Les choses commencent à s'arranger un peu, donc voilà le prochain. Un peu court mais c'est pour passer plus vite aux bons morceaux.
Chapter 3: When the Falcon has Cried Thrice
Even though Zia insisted she could still do things herself, Kane'Oro was bent on good hospitality. So the next morning started off with her awkwardly standing around while one of his servants helped dress her up. Her clothes had sustained some damage, and there was no way he'd let her walk off all burned and ripped like a mendicant. Even though she appreciated the thought, she did wish that they'd let her do the job herself, but hospitality was hard to deny.
She's never seen such strange fabric. It looked like the pretty silk she might have seen in the markets of China and Persia, but depending on how she looked it at it, it seemed to subtly change colors. It also felt a little warm for the hot Egyptian desert, but she didn't say anything about it. Never look a gift horse in the mouth, Mendoza once said; ironically, at the time she had no idea of what a horse was. And from such a thought to another, she came to be pondering where her friends were, as she was being dolled up by expert hands.
She hoped they were safe. Had the catastrophe of Shikera separated them all? She knew they were still alive, somewhere out there; they just couldn't die. That would be unfathomable. So she held that belief in her heart, determined to find out what happened. She's already found Pichu, so the rest of them wouldn't be too far.
At least she hoped so.
The servant finished tying her hair in a ponytail, and while she didn't really like how it looked, she thanked them all the same. The situation was a little strange, but Kane'Oro had good intentions. He was helping her out, back on her feet and into the world; she's been through a lot, and anyone would have wanted her to feel better. This was very kind of him, yet doubt remained on her heart.
“Pretty pretty!”, Pichu whistled, perched on the mirror.
“You're not half-bad yourself, my good sir.”, she replied with a flattered hand gesture.
She hesitated a bit before reaching her arm out, and he fluttered to land on it. Tao always made it seem so easy, but luckily enough Pichu was a friendly creature. Had he been as stubborn as her own pet condor was, she'd have had such a harder time carrying him around.
Ah, time to go. Following the servant's gesture, she walked outside, blinking at the harsh sun shining up. Her head still hurt a little, but at least she could walk straight, so she let her eyes adjust as she walked between the tents.
The little settlement reminded her of a Chaldean camp. Large tents have been put up in a circle, and were slowly waking up along with daylight. The way she understood it, it was but a night stop for their caravan, and they were already setting up to resume their journey south. She could see that already some people were packing up, speaking that unknown language and preparing their draft beasts.
She's never seen such people. She's always thought that Spaniards such as Mendoza or Gomez were scary tall, and some like Gaspard were built like bears; but those paled in comparison of the giants she was met with. They were so tall that she thought no door she's ever crossed in her life could accommodate them; their shoulders were squared and their sharp traits sculpted from stone. They reminded her of the Urubu giants clad in bear pelts, and she wasn't sure which of their people win in a fight. They carried heavy loads like it was nothing, men and women alike, and she could swear the few children that accompanied the group were actually younger than her, even if they almost matched her height. It made Zia feel horribly small, and she tried her best to not stand in anyone's way.
“Just who are they?”
[...]

Read the rest at
https://archiveofourown.org/works/25015 ... s/60980971 