Flames danced among the mahogany, mirroring prancing shadows encircling the ring of fire. Cheers rose with melodic singing as Berki, Yera, Kitana and Dave danced around the ceremonial bonfire, lifting and swaying Squirrel bones with each sprightly step. The sound of ankle bells and whistling steel-lutes travelled through the air to the tallest Bull Thistle as smoke blew in plumes above their heads.
People were talking about the day's work – who had slain what, whose acorns, flax and millet were heaviest, and how bountiful the supplies would be for the next few months to Winter and beyond. Their voices, however, drifted like passing log-water behind Anita's ears.
The squirrel flesh in her hands had grown cold, and she no longer felt the texture of their bone. The taste of its marrow was numb to her. Looking around, the ritual felt so familiar, yet so surreal at the same time. A pair of eyes stared into her direction. It looked down at her meat, and frowned. Understanding what the Chief meant, she brought the flesh hurriedly to her lips, and tried to nibble.
The smell brought back the memory of the creature's hollow eyes, and she held down a sudden gag. She couldn't do it. It just wasn't possible. The Chief finally nodded with a grunt. As he turned to the beckons of the Monarch, Anita made sure no one looked her way before stuffing the bone and flesh into a small bag by her waist. Clearing her throat, she sought some water from Nina, who had sat down beside her with a clay jug.
"Anita, how are you feeling? I heard there was an accident – that must have been awful!" Nina asked with wide eyes, the concern emanating from them in wet glimmers from the firelight.
"Oh, it was scary, yes. But I didn't get hurt that badly in the end – " Just as she was about to finish, a prick sent nerves tingling down the tip of her tongue. Thank goodness it had happened, for she was about to complete her sentence with the words, Cullen had saved me.
"Is your wound alright, dear? " Nina asked, placing a hand on her knee. It radiated, deflecting shards of yellow and orange from the fire. Its warmth flowed to Anita's heart.
Nina was one of the kinder pixies in her band. Anita had always felt more comfortable with her. They had known each other since young, and would play together often before their coming-of-age rites. Following their 10th years, however, Nina's rank rose higher as her skills were better than Anita at all respects, from gathering, to embroidery, and to scavenging. With this, they grew apart, being able to spend less and less time together as different missions were assigned to members depending on their ranks, of which Anita was far from proud of for herself. Yet, she continued to express concern and care regularly, something very rare among pixies of different ranks. It was something very much to be cherished.
"It's getting better, thank you. I'll be sure to be more careful." Anita felt her cheeks lift in a smile, loosening as if from a grasp. Only then did she realised how tensed they had been throughout the day. "How about you, how are things?" She asked Nina, eyes glancing at her locks of lavender hair, too stunning to miss in the flickering golden glow.
"It was quite alright, my partner and I managed to collect a dozen acorns today, and even had some spare time to race to the top of the oak twigs! The view was so beautiful. I wish you were there with me," a gasp of exclamation escaped her cherry lips at the thought of the memory. She was sparkling.
A tightness stung Anita's chest as she listened to the memories, reminded of the meagre supply of ten millets and one lone acorn from the day's toil. Thoughts harking back to the sack in her tent, it seemed the number would never change, regardless of how many times she recounted its contents. A shadow must have cast her eyes though she tried to smile and be happy for her friend, for Nina's voice softened slowly to an awkward pause, before darting back to her silent friend. "How about you, Anita? What else did you manage to find today in the Crimson Moon Oaks?"
"Oh...there were lots of sparrow eggs in the nests up above..." Anita's voice trailed off.
This was a lie, of course, for she did not have the strength to climb after the failed wrestle with the Squirrel. Prior to that, most of her energies had been spent on foraging already. Had she had the energy and time to explore, however, she would have found sparrow nests. They were her favourite birds to watch from the mosses. And she was a deft climber after all. It was the one skill she had that she was proud of. Perhaps, the only skill.
"Nina, come join us! What are you sitting at the edge for?" Three chirrupy voices called towards their direction. The ritual dancers had completed their ceremonial duties, and it was time for the mass dance when everyone would enjoy the night's festive air with the spikes of malt beer. Had Anita been in the mood she would have drunk a fair portion of beer herself. But she was not. They weren't calling for her, anyway.
"I'll be there! Anita, come join us!" Nina touched Anita's elbow, forgetting all about acorns and sparrow nests.
"It's alright, I'm feeling a little tired. You go ahead and have fun!" Anita struggled a smile. Hopefully it had looked convincing. Her fatigue surely was.
"Alright then. Take care, dear, I'll see you later!" And with those parting words, Nina skipped off, violet dress flowing as a wisp of lavender wafted in her trail. Alone again, Anita went back to sipping the dew water, lips grazing the edge of her coral bell mug. It tasted sour. Though it wet her dry lips, at least enough to soothe it.
The Chief stood up, his belly bulging like a hanging mushroom-sac. It was amazing how he still managed to fly with those small wings.
"For today's feast, we must thank the great Squirrel, as well as the person who slain it," he announced, voice rasp and bellowing. It brought the crowd huddling together, even the dancers from the far back.
He extended his arms out and beckoned to Cullen, who stood up quite awkwardly. In the eyes of the tribe he was a valiant hero destined for glory, being the first heir to the band's Chieftain. In Anita's eyes, however, stood a man who simply wanted to study the stars, explore the highlands, and perhaps write a book or two. He didn't want to hunt. He never liked killing. His lips were smiling, but his eyes wore a dark shroud, as though still in mourning. They always looked like that after each successful hunt. No one else seemed to notice, however. Not even his father.
The crowd cheered and clapped for their victorious heir, to which Cullen forced a wider smile, and raised his hands in thanks. "It is not just the work of a sole man that reaped today's bountiful harvest. Far from it. We ought all to celebrate our hard work together. Thank you all." He raised his hands once again, extending them to mean everyone in the band – the medda, and the crowd cheered once more, louder this time. Amidst the crowd, his eyes met Anita's, as if on purpose. She blushed, and looked down. Around her, women swooned in whispers.
"You are too kind, my son. Some people need a boost in their contributions." The Monarch said rather softly with a volume just enough to travel to the ears of her target. Gaze pointing to Anita's direction, it bore into her pupils like a pair of daggers.
The rest of the bandmates shuffled uncomfortably, and resisted looking at their comrade, whom they have known since young. Though, Anita knew that in their hearts, they concurred. She accrued the least resources. On top of that, she was the only one still in the rank of Bedluko – the lowest rank for female foragers.
The coral bell curled under her tightened grasp. The wounds in her right thigh and ankle stung even more.
How badly she wanted to run up the nearest oak and hide in the closest sparrow nest. If not for her injuries, she would have been able to. She wanted to disown the band - disown herself! And just talk to the sparrows while looking up at the stairs, nestled in their comforting chest feathers. They have always been kindly to her. Even during her childhood days, when she ever got lost among the branches. Though pixies often warned of their slyness and carnivorous spirits, the sparrows she had met in her lifetime never thought twice about sharing berries or hinting to the right direction with their chestnut beaks.
"Where are you going, child?" A mother sparrow had chirped to her when she got lost among the branches of a young oak.
Seeing that she was probably no older than 6, and very much lost, she wiped the thick streaks off the little girl's cheeks with her chest feathers, and nuzzled her hair gently. "Let me bring you down to the ground. Not quite a high-lander, are you?" Her warm voice filled the child with so much comfort, she stopped crying, and nodded. The mother sparrow picked her up gently with her firm talons, and swooped down to the ground. It was a terrifying trip for any pixling. But tremendously exhilarating for this particular one. Upon reaching the ground in a feathery circle of dust, she cried to the mother sparrow for a second flight. She laughed her sweet chuckle and kissed the child on her forehead. Then, she spread her wings - how brilliantly they shone in the sunlight! And off she flew to her nest high above as the sound of footsteps came running towards the little girl.
Though the memory was from a long time ago, it remained etched in Anita's mind, kept in a pond that flowed whenever she needed it. As it flowed to her mind, it brought some comfort. A few wet beads slipped out, hanging from her lashes. Anita wiped them away quickly.
Just as she lifted her coral bell to her lips once more, someone walked past her, and she heard the words: Meet me at the Dapple pond later. You know when.
A coarse hand touched her shoulder and melted away as its owner disappeared into the rest of the crowd. Though brief, it was enough to send shivers up her spine. Eyes cast towards the shimmering dew cupped between her hands, she saw herself inside, lips softening into a smile.
~❋❋❋~
To be continued