The Wish of a Broken Heart

Abhvo

Skírlífr’anatí 13th
ElogíAnatí
04:45

“Let me pass! He is my hayati. I need to make sure he’s okay. I need to tend to him!” I hear the muffled voice of that annoying vanit’a trying to get to me. Thankfully, our neteru are keeping her far from me after the first night I felt the pain.

I was spent and hadn’t woken when our company stopped. Ana and Asàn helped set my tent up and laid me in bed. One of my two neteru on duty went to relieve herself. Sosyéte used this as an opportunity to sneak into my bed by lifting a side of my tent. Thankfully, she yelled out in frustration when her assault on me wasn’t doing anything. Ana dragged her out by her hair. I slept through it all.

I feel like I’ve had too much myél and one of the Ash'A Jheili family training sessions within hours of each other. It’s happened. Master Ash’A Jheili decided to make us an example for all of those training that day. I took the lesson to heart and learned my drink limit.

Ana took over after I started feeling ill yesterday. She demanded we stop early so I could get a longer rest, but after I collapsed, they continued on the path. I’ve never felt so weak or had this kind of pain before. The pain is irritating, but numbing this morning. I have to push on.

“Get her to her tent. We leave soon, and I’m tired of hearing her mouth.” Ancestors save me. It’s too early, and I haven’t had java yet. Everyone knows not to talk to me before my first cup. I use my personal relief area before packing my tent up.

“Saho, may I come in? I have your cup of the nectar of the Go-ods.” Her sing-song voice in the morning is always welcome. She’s only one of a handful of people who can speak to me in the mornings.”

“Yes. Please.” I sneak over to her in the way we used to as tékeredi. As adults, it can look creepy. It was creepy but cute as kids. I still do it when I’m pretending to sneak sweets from the kitchens. It always gives the staff a good laugh. I get chased out laughing, and they call me a ‘naughty little dehí.’

“Feeling any better?”

“It’s different. I don’t understand why I feel my hayati’s pain like this.” She giggles at me. “Am I missing something?”

“When your hayati was born, you connected. You’ve always shared senses. It’s part of the Royal Hayati Bond. Haven’t you read any of Miwt’s books on royals?” She looks surprised.

“It’s been years.” I shrug. Honestly, it was before I was 12 that I read through her library. I glossed over the parts I found boring. I may need to go back through those.

“Okay, well, come on out so everything can get packed. You still end to eat before we go. It’s not healthy to eat while we walk. Now go.” She pushes me out of my tent.

“So bossy. Fiiine, I’ll go eat.” I laugh as I escape her swing. She laughs, watching me run away. Sometimes it’s hard to tell which is older or if we are grown or not. We lead such serious lives from very young ages. We have the right to act young sometimes.

We begin our daily journey on time as usual. Our company has become fit over the weeks, and even our “weak” members can easily walk 9 rajilá an hour with the breaks we’ve scheduled. During the thirty minute breaks for the twenty untrained, we can clear 10 rajilá. It feels like we’re finally making progress. There’s no doubt we will reach my hayati soon.

I watch the tree line change the further north we move. We watch for the dangerous creatures and feral races that inhibit Sarit’a’sty De’Kuja. The plants and waters are a bonus. Tiesh, similar to dedáma, can often be found in the waters of the Mahan Qacroíí Nile. It makes the waterfall sound like music. Sometimes it’s hard to believe such soothing bliss exists in such a deadly area.