[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

A strange tremor went through Khasia at the old man’s words. She didn’t have Jasara’s confidence in their ability to survive alone. The cries went up around them, cries for caution and cries for action, she caught the cry of a small girl called Ralah. “I don’t want to die!” Khasia sent the girl a withering glance.

Jasara’s lips moved in the darkness, and suddenly her calm voice rang clear again above the sounds of the troubled group. "All you who are scared of what the elders think and what they will do can roll up their sleep-bags tomorrow and leave. The rest of us will continue on our own, if need be. We will be our own tribe. We have everything and everyone we need."

“Yes.” Khasia held her voice steady despite her fear. “There is no other choice. For some it is too late.” She moved across the camp decisively, gathering her few things together. The sound of the girl, Ralah, whimpering rung in Khasia’s ears. Stopping abruptly she jerked the girl upright by her arm. “Do you really believe that the curses of the old will kill you?” She spit on the ground. “Go back to your mother.” The girl’s eyes blazed for a moment and she stood taller. Khasia looked at her appraisingly. She’d always held near the back and not spoken much. “Are you going? Stay too much longer and your family will be weeping for you.”

“My mother is old.” Ralah said with venom, and turned away. Khasia’s eyes followed her as she went, but her head was swimming. Old. The old were useless, that was what she had always believed. What an old man could do a young man could do faster. But were there enough of them? Her heart rate quickened as she listed their numbers off on her fingers. They had Jasara. If nothing else she was a strong leader. Nasir, too cautious. Najah, arrogant but talented. She went through them one by one, they had a sword master, hunters, those who made trade objects. They had, Narisa who knew every edible plant. Her muscles relaxed slightly as she counted them in her mind. They would be alright they would be fine.

She moved to the large pot where she’d recently stashed the bundle of colored fibers that Jamilah had given her. Transferring all the materials into a large basket, she paused when she came to the bundle. She held it in one hand, looking at the bold colors, so much brighter than the ones she had been able to produce. She held it for a moment, then threw it back on the ground. Someone had gone to the elders. The old witch and her talk of healing. Khasia gritted her teeth as she tucked her sleeping things securely on top of the large basket and walked over to join Jasara, Najah, and Nasir at the edge of camp. “We should go now.” Jasara said, mechanically. Khasia glanced at her sister and then at Najah. The other girl shook her head and cast an arm toward Jasara’s sleep bag, crumpled on the ground where she’d yet to pack it. Khasia bent and rolled it, stuffing it into her sister’s arms.

“I will not stay and be driven out, Jasara. Morning is coming, and I mean to be gone.”

[ June 20, 2003: Message edited by: Sophia the Thunder Mistress ]