel of a basket over her head as she did her chores. She'd seen girls younger than seven summers already adopting the usual Gansan fashions, but it was just not for her. It just wasn't gonna work, especially when she spent most of her freetime stalking after the men as they hunted, or accompanied the elderly women as they foraged for food. Atop a branch, she'd sit and watched as her little village ate, worked, and slept—a cycle she had grown all too familiar with, and loved for its simplicity and comfort.
But soon, it would change. There was word that a new Domma would be coming, the new Tirkju'a, as they called her. Nerren had every intention of finding out more about her.
"Who?"
"The Domma Sijarkes."
The elderly group she often accompanied had decided to come out that afternoon to sit by the banks and wash their clothes. Having nothing better to do due to being unmarried—a privilege by which she had surprisingly found to be enjoyable—Nerren thought of herself as a guardian, and less like a guest.
"Why isn't the Tirkju'a coming?" asked one of the women.
"What do you mean the Tirkju'a? Haven't you heard? He'd been declared missing."
Nerren frowned, catching bits of their conversation from her usual spot atop a fig tree. Her hair had been tied back with reeds so as to not get in the way of her adventures.
"Whoever it is that's coming, they'd must've only come to Gansa because they need something. Food, herbs, or making our young run off to work their lands. I've grown too old to know otherwise."
"Gansa is rich. Rich in spirit, rich in people, rich in nature's bounty. Why invite them in?"
Nerren descended, brows furrowed as she took her shawl and wrapped it around her head. "Why not?"
They all glanced at her, the strange girl who seems to have forgotten her responsibilities at home, caring for family as she has yet to marry and start a family of her own. She was still young, but that was it. The new generations have been finding it rather difficult to start a family. The men in the village were a depleting population, a good number of them being employed across the Order in severely underpaid levels of work.
It's a reality which has not affected Nerren much, but to the elderly women of the village, there would be very little of a future for her at the trajectory she was going. She was completely invested in the lives of others, of being of use.
"I wanted to help out, even just a little bit," Nerren said after noting their silence. She gestured to the clothes they had just finished washing. "I could take these back to the village, to your homes, if that's fine."
And in times like this, they could let her circumstance slide in favor of her kindness. A kindness that young Gansans like Nerren won't be able to hold for much long.