The sun was fully up when the procession reached the village square. It was the peak of the morning rush… hunters sharpening spears, women gathering water, elders gossiping in the shade.
The procession was a strange, almost ceremonial sight. Sol, looking handsome and surprisingly sturdy in his clean tunic, led the way, carrying the heavy, steaming cauldron with ease. Behind him, his three beautiful cousins walked in formation, carrying the various utensils and baskets like temple handmaidens, followed by Lyra, who walked with a new, serene confidence, carrying stacks of bowls made from dried gourds.
On the way, people looked at them with strange and curious gazes, wondering what they were doing.
"Is that... Sol?" a woman whispered, nudging her companion. "He looks... healthy."
"What are they doing?" a man grunted, eyeing the heavy pot. "Moving house? Why are they carrying hot water across the village?"
Mockery rippled through the onlookers.
