The tribe council

Baole's return to the tribe, alongside the others, had already begun to stir attention among the villagers. A sharp, excited scream pierced the square, coming from a young boy playing with his friend. He pointed eagerly toward Baole and shouted with delight.

"Baole! It's Baole! He's back!"

The children around him instantly turned in the direction of the commotion. Their faces lit up with recognition and joy. Without hesitation, they launched into a playful race, each determined to be the first to reach Baole.

Their shrill cries and scampering feet drew the attention of the villagers, who began emerging from their huts. As they spotted Baole approaching—leading his horse by the reins, a wild grin playing on his lips—the air buzzed with excitement. Voices rose in praise and admiration, as warm welcomes and cheerful flattery rained down upon him.

Baole, however, wasn't surprised. He had expected this reaction. Word had likely spread already—how he had split from the caravan days earlier on their return from Tibah. No doubt the convoy had spoken of the two mysterious bodies that had fallen from the sky, an event unheard of and unseen in their lands. Now that he had returned safely, the villagers' curiosity was aflame—they had to see for themselves.

He chuckled lightly. "Today feels unusually joyful," he said aloud, prompting cheers and claps from the growing crowd.

"Baole! Baole!" cried the same boy, now closing in. "Where are the sky-fallen bodies? Where did they land?" His voice trembled with eager excitement as he reached Baole and nearly stumbled in his rush.

Amused, Baole glanced briefly at Ravenna and Dahlia with a flick of his eyes, then turned back to the boy.

"Tell me," he said with a playful smirk, "among the eight of us who just arrived, who have you not seen before in this tribe?"

He gave a deliberate wink that the answer should be obvious.

But the boy only furrowed his brow, clearly missing the hint. With a finger thoughtfully pressed to his lips, he began counting each member of the group—starting with the men. The villagers, especially the older men and women who had come out to watch, chuckled softly at his innocent gullibility.

The rest of the boy's playmates, still catching their breath from the impromptu race, were beginning to catch on. Among them, a small girl halted and suddenly smacked the boy lightly across the back of the head, breaking his concentration. The boy flinched, startled, right in the middle of his counting, certain he had been getting closer to solving the mystery.

"Ouch!" he cried, whipping around with a glare. His eyes narrowed venomously at the girl. "Why did you hit me, Ava? I was just about to solve Baole's mystery! All that's left is to count those two women over there."

Unaware of the awkward looks his words drew from the crowd, the boy remained focused. Even Ravenna, taken slightly off guard, let out a muffled laugh behind her hand. She smiled to herself, thinking how pure and naïve the boy seemed—so unspoiled, so transparent, it was almost charming.

Ava's mouth twitched, tempted to smack him again, but she restrained herself. Instead, she turned away, clearly fed up, leaving the boy to continue his counting. The villagers, familiar with the boy's antics, weren't surprised. They simply watched with amused indulgence.

Then, breaking the silence that hung over the group, Ava turned back to Baole and asked the question everyone else had been silently wondering.

"Baole," she said, pointing toward Ravenna and Dahlia, "are they the two who fell from the sky?"

By now, Baole had handed over the reins of his horse to an attendant. He clapped softly, clearly entertained, then reached out and gently ruffled Ava's hair. He leaned down and planted a kiss on her forehead, his thick beard brushing against her skin and making her momentarily lose her breath.

"What do you think?" he asked, offering the same playful wink he had given the boy earlier.

Ava looked cautiously toward Ravenna and Dahlia. When Ravenna's gaze met hers, Ava's confidence faltered. She quickly stepped behind Baole, peeking out from the safety of his side.

Baole chuckled and took her small hand in his. With a gentle tug, he began leading her toward Ravenna and Dahlia.

"They don't bite," Baole said with a grin. "Just because they fell from the sky doesn't mean they're not human like us."

As he spoke, he lifted his hand toward Ravenna in a playful pinching gesture, but quickly caught himself when he met her gaze. With a small, awkward cough, he redirected the gesture to Dahlia instead, lightly pinching her arm.

"See?" he added. "They have the same skin as we do."

But Ava shook her head firmly in disagreement. "They're not like us. They don't have the Huli lines we do on our bodies."

Baole coughed again, a little flustered. "They're not from our tribe, remember?" He glanced apologetically at Ravenna.

Ava's brow furrowed in confusion. "So, is everyone outside our tribe different?"

Before Baole could answer, a woman stepped forward from the crowd and knelt beside the girl. "You'll understand better when you're older. But for now, just know this — even though they don't have Huli lines we do across their bodies, these two women are no different from us."

Ava looked at Ravenna and Dahlia again. She still didn't seem entirely convinced, but her questioning stopped. Her gaze lingered on Dahlia's face.

"Miss, why are you crying?" she asked gently.

Baole instantly felt a headache rising. He smacked his palm against his forehead, knowing all too well that answering this would only lead to a hundred more questions from the girl. He was still thinking of how to reply — and before Ravenna could say a word — the boy from earlier, who had been silently counting, suddenly burst out with a triumphant shout.

"It's these two!" he yelled, startling everyone and turning all heads toward him.

Baole blinked, confused for a moment — then remembered the boy's earlier task and burst into a thunderous laugh, the loudest he had let out in ages. The crowd erupted too, their amusement spilling into the open air. Even Ravenna found herself laughing uncontrollably, her giggles ringing louder than she ever remembered.

Only Ava remained motionless, glaring at the boy with a scowl for interrupting her serious inquiry.

"Baole! Baole! It's them!" the boy repeated with pride, his face beaming with satisfaction. "See? Your riddle wasn't that hard after all!"

He tilted his chin high with his chest puffed out, he clasped his hands behind his back, and mimicked the stance of the elders, nodding with a smug air of maturity.

"Hmph! Not even a pinch hard," he added with a dramatic snort, imitating the grumpy exhale elders made when displeased.

The boy's antics sent the crowd into another round of laughter. For a moment, the villagers forgot all the mystery, awe, and questions that had drawn them out in the first place.

Even Ravenna had to wipe tears from her eyes, still giggling.

But the light mood shifted abruptly when a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped from the crowd. His presence was commanding, his movements calm and deliberate — and though he said nothing at first, the air of superiority he carried quickly sobered the crowd into silence.

"Leader!" Baole called out instinctively, stepping forward with respectful urgency as he approached the tall, broad-shouldered man.

This was the leader of the convoy from days earlier — the one Baole had separated from during their return journey.

The man gave a slow nod, fingers brushing through his beard, which was moderately kept like most men in the tribe.

"Hmm." The sound rumbled softly in his throat, one of quiet approval. His eyes, sharp and observant, settled on Ravenna and Dahlia. He said nothing for a moment, only continued to stroke his beard with measured scrutiny.

"They are the two from the desert?"

"Yes." Baole replied, glancing at the pair as well. Subconsciously, he began to mimic the leader's gesture, stroking his sturdy beard in the same contemplative manner.

Ravenna noticed.

She had held herself composed at first in front of the leader, but the sight of Baole imitating the gesture — as if she were still some kind of curiosity — darkened her expression. Her eyes narrowed sharply as she threw him a glare full of disdain. In her eyes, Baole was no better than the little boy from earlier, gawking and guessing.

Baole caught the look and immediately tensed. He stopped mid-stroke and took a cautious step back, half-hiding behind the convoy leader like a child retreating from reprimand.

The man noticed the brief, silent exchange. A flicker of amusement and perplexity tugged at his features, though he said nothing. Instead, he offered a wide smile and extended his hand toward the village.

"I trust Baole welcomed you properly, but allow me to offer a greeting from the whole tribe." His voice was deep and steady. "When Baole insisted on leaving the convoy for a rescue, I tried to dissuade him... but now, I'm glad he didn't listen." He laughed heartily, beard bouncing as he continued stroking it, this time with pride rather than scrutiny.

"Come. The Grandelder and the rest of the council are waiting."

At his words, the crowd parted respectfully, clearing a path deeper into the village. The convoy leader led the way, flanked by Baole and the other returning men. Behind them walked Ravenna and Dahlia.

As they moved, Ravenna's eyes roamed the faces in the crowd. Her heart pounded heavily, as though searching — hoping — for something familiar. But whatever it was she sought, she did not find it. Her breath eased slightly, though tension still coiled beneath her calm exterior.

It wasn't long before they reached the tribal hall, a large, sacred structure that bore the dignity of age and authority. Inside, the elders sat in a half-circle, cloaked in simple robes that carried the weight of tradition. At the center, seated on a raised and intricately carved chair, was the Grandelder, his position marked by the craftsmanship and elevation of his seat.

The convoy leader stepped forward with practiced grace, Baole and the others falling in behind him. Ravenna and Dahlia entered last, quiet and observant.

"Elders. Grandelder." The convoy leader greeted respectfully, cupping his fists in the traditional manner of reverence.

The Grandelder smiled, his face weathered and wise, eyes scanning the group. When his gaze reached Ravenna and Dahlia, it lingered — if only briefly. A slight lift of his brows betrayed a flicker of surprise or recognition, quickly masked.

Ravenna met his gaze, reading the reaction without revealing her thoughts. The man was old — his face creased by time, his hair as white as desert sand at dawn. She exhaled slowly, silently, her expression remaining unreadable, though within her, emotions stirred like wind beneath still waters.

As the Grandelder studied the two young women in silence, so too did the seated elders. The air in the hall grew heavier, thick with the weight of unspoken thoughts. If their curiosity served them correctly, then these two had to be the ones — the mysterious figures said to have fallen from the sky.

Their gazes first landed on Ravenna and thoughts ran in their minds. She is well-proportioned, her posture composed, her expression guarded. The flowing gown she wore bore dust and desert stains, a clear testament to her journey across the unforgiving terrain. Yet even in her disheveled state, there was an undeniable grace to her — a soft, radiant femininity that clung to her like a second skin. There was no mistaking her presence; she carried the air of someone forged by calm winds and steady rivers.

But the other...

The elders' attention shifted to Dahlia beside her — and paused.

Her eyes contained no life, wide and glassy, shimmers of ocean reflection beneath the sun.

Hmm? Confusion clouded them.

What are those tears streamed freely, unceasing, like a waterfall with no end? But her dead facial appearance like a departed soul is still strikingly beautiful, perhaps even more so than her companion's. There is no trace of delicacy in her bearing. She wears a scrappy jacket slung over the dirtied shirt, fitted trousers tucked into her weathered boots, and her hair pulled back tightly in a messy bun. She looks more like a seasoned traveler or a rogue soldier than a maiden.

She felt... off.

"Strange," one elder thought silently. "Her frame is feminine, but her aura — it is not. It carries tension, not grace. Fire, not warmth."

Another furrowed his brow. "Why is she weeping so heavily? What does she mourn? Or… fear?"

As their silent judgments continued, one elder leaned slightly forward, fingers steepled. He was in thought. I had thought those who fell from the sky would be unlike us… otherworldly. But now, I see they are not. They are human. Just as flawed. Just as frail. Could it really be true that they had fallen from the sky? And if so… how in the name of the gods did they survive such a fall?

Their unspoken thoughts swirled like desert winds. Questions with no answers yet. Speculations. Doubts. Wonder.