Rassa grew older, and her lessons grew rarer but more intense. Her travels took her further; none of her congregation questioned her. No one outside it had authority over her. She—and her shadow—made it across the plains to the badlands where grasses faded into stone sculpted by winds, into the true forests of trees so big Rassa couldn’t make her way to the top, into jungles where vines thick as those trees choked out all light. She, eventually, made her way to the poles and almost froze to death more than once. Everywhere there was to be on Mikkia, Rassa went. Even so, she could not escape her destiny—or her lessons.
Sunburnt, frostbitten, nearly-drowned, the elder met with her no matter her condition. Only here did her shadow fail to follow.
Her name was Elen, and she was beautiful. Rassa found her at a food hall after her last trip, the one where frostbite cost her the tip of her nose. The bartender told Rassa the name; Elen knew him. Elen seemed to know everyone, and sat in a cloud of laughter and ease. Elen’s skin was orange, but when she blushed while talking to her friends, her cheeks tinged pink. A sunset. Elen turned from the man; she met Rassa’s eyes, and her lips twisted in such a lopsided smile that it made Rassa’s heart go the same way. As Elen rose and began to make her way toward Rassa, the latter clenched her teeth. She stacked her plates, then cursed and just left the mess behind.
She couldn’t. The elder said as much in their next meeting; such a loss of focus would cause weakness in the warrior-to-be, and she had already come so far and done so well. She ran.
Rassa plumbed every biome she’d so far left unturned, and spelunked deep into newfound caverns. Rassa found a stone, there, orange with pink highlights. The next time she returned for a lesson she left it outside Elen’s door.
Then it was a flower, larger than Rassa’s hand. A piece of glass, its jagged edges tamed by the movement of ocean waves. A web, its unique makeup frozen and unbreakable after exposure to the tundra winds. It was when she came back with another plant--this one a climbing ivy that moved fast enough to be seen, that curled around Rassa’s fingers like some animal—that Elena stepped outside as Rassa bent to put the plant down.
“Hello.”
“Hello,” Rassa said. She stared at Elen’s knees.
“I’m Elen.”
“I know.”
“You’re Rassa.”
“I know." Elena laughed, and the sound squeezed Rassa's heart.
“The favorite of the carvonite elder, right?”
“I guess. Thank you,” Rassa said. Silence; she risked a glimpse at Elen’s puzzled face. “For my nose. What’s left of it. I didn’t know you then, but you’re the reason I still have most of my face. I thought I—dreamed of you, until I saw you again.” Rassa fussed with the plant that still refused to leave her fingers, rather than look up into Elen’s face again.
“I can’t say you’re welcome, because that’s what healers do. But—the flower, the stone, those are you?” Rassa nodded. “Well, thank you for those. Do you want to come inside? I was just about to eat.” Rassa swallowed, hard.
“I... want to.” Elen’s orange fingers entered her field of view; one eased the plant away, and the others took her freed hand.
“Please, come inside.”
From then on, Rassa delivered her gifts in person, in trade for a bite to eat or a few words. Elen talked about her friends, her work, her hopes for what laid after her apprenticeship. Rassa listened and sank into the unexpectant words. Elen’s smile had no demands. Elen, unlike the wider world, unlike the rest of the town, cared.
The elder didn’t like it. Of course.
“Friends... you’ll find no focus, no center, in ‘friends,’ he said, before they began another lesson. “You’ve learned so much and pushed yourself so hard. A spot of softness now will only lead you to damaging yourself... further.” And he touched her scarred nose. “You are more important than any of your peers, Rassa.” His hand moved. “If I need to have a word with Elen’s elder...”
Fine. Sure. Understandable. Rassa left again, left to stay from something else besides the elder. This was the forest; this was one of her first haunts.
Then she forgot to hoist her food; the animals got it. Something bit her in the night, and the wound began to turn yellow, with green streaks. Unseasonable rains got water into her shoes and her feet began to peel away. The world cares not for those in it; we must care for ourselves or be lost. Rassa sought to be lost—
And woke, fuzzily, into a sunset. Elen smiled down at her.
“We need to stop meeting like this,” she said. Rassa kissed her.
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