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I ruffled her hair, trying to get her to smile. “Don’t you want to play with your friends?”
Tilila shook her head and buried her face in my sleeve. “No,” she said, her voice muffled. “No, I’m hungry.”
A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. “Are you hungry or bored?”
“Hungry,” Tilila mumbled.
Putting my sister on my lap, I fed her bread and honey. The rest of the meal passed by in a blur as I tried to keep Tilila entertained. Now and then, I’d catch snippets of the conversation, but mostly, I tuned it out. I didn’t want to think about the Lunja or the visions or anything.
Fortunately enough, the older women were smart enough to not talk in Karif around the children, so Tilila and the other children understood little of what was being said. The Elvish tongue was beautiful, but it was also too complex for them. Her ears would be safe from gossip for now.
Tilila smiled up at me, her mouth sticky with honey. In a world that could be dark and cold, my sister was a ray of sunshine.
“There you go. Now, go play.”
She nodded and hopped down from my lap, running off to find her friends. I watched her go, a grin on my face. Despite everything, life went on. And as long as there was life, there was hope.
Aunt Ghalla was in the middle of regaling the table with a story about the time she met a Lunja when I tuned back in. It was a fascinating tale, but one that I’d heard a hundred times before. Souhir took a seat next to me and patted my hand.
“Don’t worry, Thimsal. We’ll figure this out. They don’t know what they’re talking about.”
I nodded, but I said nothing. Souhir was always the optimist, but I wasn’t so sure.
My mother took a seat on the other side of me. Next to aunt Ghalla. She smiled as she looked at the company around the table. The corners of her kohl-lined eyes crinkled. “What’s so interesting, ladies?”
Souhir let out a harsh breath. “The Lunja, aunt Diyha,”
“Ah, yes, the Lunja, the talk of the town.” My mother’s smile faded. “Where is Una? I haven’t seen her around yet.”
“She decided it was best not to come.” A Dryad, with fiery auburn hair and flowing lilac robes, sitting at a table close by, replied.
“Why not, Sotera?”
Her brown sclera turned green before they settled into a pale amber color. “Because of the Elves. It’s best for her to not cross the border while they are here. Elves have long memories.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Souhir whispered in my ear. “The Hundred Years’ War ended centuries ago.”
I nodded, but I was unconvinced. The Hundred Years’ War may have ended, but the hatred between the two races still ran deep. It would take more than a few centuries to heal those wounds. The Lunja held a grudge like no other. I knew my history, and I knew what they were capable of.
It would be best for Una to steer clear.
Sotera turned her attention to Souhir. Her sharp hearing had picked up my cousin’s mutterings. “You would do well to remember that, girl. The Lunja are not to be trifled with. For Midarians and Werewolves, the Hundred Years’ War ended generations ago. For us, it was only a generation ago. The Elves were present. And they remember. They remember that they have lost Good King Finardel and thousands of their brethren. They remember the pain and the bloodshed. They remember the hunger that drove them to eat rats and bugs just to survive. They remember how we fought tooth and nail for every inch of ground. The Lunja will not forget. They will never forget what the Werewolves did to them.”
Aunt Ghalla nodded her head in agreement. “She’s right. As long as the Lunja are in Midar, it’s not safe for the Werewolves.”
The room fell into a heavy silence. Even the children stopped playing. All eyes were on Sotera as she continued her story.
“They put unacceptable terms on the Werewolves after their defeat. The Werewolves agreed to them, of course, because they had no choice. But they have never forgotten the humiliation and the pain that was inflicted upon them. Neither have the Elves. They will have their revenge. And when they do, Manzimor will burn and Midar will suffer in silence once again.”
The Werewolves I knew didn’t seem like the type to hold a grudge. They were good people. But I knew better than to voice my opinion. Politics and the will of people were never the same.
“I see,” my mother Dihya finally said after a long moment. Her jaw clenched before her face turned blank. “Come, it’s a celebration. Let’s not speak about the Lunja any longer. It’s almost starting and Miryam is anxiously waiting for us. Please join us.”
∞∞∞
Standing on the tips of my toes, I craned my neck to glimpse the enormous tent that had been set up in the clearing. In the shade of the torches, white and pink flowers adorned the canvas walls. A string of lanterns hung around the perimeter, casting a soft glow over the surroundings. It was stunning.
Slowly, people shuffled away from their positions at the back of the line and entered the tent. Soft drumming noise reached my ears, growing louder and more persistent as the minutes passed. Till it was my turn to walk under the archway made of flowers.
