With Rylor’s pack slung over my shoulder, I pressed eastward under Solara’s rising light, the spring air crisp with the scent of blooming tart-fruits and the distant rumble of geysers in the ridges. The plains stretched before me, dotted with Hexapods grazing in triads, their iridescent hides catching the morning glow. My steps felt lighter now, the crucible of yesterday’s haste behind me, but Nua’s command gnawed at my thoughts like a small hexapod on a vine.
“Take only the clothes on your back,” the Shaper had said. Yet here I was, provisioned by a kindly trapper. Was this defiance? I pondered as I walked, the path winding past scattered farmsteads where women tended orchards in flowing skirts, their long hair tied back against the breeze. In my haste, I had debated dressing, bending the words for practicality. Now, with Rylor’s aid, the folly of literal obedience struck me fully. To trek to Aetheria’s eastern shores without food, rest, or help? I would have perished in days, a bleached skeleton amid the quicksand pits, never reaching the blue. Nua’s will was harmony, not self-destruction. The beasts of this land—the Velithons mating in sacred sequence, the Skydrakes circling in threes—accepted the land’s gifts without question. So too must I. I resolved then: aid offered in kindness would be accepted, for the journey’s spirit demanded survival, not starvation.
By midday, the settlements thinned, giving way to wilder expanses where Spikecrests roamed the fringes, their spines casting long shadows. Fatigue crept in, my legs aching from the endless march, but the resolve buoyed me. As Solara dipped toward the horizon, painting the sky in hues of Korath’s crimson, I spotted a lone hut nestled against a cluster of broad-leafed trees, smoke rising lazily from its chimney. It stood isolated, far from the clusters of Nuahaven’s kin, ringed by mended fences and a garden of hardy roots.
A young woman emerged as I approached, her form smaller and graceful, clad in a simple dress of woven hide, her long hair cascading like the streams from the Titan Spires. She watched me with wary eyes, a mending needle in hand, repairing a torn net by the door.
“Well met, stranger,” she called, her voice steady but laced with loneliness. “You’re far from the valley paths. What brings you this way, alone and laden?”
I halted, catching my breath. “Heth of Nuahaven,” I replied. “Heading east on… a journey. And you? This hut seems solitary for one so young.”
She smiled faintly, setting aside her work. “Solitary suits me, Heth. I’m Lirael. Come, you look weary from the road. Spring’s warmth deceives—nights chill quickly out here. Share my fire; I’ve stew simmering.”
Her offer warmed me more than the fading light. Remembering my resolve, I nodded. “Thank you, Lirael. A moment’s rest would be welcome.”
We sat by her hearth, the stew rich with roots and hexapod meat, flavors sharpened by herbs from her garden. As we ate, she drew me out with gentle questions. “Nuahaven’s news reaches us slowly here. The Covenant holds strong? Families thriving under the trinity?”
“Aye,” I said, savoring the meal. “Births blessed, unions sacred. But tell me, Lirael—why dwell so far? The wilds are harsh for a woman alone.”
Her eyes clouded, spoon pausing. She studied me a moment, gauging my reaction, her gaze searching for judgment or pity. Seeing neither, she began slowly. “It’s a long tale, Heth. Not one I share lightly. But you seem kind—perhaps from the valley’s heart, where mercy is taught. It began with love, as many falls do.”
I nodded, encouraging her. “Love under Nua should lift, not burden.”
She sighed, setting her bowl aside. “I was young, like you now, living in Nuahaven’s folds. There was a man—a male named Kael, strong and kind, with hands that built like yours. We met in the orchards, sharing glances under Solara’s gaze. But unions demand the trinity—syren to bind, female to nurture, male to complete. We sought a syren, Heth, we truly did. The village had few unpaired; most were in bonds, their harmonies set. One syren, Eland, seemed promising—gentle, with a voice that calmed like a stream. But he was promised elsewhere, his kin arranging a match for land’s sake.”
Lirael paused, her fingers tracing the net’s weave, watching my face for scorn. “Kael and I waited, seasons turning. Spring bloomed, tart-fruits ripened, but no syren came free. Whispers grew—’They tarry too long,’ folk said. We dreamed of a family, of young circling in threes like Skydrakes. But impatience crept in, Boana’s shadow veiled as desire. One night, under Luneth’s pale light, we… yielded. No syren preceded; discord claimed us. A child came, but twisted—brutish, dim, a Discordant. The village shunned me, Heth. ‘Opposition’s mark,’ they called it. Kael fled east, ashamed, leaving me to face the elders alone.”
Her voice trembled, but she pressed on, eyes meeting mine. “The road to exile was winding. First, whispers in the markets, women turning away their long hair swaying like judgment. Then, outright scorn—children taunted, men like the elders declaring me unfit for harmony. I bore it awhile, mending what I could, but the weight crushed. One dawn, I packed and left, seeking solitude here where quicksand and geysers keep company scarce. Self-reliance became my creed—fixing nets, mending hides, repairing what breaks. Good at it, too. Turns out opposition teaches endurance.”
I listened, heart heavy. “Nua teaches mercy, Lirael. Your fall echoes Elyria’s old rifts, but redemption lies in faith.”
She leaned forward, eyes thoughtful. “Ah, but think on it, Heth. Elyria fell to division—tribes warring, customs fracturing like our people’s drift before the Gloomtreads. My fall was small, a single discord, yet it mirrored the great opposition. Boana whispers in impatience, turning love to ruin. What if Nua allows such stumbles to teach? My exile forged strength; perhaps Elyria’s wars birthed the Covenant. We rise from shadows, wiser under the moons.”
Her words stirred me, questions blooming like spring vines. Nua’s ways were profound, her lessons layered. “You’ve insight born of trial,” I said. “The Shaper speaks through all. And your tale… it resonates, Lirael. I’ve known my own shadows in love, though not as deep as yours.”
She tilted her head, curiosity softening her features. “Shadows in love? You, young and unburdened? Tell me, Heth—perhaps sharing lightens both our loads.”
I sighed, the fire’s crackle filling the pause. “Not a fall like yours, but a void. In Nuahaven, as I pursued my craft—shaping wood into homes, mending what the wilds broke—offers came. Women, graceful and kind, their long hair flowing like streams, approached with syrens in tow, proposing unions under the Covenant. First was Mira, a female from the orchards, her syren partner Seren a gentle soul with a voice like wind through the Spires. They saw my steady hands, thought me a fine addition. But it felt… wrong. No spark, no harmony stirring in my heart. I turned them away politely, focusing on my work instead.”
Lirael nodded, urging me on. “And others?”
“Aye,” I continued, memories surfacing like bubbles from a hot spring. “Then came Elara, smaller and nurturing, her eyes bright as Solara’s dawn. She and her syren, Vaelis, had waited seasons for a male. Vaelis was strong, more masculine in build, with a laugh that echoed the geysers. They courted me during a spring feast, speaking of families circling in threes. But again, it didn’t feel right—the bond lacked depth, like a mended net fraying at the edges. I buried myself in crafting, building halls that stood firm while my heart wandered empty. The townsfolk whispered, Lirael—’Heth delays too long,’ they’d say. ‘A man of his age, unwed? Opposition lurks in solitude.’ Elders questioned me at councils, pressing for unions to strengthen Nuahaven.”
She leaned back, thoughtful. “And did the lack drive you?”
“It did,” I admitted. “Without love’s pull, work became my anchor. I honed my skills, repairing what others broke, shaping groves into shelters against the chill. But the questions grew—friends jesting, women glancing away. It wore on me, that void, making me question Nua’s plan. After such trials, understanding your difficulties isn’t hard, Lirael. Love’s path is fraught; one misstep, and shadows claim us.”
We talked long into the evening, sharing tales of Nuahaven’s feasts and her solitary crafts. As moons rose, she said, “Heth, if I’m to live alone in wilderness, why not move with purpose? Let me join you eastward. I’m handy—good at fixing and mending things. Nets for fishing, cloaks from hides. You’d not regret it.”
I shook my head. “The command was mine alone, Lirael. Danger awaits; I can’t burden you.”
She smiled shrewdly. “You’ve accepted aid—Rylor’s pack, my stew. Provisions, yes? A pack animal would be provision too—carrying loads, no questions asked.”
“True,” I conceded.
“Then why not a person more useful? I mend what breaks, forage what sustains. No burden, but a boon. Nua’s harmony thrives in company.”
Her logic pierced my doubt. “Very well, Lirael. If you insist, we’ll go together.”
Come dawn, spring’s dew glistening on the grasses, we departed eastward, her small pack slung beside mine, the hut left behind. The path called, and with a companion at my side, the journey felt less daunting under Solara’s watchful eye.
spikosauropod 