Spears (pt15)

Reem placed her spear at her back, reaching out toward Hasani. Despite his shame, he didn’t hesitate in taking her hand to get back to his feet. Reem held his hand tight to make sure he didn’t waver. Once he was stable, she patted him on the back. “Get some sleep, Hasani. Waseme shouldn’t give you so many bowls in one night.”

He nodded and walked away without a word, the only speechless man in Hirka.

Azzah and Reem sat back down. Azzah picked up her bowl, watching the liquid move from side to side. Less erratic than before, yet she couldn’t help but note that Reem’s looked as still as the water of an undisturbed pond.

Reem noticed Azzah’s attention, but didn’t seem to recognize the reason. “Here you go.” She reached over and poured some of hers into Azzah’s bowl until their bowls were equal.

“You have such a way with words, Reem.” Azzah rested the curve of her bowl against her upper lip. “You entranced everyone with what you said.”

“It had less to do with my words.” Reem leaned back against the wall of Waseme’s hut, shrugging until her spear dropped into a more comfortable position. She stared up above the roofs of the homes in front of them.

The stars became brighter and brighter now that the horizon almost obscured the sun. Azzah stared straight up at the cluster of stars which made up the archer, trying to decide whether the arrow would strike (and not for the first time). It looked as though it would aim straight for the boar, but Azzah knew the arrow wouldn’t fly straight for that far, not even in images made from the night sky. It would curve.

“Everyone feels the same way, so of course they like to hear what they already think out loud. Hasani was drunk. That’s the only reason any of that came out. You would be hard pressed to find someone here who wouldn’t side with our Lel’ul. You would have to threaten them for it.”

“I suppose.” Azzah considered that, much as she considered the angle an arrow take.

Looking up

There is a reflection when you look above-
into the effluvium, the world with no light,
but for the tiny ruptures within the glove
that cradles the sight
and creates the wonder of the surface that slips over the night.
When the haze from you is concealed from view,
when you’ve fallen from the shame,
screams are useless. Not even you,
the first one that came,
can make up for the loss of self when you threw away the name
no one else knew. Yet the light continues to await
your return and there is nothing forever lost.
To deny what others cry as fate
is the cost
of a freedom, of your return, to the above carpeted in frost.