I could hear Calula’s tears. She was laughing and crying, her head buried in me. I felt my own tears begin to fall from my eyes. Warm, happy tears. It had been such a long time since I had felt her touch. It was both comforting and foreign to me.

“Rico! Is that really you?" My mother cried in Dallie. Just those few words switched my brain to my mother tongue.

“Mama!” Calula let go of me so I could embrace mum.

“Rico, I missed you so much.” Mum squeezed me closer to her.

I began to cry harder. “I missed you too. I missed you more than anything.”

I just cried in her warm embrace. It had been too long since I had felt her arms around me. Too long since her soft words had washed through my mind.

Mum stopped the embrace by pushing me at arm’s length to examine me. She looked me up and down, taking in my shaggy hair, my dress uniform, and every visible scar on my body. The first one she noticed was the right side of my face. She traced it with her soft hand.

“How did that happen?" She already knew the answer but asked anyway.

I pushed her hand from my face. “In a battle. It’s really not that bad. I’ve seen worst.”

That was the wrong thing to say. She looked at me horrified. She embraced me again. “You shouldn’t have had to see worst.”

“I’m all right, mum. I’m here. I’m alive. I’m fine.”

“I’ve missed you.” Mum said again.

“I love you so much.”

She held me at arm’s length once more. “You’re thin. We better get some food in you.”

She then hurried off into the kitchen, whipping tears from her eyes. There was a slight bounce in her step.

I finally got to have a good look at Calula.She was wearing loose red pants and a white embroidered shirt. Wait! She was wearing my loose red pants and my embroidered white shirt. “Why are you wearing my clothes?”

“They are more comfortable to work in.”

I grabbed her, no my, shirt. “Why did you choose this shirt?" I have so many shirts; why did you choose my nicest one? This is the one I wear to riding competitions!”

“All your other ones had stains on them. I wasn’t going to wear a stained shirt.”

I sighed. Then it hit me. It was the middle of the day on a weekday. Why wasn’t she at school? “Why the fuck aren’t you at school?”

She looked at me like I was stupid, which I probably was. “Without you around, Mama needed someone else to help on the farm. I’ve only been going to school two days a week recently. A lot of the girls in my class are doing the same thing. There just aren’t enough people in the town. Every single man of working age is at war.”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

I looked at her incredulously. “But you shouldn’t be missing out on your education.”

“I don’t really have much choice, like you. The government is taking a massive portion of our crops without paying us a cent, to feed the people at the front. We barely have enough food to sell and eat. The least I can do is help around the farm. Mum and dad are stretched so thin.”

“Shit. That fucking stinks. Why is the government allowed to just take food from us? That’s not fair.”

“They need to feed all the soldiers at the front and probably don’t have the funding to pay us lowlife farmers. I guess it’s that, or let all the soldiers starve. Malnourished soldiers aren’t much use. I hate it, but it makes sense.”

I hugged Calula again. “I’ve missed you.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

We went into the kitchen together to see mum cooking up a storm. “I’m making your favourite dish, Ricoco.”

I had finally stopped crying, but mum calling me by my nickname made tears fall. It had been such a long time since anyone had called me Ricoco. She didn’t have to tell me that she was making my favourite dish. I had recognised it immediately. She was making dumpling soup.

It had been too long since I had been in my own clothes, so I excused myself to go get changed.

When I entered my room, I started crying again. Everything was just as I had left it all those months ago. The bedsheets were still the same. The pillows were ordered the same way I always did them. My riding boot sat next to the closet along with my heels, sandals, and inside shoes. The curtains were tied back with a single bow, allowing the evening light to stream into the room. My bedside table still had the nearly completely used candle sitting on it along with the last book I was reading, Graveyard book. I never had the chance to finish that book before I had to leave; maybe one day. My cello lent against the bookcase. It was just as beautiful as I remembered.

The only thing that I could find that was different about my room was the closet. It was missing a few clothes. Calula must have stolen them. I pulled out a light blue pair of pants and a short-sleeved pale pink shirt. I slipped on my inside shoes. Comfortable shoes made from sheepskin.

I went to the bathroom and washed my face with the water from the bucket and gave my hair a quick brush through. I would have to get mum to cut it before I had to leave again. She would also have to redo my Tibtans. I wasn’t very good at doing them. I took one of the pills Me~Ra~Kalito had given me before going to eat lunch. I could smell it from upstairs.

When I came downstairs, lunch was on the table, and mum and Calula were already sitting down. I sat down on my pillow, curling my legs underneath me. Mum took a bit of the dumpling soup, signalling us to begin. I picked up my chopsticks and began to eat. It was the most amazing food I had had in my entire life. The dumplings were perfect, and the soup warmed me from the inside out. I had never been so grateful for mums’ food.

Between mouthfuls I asked, “When will dad be home?”

“He should be home around dinner. He went to Gantima to sell some food,” Mum said.

I nodded and continued to eat. I couldn’t wait to see dad again.

Once we finished eating, I got up to help clean up, but mum gave me a look that said, ‘don’t even think about it.' I wasn’t about to cross my mum, so I took a seat in the living room and waited for mum and Calula to finish cleaning up. It felt completely wrong not to be helping, but I didn’t have much choice. Mother's word is law.

She came into the living room with a tray of tea. Mum set the tray down on the small table and took a set on one of the floor pillows.

Then, with no warning, she grabbed my arm and looked at the long scar. “How many scars do you have?” She sounded more angry than concerned.

“Not that many, mum. I’ve gotten off pretty well, all things considered.” Her hand tightened around my arm.

“You shouldn’t have any scars,” mum whispered.

I was at a loss for words. Thankfully, Calula came to the rescue. “Mum, aren’t you going to pour the tea?”

She seemed to snap out of it. She released my writs. “Oh, right, the tea.” She was flustered as she poured the tea.

I felt guilty, but I wasn’t completely sure why. I felt like I had done something wrong. I didn’t want these scars anymore than mum wanted me to have them. I didn’t choose to go to war. I really didn’t want them to bring up anything about the war anymore. I didn’t want to admit what I had done and seen. That was only a conversation I felt I could have with dad. He had fought in the war as well. He would understand what I’m going through.