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Meanwhile, she scrutinised Kaniz as she worked the room. The k?thi master was popular, with her sharp wit and even sharper tongue.
Kaniz moved from fighter to fighter, bending down for a quick chat. Her face was earnest as she shared advice, soothed hurting egos, and placated angry souls.
The Shotelai woman sensed she was masterful indeed and a fierce protector with a great depth of care for her crew.
For a moment, Sana’a longed to be a part of Kaniz’s close world, wrapped in belonging.
For most of her life, she had not enjoyed the constancy of friends or companions apart from her mother and sisters.
Her life as a shikari was solitary and quiet, with echoes of loss reverberating through the empty spaces of her once-busy family life.
She was a lone wanderer and introverted figure who’d traversed Pegasi’s vast and desolate edges for years; her soul weighed down by her oath and vengeance for her people’s tragedy.
The sudden reminder of her plight overwhelmed her. With a curse, she rose with an abrupt pushback of her chair and strode away, her face closed off.
Missing the pensive glance that Kaniz shot her way as she swept out of the grand hall.
Sana’a meandered through the ancient city’s winding streets, taking in the sights and clamour of its bustling nightlife.
For much of her recent existence, most days had been brimful with silence. The only sounds were those made by herself or the soft clinking of her scabbard, the shuffle of her footsteps, and the whispers from Sika.
Now, the vibrant chatter and mesmerising songs rising from every street corner filled her ears.
It was a welcome shift from the haunting and deafening quiet she’d become used to.
The scent of spices and cooking meat wafted through the air.
Her still-empty tummy growled in response.
She’d eschewed the meal at the íkhara, but now her appetite surged.
She followed her nose to a small food stall, ordering a plate of steaming-hot beef skewers and a sweet, sticky pastry for dessert.
As she ate, she wandered the canals where kondolars sailed by, packed with the city’s diversity.
Most, however, were working-class locals.
The Katánians were lively, many with ready smiles for her, which warmed her.
They also took care of each other, she thought.
She spotted shopkeepers emerging from the doorways handing urchins free food, drink, and produce packages they ran off into the night with, presumably taking the leftover fresh fare home.
She strolled past large groups of close-knit families eating out together. Others sat by the canals enjoying impromptu picnics or dessert.
Even more surprising were entire families gliding hand in hand, with only their wings transmuted. Slow-tracking through the sky in multi-generational mid-air gatherings.
Still, she noted that individual k?sts kept to themselves.
Other than the younger flocks. Who, like in most societies, clustered around the stalls, singing dens, and watering holes of Kos, sharing backgrounds as rich and diverse as the wild-hued krests on their heads.
She passed by a few Iccythrians and Edenites seated at a Ccyth cafe.
They nodded at each other, and she welcomed their shared sense of kinship, for she, too, was an outsider in this strange new world.
After finishing her snacks, Sana’a turned her ear towards a faint, soft, melodic tune from a busker.
She followed the sound until she came across the vocalist standing beside a small fountain in a square.
