The silvery-light blue sky spread its glow, with orange-red embers streaking the sky in the smokier sides of the land. Yet the air was clearer around them, as many of the civilians took to placing blacktree leaves all around.
Salīa saw her people from afar, tending to their homes with the help of others.
She was ashamed to admit that she could not face them, yet took peace in knowing that they were brought comfort from those she trusted.
Her hood was pulled over her head, and Chief Raino took pride in walking beside her with several other zazi who were also hooded to prevent too many stares.
Yet it was a long enough walk to the hall hosting the dinner that eyes naturally followed them. For they were all looking for what Salīa was searching for, too. Their Queen.
Although much was taken care of, the day was still young enough that not all was done.
The air still had a charred odor mixed with the gushing bound herbs that were used to sage and purify, held by the many women of the villages.
People were constantly swinging through the trees or running through the grounds to bring in materials to hold up the wrecked homes.
Some were chatting to each other with ease, and some even laughed as they adorned and readied themselves for the festivals.
She could see so many choosing their dress, firming their sandals, and adorning themselves in paints, beads, and gems. Yet just as many, if not more, were sobbing and wailing as they did so, cursing at the princess for having this festival while they suffered.
"My daughter," a mother broke down crying, her dress getting muddied as she sank down.
Her neighbors ran to comfort her. Salīa flinched. She was one of several people she'd already passed on this walk who were crying for the young, the old, the lost, the found.
There were many animals, both wild and pets, that also didn't make it. Even the baboons who often spent their middays sweeping through the villages were absent.
"Where did you go?!" the mother wailed, looking up at the sky. "Where?"
Salīa also looked up as if an answer would appear.
She even wondered who the mother was asking about, yet Chief Raino nodded for her to keep on.
Most of the healers had to visit homes since a lot of the hurt people couldn't move on their own, and so out in the street, bodies were lain or propped as they were tended to, all speaking in their own tongues.
Some even yelled and blamed others for not being here or there or doing this or that when it happened.
From bakeries to grain mills to the places of potters, stores all around had been closed or crushed, with little light emanating in some paths they walked.
Salazā had never been this quiet before. Sure, there were people speaking, yet their voices were stripped of their roots. Even the loud ones just sounded like faint echoes to her.
Her eyes spun to somewhere that suddenly became noisy as something shot at her.
"Yoh!" the players exclaimed as the ball burst open, shooting out the earth-fruit seeds.
They all looked to Salīa, who was just as surprised at catching the ball before it hit her. She hadn't played ala-bala in ages, but even then she never made it as far as smashing the ball.
They looked over and gulped, yelling, "Sorry."
Salīa lifted her hand, and the zazi stopped.
"Yasis," muttered the culprit who kicked the ball on the floor, clinging to his bloodied foot. "Why do I never get it right?"
Salīa crouched, observing the little boy who tried to hide his sniffles as the other players continued the game. She then saw the small rock, which showed blood where he had kicked it.
"May I?"
The boy looked to the figure hidden under the hood, his eyes widening when he saw her eyes. He even got more conscious when he saw how close her hands were.
Though he nodded and she touched his ankle, letting the heat of her healing rise to her palms and focused it where he seemed to have twisted it. Then she wiped the blood with some cloth.
It didn't always happen with her secret gift, and when it did happen, it was never when she intended. And so, she couldn't stop when flashes of his memories ran through.
She saw that he was part of the zazu – young zazi that learned but did not battle.
His mother was a zaza – unofficial zazi that were women. And so, he was lucky to be with her when attacked, but his father and younger brother did not face the same fate.
"Wait," the boy pushed her, tears streaking down his face. "Yoh."
"Sorry for that. You've got a good kick, you'd make a great a destra," she lifted, offering a hand.
He took it tentatively and found he could stand.
"I actually want to be an astra and defend," he admitted. "Since I can't be a zazi yet."
"I'm sure you'd make a great astra and zazi if you wished."
He nodded and said, "Thank you—wait, who are you?"
"No one important. I'm sorry for your loss, though."
"Blessings," he made an x and bowed, still staring curiously.
"Keep safe," she returned the x. "I hope you'll be at the festival tonight."
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