In the heart of the Alinkar settlement, amidst yurts with intricately designed exteriors and the occasional babble of streams, Temej walks beside Naci, offering bits of wisdom on eagle-raising.

“Your fledgling needs warmth, especially during these first few weeks,” he advises. “They’re vulnerable at this age, and the chill of the Tepr nights can be brutal.”

Naci nods, her fingers gently caressing the small eagle cradled against her chest. “I’ll make sure she’s kept safe and warm. Maybe I can arrange a corner of my yurt, away from the drafts?”

“That’d be wise,” Temej agrees. “In time, she’ll grow stronger, her feathers thickening to withstand the elements. But for now, she relies on you.”

Their conversation fades into comfortable silence as they continue their trek. The beauty of Alinkar stretches out around them, but the cozy business of the morning is suddenly disrupted by raised voices coming from the center of the settlement.

Naci’s sharp ears pick out the familiar voice of Horohan, her words tinged with a mix of frustration and defiance. It’s juxtaposed against the deeper, booming voice of the Alinkar chieftain, his tone seething with anger.

Curiosity piqued and concern evident on her face, Naci quickens her pace towards the commotion, Temej following suit. As they approach, they see Horohan standing tall and proud, facing her father. The gathered crowd, sensing the gravity of the confrontation, murmurs in hushed whispers, forming a loose circle around the two.

“You’ve always been ungrateful,” the chieftain bellows, his finger pointed accusingly at Horohan. “I gave you everything, raised you to be the future leader of Alinkar, and this is how you repay me?”

Horohan’s eyes flash defiantly. “It was you who forced me into this role, Father. A role I never wanted, a life I never chose. You never once stopped to consider what I wanted, how I felt.”

Temej, sensing the delicacy of the situation and not wanting to intrude, gestures for Naci to hang back. She hesitates, torn between intervening and respecting the personal nature of the dispute.

The chieftain’s voice drops to a dangerous whisper. “I did what was necessary for our tribe. For our people. But you, you think only of yourself.”

“That’s not true,” Horohan retorts, her voice shaking with emotion. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked, sacrificed my own happiness, my identity, all for the sake of Alinkar. But I can’t live a lie any longer.”

The crowd shifts uneasily, the tension palpable. Many have known Horohan their entire lives, yet this revelation, this raw display of vulnerability, paints the heir in a new light.

Naci feels a surge of protectiveness towards Horohan, her new partner in this political union. Regardless of their initial unfamiliarity, the weight of responsibility they both bear for their tribes creates an undeniable bond.

With a resolute step, she moves forward, placing herself between the chieftain and Horohan. “Enough,” she declares, her voice steady. “Horohan has shown courage in expressing her truth. It’s a strength that Alinkar, and Tepr as a whole, will need in the days to come.”

The chieftain’s eyes narrow at Naci, his face a dark thundercloud. “You!” he growls, pointing an accusing finger at her. “You have corrupted Horohan with your Jabliu ways. We should never have trusted your tribe. This alliance… It’s clear now. You planned to destroy Alinkar from within.”

Naci recoils, stung by the venom in his words. “You’re mistaken, chieftain. Our tribes united for peace. I would never—”

But he cuts her off, his voice rising in intensity. “Peace? Your people have been our enemies for generations. How foolish we were to think a leopard could change its spots.”

Beside Naci, Horohan visibly winces, her already fragile composure faltering. She had braced herself for confrontation, but the direct assault on her spouse was a low blow she hadn’t anticipated.

Murmurs ripple through the crowd, many nodding in agreement with the chieftain. The past rivalry between the Jabliu and Alinkar tribes is legendary, and old suspicions die hard.

Temej steps forward, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “Chieftain,” he begins, his voice calm and measured, “I’ve been with Naci since she came to Alinkar. Her intentions are honorable. And Horohan—diligent, loyal, and true to our tribe. This is merely a moment of raw emotions. In time, Horohan will return to his diligent self and lead—”

Horohan’s head snaps towards Temej, eyes ablaze. “Temej, stop,” she commands, her voice cutting through the murmurs. “I am a woman. I have lived a lie to please everyone else, but I can’t anymore. And as for Alinkar—I have no intention to rule, not when it requires me to be someone I’m not.”

The crowd gasps, the weight of Horohan’s admission sinking in. Temej looks stunned, having clearly not expected such a revelation.

Amidst the tumult of emotions and clashing voices, the elders of Alinkar, distinguished by their elaborate garb and ornate headpieces, gather in a tight circle. Hushed whispers are exchanged, their expressions fraught with worry. It’s the chieftain, still red-faced with fury, who finally breaks the momentary lull.

“Look at what you’ve done, Horohan!” he roars, his voice echoing off the walls of the yurts. “You have not only betrayed me, but our entire tribe. And you,” he sneers, turning his wrath back to Naci, “You are the catalyst of this calamity.”

Before Naci can react, the eldest among the elders, a woman with a face etched by time and silver streaks running through her hair, steps forward. Her voice, though frail, carries the weight of decades of wisdom and leadership. “With Horohan no longer the heir, the bond of this union loses its meaning. The sacred traditions dictate the marriage is thus null and void.”

A collective gasp spreads through the crowd. Naci’s heart thunders in her chest, her eyes darting to Horohan, whose face reflects a concoction of regret, sorrow, and determination.

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The chieftain nods in grim satisfaction. “It is decreed. Naci of Jabliu, you are to leave Alinkar before the sun sets. Return to your homeland, and tell your elders that it was by your hand, by your influence, that this alliance shattered.”

Naci stands still, the weight of the elder’s words pressing down on her like a mountain. The echo of the chieftain’s disdainful voice bounces around in her head, but amidst the chaos, she forces herself to find solace in the clear, honest gaze of Horohan. A silent understanding passes between them—a momentary flicker of regret and gratitude.

Without uttering a word, Naci pivots on her heel and heads towards her yurt, the soft rustling of the grass beneath her feet the only sound breaking the stunned silence of the settlement. Temej watches her retreat with a heavy heart, wanting to offer words of solace but knowing that he’s said enough.

Upon reaching her yurt, Naci’s fingers tremble as she pulls back the entrance flap, stepping into the dimly lit space that had been her temporary home. The scent of the yurt—of Alinkar and of a life that might have been—fills her nostrils, evoking a pang of sadness.

Just yesterday, she had felt a growing homesickness, a yearning for the familiar lands of Jabliu. And now, as she prepares to depart Alinkar, she finds comfort in that feeling. As she packs her belongings, she tries to convince herself that it’s for the best, that her life in Jabliu awaits her, unchanged and waiting for her return.

Naci’s gaze falls on the fledgling eagle, that she had kept close to her breasts. She smiles softly, leaning down to gently stroke its duvet. “At least I have you,” she murmurs. The thought of introducing her new companion to the skies of Jabliu fills her with a renewed sense of purpose.

With a final, lingering glance around the yurt, Naci grabs her bag and slings it over her shoulder. She steps out into the crisp Tepr air and begins her trek to where Liara grazes on the outskirts of the settlement.

The Alinkar settlement is eerily quiet, the usual sounds of daily life now replaced by hushed conversations and pointed glances. People seem to be intentionally looking anywhere but at Naci. Her heart aches, but she knows there’s no time to wallow.

She approaches Liara, placing a reassuring hand on the horse’s mane. “Time to go, girl,” she whispers, the familiar comfort of her horse bringing a small smile to her face.

Swiftly, she mounts Liara and urges her into a steady trot. With every step that takes them further away from the village, the weight on Naci’s chest lightens slightly. But with that freedom comes the realization that she’s leaving behind something unfinished—something deeply personal and poignant.

As the vast steppes stretch out before her, the wind pulling at her clothes and hair, she chuckles to herself. She imagines the stunned expressions on her family’s faces upon her unexpected return.

“Oh, how mother will fume,” she thinks with a grin, “while father just is simply going to stand there, scratching his beard in confusion. And then there’s my brother. I can already hear his sarcastic remarks, finding humor in my ‘failed diplomatic mission’.”

A fond sigh escapes her lips as she thinks of her younger sisters, their eyes wide with wonder, peppering her with endless questions about the Alinkar and the grand wedding ceremony.

Lost in her thoughts and fantasies, she’s pulled back to the present by the distant but unmistakable sound of hooves pounding against the ground. Her heart skips a beat. Glancing over her shoulder, she spots a lone rider galloping towards her. The familiar silhouette of Horohan is unmistakable even from a distance.

Drawing Liara to a halt, she waits. The distance between them closes quickly, and Horohan reins in her horse alongside Naci, both women exchanging a brief, intense look.

“Did you really think you could leave without me?” Horohan asks, her voice laced with a mixture of amusement and defiance.

Naci raises an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. “Thought I’d give it a try.”

Horohan chuckles, the sound carrying on the wind. “I can’t go back there, not after everything. Let me come with you.”

Naci studies Horohan for a long moment, searching for any hint of doubt. But all she finds is determination and hope. With a nod, she says, “Then let’s not waste anymore time.”

Horohan’s eagle, Khatan, is an impressive sight. Perched regally on her shoulder, his sharp gaze takes in the surroundings as they ride side by side. Naci’s eyes are drawn to him, her heart swelling with admiration. The bird’s deep brown feathers contrast with the white streaks that give him a commanding presence.

“I love how majestic Khatan looks,” Naci says, her voice filled with genuine appreciation.

Horohan grins, patting Khatan gently. “He’s my pride and joy. But what about you? Did you get the chance to get your own from Temej?”

With a sly smile, Naci reaches into the bundle near her chest. Carefully, she extracts a young eagle, its eyes covered by a soft cloth. The bird chirps softly, its uncertainty palpable. “Still a fledgling, but she’s mine,” Naci says with pride.

Horohan’s eyes light up. “Oh, she’s lovely! What’s her name?”

Naci hesitates, a sheepish look crossing her face. “Well… I haven’t named her yet.”

Raising an eyebrow, Horohan laughs. “Let me help then. How about Uamopak? Named after the legendary warrior?”

Naci makes a face. “Uamopak? Seriously? You’re terrible at naming things, Horohan.”

Horohan chuckles, the sound mingling with the light-hearted banter between them. “Well, it was worth a shot.”

As they continue their journey, the landscape slowly becomes more familiar to Naci. Pointing to a nearby hill, Naci begins to recount a tale from her childhood. “That’s where my siblings and I would go to watch the sunset. It’s also where my brother dared me to jump off and see if I could fly.”

Horohan laughs. “Sounds like a typical sibling challenge. Did you?”

Naci grins. “Let’s just say I learned the hard way that humans can’t fly.”

Their laughter fills the air, a soothing balm for Naci’s soul. As they approach a familiar pasture, distant voices reach their ears. Looking ahead, Naci spots two familiar figures from Jabliu waving energetically, surrounded by a vast herd of sheep.

“That’s Tarkan and Kael!” Naci exclaims, a hint of excitement in her voice.

The two women continue their cheerful hollering, clearly elated to see Naci. As the distance closes, the warmth of home and the comfort of familiar faces washes over her.

The orange and purple hues of the setting sun cast a serene glow over the vast steppes as Naci and Horohan approach the main Jabliu settlement. The cottage, usually bustling with life at this hour, seems unusually quiet, with only a few middle-aged tribespeople moving about.

A slightly drunken man spots them first. His eyes widen in disbelief, and he stumbles a step back. “Ghosts of the underworld!” he yells, pointing a shaky finger at the two women. His outburst attracts the attention of other villagers, who slowly start to emerge from their yurts, curious expressions on their faces.

Among the gathering crowd, a familiar face emerges. Gani, Naci’s mother, steps out, her eyes searching until they land on her daughter. With a mixture of relief, surprise, and a bit of anger, she runs towards the two riders.

Naci and Horohan dismount their horses just in time to meet Gani’s fast-approaching figure. Before words can be exchanged, Gani pulls Naci into a tight embrace, tears forming in her eyes.

Breaking away from the hug, Gani’s voice trembles. “What are you doing here?”

Naci takes a deep breath, the weight of the journey and everything she left behind pressing down on her. “It’s a long story, mother. I need to speak with father and my brother.”

Gani’s face darkens, a shadow passing over her features. Looking around, Naci senses that something is amiss. The village feels … empty, lacking the vibrancy of the young men that typically fill its confines.

Gani takes a moment before speaking, her voice laden with sorrow. “Dukar … he was drafted yesterday to join the Moukopl army.”

The words hit Naci like a physical blow, her heart heavy with a mix of shock and dread. The implications of her brother’s drafting and the state of her home start to settle in, and the reunion’s bittersweet taste lingers in the air.