Dejection

My tattered skirt and tunic from yesterday are neatly folded on a small stool.

“Elara must have come to tidy up after I passed out. They're still damp and muddy. I'll ask if she has anything else I can borrow. For now, the nightgown will have to do.”

I open the door and step into the main room. The smell of frying meat and something akin to toasted bread fills the air. 

Hakota is sitting at the small wooden table, sharpening a knife with a whetstone, the rhythmic shing-shing a surprisingly domestic sound. He looks up as I enter and gives me a small, reserved smile.

Elara is at the hearth, turning over thick slices of what looks like spam in a heavy iron pan. She beams at me. “Good morning! Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you. Like a log.” I lie, offering a grateful smile in return. It’s the first easy, genuine smile I think I’ve given in years. “Elara, I… Is there anywhere I could wash and repair my clothes?”

“Oh, don’t you worry about that!” she says, wiping her hands on her apron. “I have an old tunic and skirt that should fit you well enough for today, you can repair your clothes when you are feeling better. I’ll go get them after we eat. Now, sit, sit!”

I take a seat opposite Hakota, who sets his knife and whetstone aside. 

Elara brings over two wooden plates piled with crispy meat and a thick slice of dark, crusty bread. She sets them on the table along with two mugs of steaming water that has a few fragrant leaves floating in it.

The food, the warmth, their simple, undemanding kindness. It's overwhelming. 

“Thank you for this.” My stomach rumbles in agreement. 

“Your ankle seems better.” Hakota says, his voice a little more gravely than it was last night. 

“It’s… perfect!” I say, wiggling my foot for emphasis. “I don’t understand it. That healer, Clovis…”

“Her craft is rare. We are lucky to have her in the village even if she can be a little… stand offish.” Elara explains, sitting down with her own plate.

We eat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes. The food is simple but delicious, and I devour every last bite. But I can't shake it. The word kindled keeps circling in my mind. 

Should I tell them? My old instincts scream at me to keep it hidden, to guard the information, to play my role as the simple, unlucky nomad. 

But these people saved me. They showed me kindness when I expected suspicion.

Taking a deep breath, I decide to take the risk. Not for survival, but for connection.

“I… I had a really weird dream last night,” I begin, my voice a little hesitant.

Elara looks up from her mug, her expression curious. “Oh?”

“It’s going to sound strange,” I preface, looking from her warm face to Hakota’s more guarded one. “I was in a weird colourful space. And there was a voice that I recognized as my own. But it wasn’t me who was saying the words and it tol…  it told me that I was ‘kindled’.”

I say the word and watch them. Their reaction is instantaneous.

Elara’s friendly smile vanishes. The mug in her hand stops halfway to her lips, and her eyes widen, a flicker of what looks like fear or perhaps awe.

Hakota, who had been leaning back in his chair, suddenly and violently thrusts up straight. He puts his hands flat on the table, his entire posture shifting from relaxed to intensely alert. 

He and Elara exchange a look. A silent, lightning-fast conversation passes between them.

The air in the cozy home instantaneously feels charged, with unspoken meaning.

“Shikara,” Hakota says, his voice strained and serious, all traces of his earlier casualness gone. He leans forward, his eyes locking onto mine. “Tell me everything you remember about that dream. Every single word.”

Hesitantly I relay the events of my dream in succinct detail to both of them. Neither of them spoke a single word. Nor did their expressions change.

“Elara, you need to go get the captain and the chief. I’ll stay here with Shikara while she finishes eating.” The Sterness in Hakota’s voice wasn’t something I expected. 

Elara swiftly exits without taking a moment to say goodbye. A feeling of regret forms in my stomach, I am meant to continue to eat but I can’t bring myself to. 

Hakota stands abruptly. “Elara will be back soon. In the meantime, tell me more about the skills. What were they?”

I recount the description of the skill I had, the absurdity of the situation does not play folly on my mind due to the tightness in the air. 

As I speak, Hakota paces back and forth, his heavy boots clatter loudly against the wooden floor as he goes.

A commotion erupts outside and Hakota’s face snaps to the door as the sound of rapid footsteps, voices, and the unmistakable clink of heavy armor signals the arrival of the captain.

Hakota rushes to throw open the door. Elara is a little bit further back, up the street, her face a mask of worry.

Standing just in front of the doorway is a man of immense stature. He's easily a head taller than Hakota, with broad shoulders and forearms like tree trunks. I’m now certain he’s the captain. His armor, though simple, seems to be forged for a giant; it contributes well to his worn, stern complexion. 

Beside him is a stout older man, clearly past his prime but nothing to scoff at still. His expression isn’t as serious as everyone else’s, perhaps his life has weathered a lot more turmoil. 

Or perhaps I really don’t actually have anything to worry about and this is just a big misunderstanding.

At this point I might  just be projecting my own feelings of elderly people onto this old man. However he hardly seems like the type to be perusing DVDs. I truly do sense an uplifting feeling from him. 

Something compassionate.