Dindi

The next morning, Dindi kept glancing sidelong to try to catch a peek at Kavio as everyone washed and prepared to travel. He was on the boys’ side of the river, of course, around the bend and out of sight as the girls bathed and painted on the kohl blindfolds of Initiates. Sadly, Dindi had to wear her old wrap again—she would have much preferred to wear the wonderful weave that Kavio had lent her. She still hadn’t had a chance to return it to him.

Instead of Kavio, however, Zavaedi Brena called her aside to speak with her.

“Dindi,” the older woman said. “I’m sorry. Your friend has just told us he has no name.”

“He has a name, it’s—”

“He has no clan and no tribe. Dindi, child—he’s an exile.”

She felt cold. “So?”

“So we cannot permit an exile to travel with us.”

“But he saved me…”

“Which is why you must be there when I tell him that he may not travel with us.”

Her stomach turned. “Must we do this?”