It was often hard to find clean water down in the Flats. The prevalent mud tainted everything, especially in the rainy season when water cut gullies into the unstable and sullied ground. Plants grew around the water, yes, but there was always more water to come and wash out the roots, sending fine silt into the few sources of fresh water. Sometimes one had to be careful, not everyone living in the Flats were willing to share the limited water with their neighbors, and fights over the precious recourse often broke out among the crueler individuals.

It was Murron's reputation that secured her a spot at he watering hole, toting he tall clay jar to fetch fresh water for her home. A woman—a Roek woman, no less—who murdered her husband in cold blood didn't seem to the others like the one to cross. Murron didn't particularly mind their aversion to her. Though it did get lonely and she had tried to extend some sort of kindness to them, they had withdrawn from her like frightened animals.

Now Murron was trekking back to her home, water jar poised on her head and supported by a hand as she picked her way delicately through a small stand of saplings and young shrubs. This was the edge of the forest around here, and one of the few places of the woods she could go without fear of being chased away by angry hunters. She liked the peace of the woods and she breathed deeply its scent. A pleased hum was the only sound she made as she closed her eyes and paused among the trees.

Sabu burst out of the under brush, like some horrible primordial monster. Twigs had been stuck in his hair and he was covered in dirt and leaves. He was sopping wet. Large red welts were all over his face and body and in his hand was his red sash, wrapped into a large ball. The normal grin on his face was a bare toothed grimace. He wildly looked side to side, as if someone was chasing him.

After a few seconds he settled down enough to see he was not alone. The grimace disappeared as he saw the person in front of him and a sincere smile lit his face. "Murron Uita! I did not expect to see you here!"

Surprise did not fully describe Murron's reaction to Sabu. Truly, she had not expected to see him their, either. Covered in mud and half the forest's leaves, he did look monsterous.

Murron knew that silence should be held by all who were condemmed to the Begger Flats, and even in extreme pain had she kept her tongue still. But now a startled yell was caught between her lips and came out muffled and choked from her disused voice. So startled was she that her water jug slipped from it's grasp attop her head.

(( sfsp ))

Sabu's eyes popped out as he heard Murron's voice. Even though it was just a second, panic washed over him. Murron couldn't say anything, who knew who else was in the forest! He also saw her drop the jug. He quickly caught one of the handles of the big jug with his left hand and gently put his shovel sized hand onto her mouth.

"Murron Uita! I am sorry to scare you, but you cannot talk! You will be punished if you do!" He said this with a whisper that caused birds to fly out of their roosts startled.

Finally sure that the scream had died out, he took his hand off of her face and saw the big muddy hand print he left. His smile turned apologetic but he couldn't help but laugh. "Hehe! I am sorry, Murron Uita! But here, I think that this might make up for it." He held up the large bundle that his sash wrapped. "It's wild honeycomb! Almost the whole hive, but do not worry, I think most of the bees died trying to kill me!" The arm he offered was studded with stingers, visible even through the thick hair that sheathed the appendage.

She hadn't meant to, truly she hadn't, and shame flooded her that she had cried out so. Her now free hands tried to push Sabu's from her mouth, but they were trembling too hard.

What if she had been in the city? What if others--others not as kind to her as Sabu was--had heard that simple yell? She would be stoned; stoned or run out of the city. Or both. And then the Roek would never trust her, they would never ever take her back among them. And, oh gods, she thought, what if that happened? She feared that if she lost that thread of hope, she would cease to live or even cease to exsist. Hope was all she had left in this world. The simple idea of it made hot tears spring to her eyes, but she blinked them back, shaking her head as she did so and as Sabu removed his hand. She only rubbed at her face, trying to clear the mud from her cheeks.



Her startled eyes locked on the comb and her breath caught in her throat. It had been so long since she'd tasted anything such as that. Years, even. She'd barely remembered how it smelled till now. Gingerly, reverently, she placed both slender hands about the bundle and took a deep smell, nearly smiling again. She opened her muddy eyes and looked back at Sabu, only to have her smile drop once more.

Those stings! Murron placed the bundle by a log and was on Sabu in a flash, pulling forward an arm as she inspected his wounds. The stingers were still in them and would have to come out. Murron needled one with a grimy thumbnail as she coaxed it upwards.

"Aaht!" Sabu choked down a bellow as the tribeswoman took his arm and started removing the stingers. He tensed but didn't tell her to stop. He knew that the poison was still getting dripped into his blood by the stingers, and Murron hands were far more nimble than his.

"Murron Uita, I -RAH! I appreciate the help but- GUH! Perhaps this might help you? And not be as painful to me?"

Sabu brought out his knife and offered it to Murron. He was happy that she was helping, but still. One could only take so much of having bee stings pried out by someone's fingernails.

Murron gave Sabu a few sympathetic glances as she hastily removed the stingers, but held his arm fast in her tiny hands. The knife was unnecessary and messy and she gently declined it with a hand. It would only drive in deeper than she needed, though she admitted to herself that it did certainly hurt. Before she took a pause to let him recover a moment, she leaned closer to him—standing on tiptoe next to the tall man—and took her teeth to a particularly bad looking sting, pushing off his arm to fully pull it out.

Murron spit it to the ground and sighed at him, her eyes showing exasperation despite how fond she was of him. He seemed to forever be getting himself into little skirmishes with nature and forever smiling. Murron wished that she was able to smile that much, but her best was often a wary deer's countenance—wide-eyed and withdrawn.

It wasn't long before she would be eyeing the remainder of those stings.

"Argh!" Now she was biting him! "Murron Uita, if we could- Ach! Perhaps stop a moment! I actually Gah!" Sabu pulled his arm back. Looking at it, he saw that most of the stings had been removed, and they had been replaced with big red spots.

"You... are very good at that, Murron Uita. But it is rather lucky that I came upon you." He sat down at the log and motioned for her to sit down. "The stings can wait, I have something that I want to talk to you about."

He looked at his hands. This was something that he'd wanted to talk to Murron about. It was odd, of all the people in his tribe, it was probably this resident of the Flats who knew him best. Her husband had known his father, and Sabu used to run errands for the both. He remembered her as a young woman, pretty and always smiling, practically a different person from the mud covered woman in front of him. And he always believed her when she said she was innocent. He knew her, and knew she would have never killed her husband. And so it was she that he was going to tell.

"I'm... I'm planning on leaving Anhau, Murron Uita."

Indeed, it was a fortunate thing that Murron had been sitting, for the shock of Sabu's words struck her like a physical blow to the stomach. Air left her lungs.

Leave? Leave Anhau? No one left Anhau, no one had for hundreds of years and no one ever would. The mists were thinning as the hatchers left, yes, but she had always presumed that the people would stay in the valley, the way things had always been. As someone who feared change, Murron had never considered anyone wanting to leave.

Slowly, she brought her eyes back to focus, actually looking at Sabu rather than through him.

Of course the youth of the tribe would leave. The whole of the world outside was now streatched out in front of them, open and waiting full of new things. And of course the youth of the fiery Roek would be on the front lines of this migration.

She carefully studied the young man sitting next to her. Though he was only a few years younger than she, Murron felt eternally older. She was fixed, immobile, like a tree in a forest. She could not move. And even though Sabu was the gentlest soul in the valley, his heart beat Roek blood, and he was still a man in his prime. He would naturally want to see the world and leave...everything.

Emotion suddenly siezed Murron's throat and she realized that she was trembling. The blood seemed to fall away from her head and she had to brace a shaky hand on Sabu's shoulder. Carefully, she slid from the dead log, her knees then against the ground, to all fours, and began pawing at the ground. Her slim hands dug through leaf-litter, searching desperately for dirt. She had to say something, these thoughts and many others were bursting in her mind. When she found the earth, her hands were wet with the slick leaves and she began writing frantically. She hoped that he could read her wobbly, paniced scrawl.

Why leave the valley? Sabu Imani, what is in your head? This is your home, is it not? Why leave your home? Why leave your people? Your tribe? Why leave m--

Shame colored Murron's cheeks and she hurridly scrubbed out the last words with the heel of her hand. That was horribly selfish. This should not have a thing to do with her. Even if she might never see her dearest friend--her only friend--ever again. She was so very afraid of being truly alone, she feared that she might break inside if she found herself without anyone, but this did not have a thing to do with her. She wrote about other things instead.

What about these newcomers? Our fellow wicks have come here in peace and goodwill. But what if the gladori return? What if they should march from Bruanhald one more and make war on Anhau? What if you are not here to defend your home? If you leave, how many more of Anhau's young warriors will follow? Will you leave us with Kohore weavers and Ethia farmers to defend our hearths and keep the flame of Anhau burning?

She looked back at her writing and grimaced at how harsh it sounded. She never recalled trying to wound Sabu with words and guilt before. She felt sick to write these things now, but deep inside her, the selfishness that she tried to hide was betraying its wounded heart. She did feel wounded and she loathed herself for it.

What does the rest of the tribe think? Doyou you really expect Solexa to just allow you to leave?

Murron made herself stop there, she had run out of room and could go no farther. Her quavering hand could wirte no more. She didn't want to wirte more questions, so Murron just huddled back against the log where Sabu sat and she shivered.

Sabu read it all somberly. HIs face had slowly fallen as the words were formed in front of him, his eyes downcast and his mouth a thin line hidden by his beard.

"I realize that I am being selfish. And that this is a failing. As a man, as a roek tribesman, as an Anhai, this is a failing. But I have a weight in my breast, Murron Uita. It has hung there ever since I was fifteen years old. I must see my sister. I must know what became of her. If she made it through the mists or if her bones lie in the valley to be brought back home."

He hung his head lower. His voice was a hoarse whisper. "And as to the Durg, he shall never know about this. There is some benefit of being a wild man who lives beside the forest." He smiled sadly. "One day, I shall go into the forest to forage, and I shall not return."

Murron nearly choked. She wanted to lay down and burry herself in the leaf-litter. She was a tree. She could become one if she just stayed long enough. She was sure her arms could turn to branches and her hair to leaves as her feet dug into the ground and became roots. The trunk of her body could forever stand a tower in this forest and be so much happier. Happier and unaware of the world and the changes it brought.

Sita. Gods protect that girl if she still breathed. Murron did not think she did. No-one crossed hatchers and expected to come out the other side. No-one. Now Sabu was going to run off to find a dead sister, without telling the Durg, maybe without coming back. Evil lay outside the valley.

A tiny sob broke through her defenses—it was nothing more than a flutter that escaped from her chest, but it was enough. Murron curled tighter into herself where she sat and squinched her eyes shut against threatening tears. Everything she feared was knocking insistently upon the door of Murron Uita.

Sabu put a big hand on his friends back, hesitantly, as if he was unsure if it was the best course of action. Finally, it laid down on her back, knotted with lean muscle and lined with little scars a hard life had brought. "Please, Murron Uita, do not cry. I beg of you. If you start, I feel I would as well. Know that I do this not because I want to, but because I must! My own body pulls away from the ridge every day! When I wake up and stare into the forest, my gaze lingers more with each passing morning! If I do not go to find my sister, I will go mad. Please understand, Murron Uita."

He patted his friend's back again, knowing he was reassuring neither her or himself. "I have no intention of leaving yet, I am not prepared. But, I felt it would be better if you knew, knew that I intended on coming back, and that I wasn't just dead in some ditch in the forest. Anhau is forever in my heart and in my mind. And Murron Uita, I could never leave such dear friends as you. But my sister is my sister. If nothing else, it is my responsibility as her sole remaining family to tend to her remains if I could find them. I say again, I must do this."

His words were forced out of a throat choked with emotion. In his mind, he thought of all the time he had spent in the valley, his entire life. It flashed in his mind, wrestling at the Ku Kar, gathering herbs with his mother, eating peaches with Sita, helping Murron carry wood and water from the forest. He closed his eyes quickly and breathed deeply. He was Roek, and the men of the Roek had no tears.

"I am sorry," he said again. It was a terrible apology, and he almost choked it back for its insencerity, but he had to say something to his oldest friend.

The hand on her back made her involuntarily flinch, though she stopped herself from starting further. She reminded her instincts that it was Sabu, her friend. It was rare that any hand be stretched out with such warm intentions, and nine years had taught her to shy away from contact. More often than not the offered hand was a slap across the face, not a reassuring presence against her back.

Pull yourself together, Murron, she chided herself, he should not have to say sorry. You are not any blood of his and Sita was. Is.... He has no reason to apologize; it is you who should apologize to him. And she should, she agreed, but she couldn't. Speaking, of course, was out of the question, but even writing pained her heart. Instead, she carefully reached and touched her fingertips to his arm, and then slowly drew her hand back. She hoped he understood her meaning. He'd become very good at doing so over the years, but even still, she hoped.

Murron straightened up and took a deep breath, struggling to keep it from rattling in her lungs. Her yellowed eyes looked back at the writings on the ground. Slowly, she stood, using the log to help her, and she scrubbed out the words with a foot. Gone. Murron looked back at Sabu, and took another deep breath. She collected herself, her water jug, and the bundle containing the honey comb. The jug returned to her head and the comb she tucked under an arm.

Another deep breath.

She was fine. She was. Murron struggled to set her features into a smile, even if it came out warped as the planking of an old floor. Another deep breath. You are Roek, Murron. Stand brave.

And now what? her eyes seemed to ask.

Sabu smiled. Murron was strong, and even with such a horrible goal in his sights, still he had a friend in her. He thanked the gods and spirits that such a woman was counted as one he could trust.

He took the jug she carried with one hand. "Now I think, I'll take this water back to your home, it is the least I could do after the help you gave me, Murron Uita." His grin widened and became a rueful grimace as he held up his arm, the welts now having swollen to an alarming size. "I have been badly poisoned today, it seems. I hope I have some dock leaves at my house!"

He smiled again, trying to return her sentiment. If she was alright, then he was alright too. "It might be best if we left quickly... I might have ran through a cougar's haunt." Sprinting away from the bees had him running in a straight line away, and he still wasn't sure everything he had stepped on to get to the forest's edge. "Actually, let us go NOW, Murron Uita." He gently, but very persistently, pushed his friend away from the forest's edge as he looked behind worriedly.

A tiny exasperated sigh heaved from Murron's chest. A cougar. Gods and spirits be merciful. How many times had he turned up at her door with a wound—that he'd even received while coming to her home--of some sort inflicted by some animal or sticking plant? It was as though he were still 13: running wild in the woods and injuring himself more than anything that surrounded him. Murron didn't know how many times she'd bandaged a hand or a foot or an arm or a leg. Still, she was far too fond of him to ever do any different. The young man was nearly family.

Murron better gathered her package of honeycomb to herself (and did hope that Sabu didn't try to carry that jug on his head. Well balanced as he was, he was still accident prone, and she liked that particular jug) and nimbly leaped across a soggy patch of ground, toes noiselessly catching her on a fallen log she whispered across. There was really no need for her to lead the way to her home; he knew the way to it from any point in the valley. It also didn't take Murron long to lead Sabu there. She did not live far from the water hole she just visited, with good reason.

Murron's home, no more than three feet tall from the mucky surface of the Flats, was built rather well out of mud and supported and patched in several places by bricking of her own make. Cone-shaped to better funnel smoke from her fires, the small doorway was covered by a draped cloth. It was more than modest, more than humble. Most would consider living in such a house degrading. For most, it truly was.

Murron walked to her tiny house, looking at her rows and rows of brick molds, checking with her eyes to see that nothing was missing and nothing had broken in her absence. Nothing had, and the bricks seemed to be turning a good shade of brown. The pots left to dry were likewise coming out well. She sighed. Making them was the easy part. Selling them was the real trial.