Under the dim glow of lanterns dotting the Jabliu settlement, Naci feels a whirlpool of emotions enveloping her; distress for her brother, anger at the Moukopl empire, and uncertainty over her fractured marriage with Horohan. The night air is cool but thick with tension, a palpable sense of impending hardship lingering ominously.

Gani beckons Naci and Horohan hastily, her worried eyes scanning the surroundings before ushering them into the warmth and relative safety of the family yurt. The cozy, circular structure hums with subdued whispers and hushed exchanges, its inhabitants aware of the growing crisis outside.

At the center, the chieftain sits on a low stool, his hands steady but his eyes betraying the turmoil within. He had been bracing for bad news, his aged frame seeming to sag under the pressure of expectations, both fulfilled and unfulfilled.

Naci approaches with careful steps, the gravity of the situation making her every movement deliberate and heavy. She knows she bears news that that might exacerbate the crushing weight on her father’s shoulders.

But before she delves into the unforeseen events that unfolded in Alinkar, Naci stops, pulling Horohan forward gently. The latter stands tall.

Naci clears her throat, her voice steady despite the anxiety bubbling inside her. “Father,” she begins, her voice carrying a note of tenderness. “Before I share what transpired in Alinkar, there is someone here who stood by me whatever the consequences.”

She turns to Horohan, her hand finding its way to hold Horohan’s, their fingers intertwining, drawing strength from each other. “This is Horohan,” she continues, her voice gaining a confident timbre, “my husband.”

The yurt goes still, a heavy silence blanketing the space as all eyes turn to the Alinkar heir. Naci holds her breath, her heart pounding in her chest as she meets her father’s gaze, a complex tapestry of emotions reflected in his deep-set eyes.

Horohan steps forward, bowing her head slightly as a sign of respect. She raises her head, her voice clear but respectful as she addresses the chieftain.

“I am aware of the traditions and expectations that come with my upbringing,” Horohan begins, her voice bearing a nuanced meld of strength and humility. “But standing here, before you and the Jabliu tribe, I wish to be recognized not as an heir raised falsely, but as a woman who chose loyalty over duty, one who chose to be true to herself.”

She takes a breath, her hand squeezing Naci’s reassuringly before she continues. “I come here seeking refuge, not as a runaway but as Naci’s spouse, as someone willing to stand beside her and the Jabliu tribe in these troubling times.”

The chieftain remains silent for a prolonged moment, his gaze shifting between Naci and Horohan, probing, assessing. The surrounding air feels thick, the silence pressing down heavily as everyone in the yurt waits with bated breath for his response.

Finally, he speaks, his voice carrying a gravity that comes with years of leadership, wisdom, and responsibility. “In these trying times, we find ourselves forging paths untraveled, making choices unforeseen.” He meets Horohan’s eyes, a glimmer of understanding dawning in his expression.

He sighs heavily before a slow, understanding nod graces his features, a tacit acceptance of the alliance forged not between tribes, but between two young souls united in love and courage.

“In the face of adversity, love forms the strongest shield,” he says softly, yet his voice carries a power that reverberates through the silent yurt. “Welcome to Jabliu, Horohan.”

Naci, after ensuring Horohan’s acceptance, takes a moment to gather her thoughts before delving into the recent events. “Father, Alinkar is not what it once was. The traditions and beliefs that once held it together are crumbling under its own weight,” she says, her voice weighed with the memory of what transpired.

She continues, her gaze fixed on the chieftain’s, recounting the internal conflict within the Alinkar tribe, Horohan’s brave choice to embrace her true self, and the resulting fallout that led to Horohan’s disinheritance and their subsequent flight from the tribe’s heartlands.

The chieftain’s eyes, previously filled with relief and understanding, now flicker with concern as he processes the implications of Naci’s tale. He remains silent for a moment, absorbing the gravity of the situation.

Finally, he speaks, his voice tinged with a mix of pride and worry. “You have shown great strength, Naci, and I am relieved to know you are safe, but we must also consider the precarious position we now find ourselves in.”

Naci nods in agreement. She too has been contemplating the ramifications of her actions on the Jabliu tribe.

He continues, “Our tribe is vulnerable, with most of our young warriors taken by the Moukopl. We may have a few friends across Tepr, but the incident with Alinkar casts a long shadow. There is a chance they may use this as a pretext for war.”

The tension in the yurt grows. The whispers and hushed exchanges from before have ceased, replaced by a palpable sense of unease. Everyone present is acutely aware of the dangers that loom.

Horohan, sensing the gravity, speaks up, her voice clear but laden with concern, “We cannot stand alone. We must rally our allies and make them see the truth of what has transpired.”

The chieftain nods slowly, “Horohan is right. The tribes that are still friendly to us need to hear our side of the story before rumors and half-truths poison their minds. We must act swiftly.”

Turning his attention back to Naci, he says, “From tomorrow, you and Horohan must head to these tribes. Plead our case, ask for their help. We must strengthen our bonds and forge new alliances.”

Naci, understanding the gravity of her father’s words, nods resolutely. “We will do everything in our power, Father.”

Gani stands up gracefully, her intuitive motherly instincts catching the weary demeanor of the two young women. “Are you two hungry? We still have some warm broth from dinner,” she offers kindly.

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Naci shakes her head, “No, thank you, Mother. The journey was long and tiring, and I think we just need some rest.” Beside her, Horohan nods in agreement, clearly as exhausted as Naci.

Gani’s eyes hold a hint of understanding. “Very well. Come, follow me,” she says, beckoning the two of them to step outside.

As they traverse the quiet pathways of the settlement, Naci’s curiosity piques. “Where are we going?” she inquires, trying to make sense of their direction.

Gani sighs lightly, the cool night air making her voice a bit more nostalgic. “Since most of the boys have been drafted, there’s plenty of space available now.”

The implication of her words hangs. Naci frowns, a surge of discomfort bubbling within her. “Are you chasing me out of my own yurt?” she half-jests, trying to keep the mood light. “Am I forbidden from my own bed now?”

Gani chuckles softly, her voice gentle yet amused. “Oh, Naci, no. It’s just that… I thought you’d be away for a longer time, and I gave your couch to one of your younger sisters. They’re fast asleep now, and I didn’t want to disturb them.”

Naci’s surprise is evident on her face, and she struggles to hold back a laugh. The realization that she and Horohan would have to share a sleeping space for the first time washes over her, and a blush creeps up her face. “I see,” she mumbles, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

They arrive at a smaller yurt, its entrance softly illuminated by a lantern’s gentle glow. Gani gestures inside. “You two can sleep here for tonight.”

Naci, her face still a warm shade of pink, turns to Horohan. “Are you … okay with this?” she asks, her voice a soft whisper, clearly embarrassed by the predicament.

Gani looks at the two of them, her eyebrows knitting in confusion. “Why are you two acting so strange? You’re married, aren’t you?”

Horohan, feeling the weight of Gani’s gaze and Naci’s apprehension, clears her throat, her cheeks slightly reddened. “It’s fine, Naci,” she says, trying to sound more confident than she feels. “We shouldn’t trouble your mother any further.”

Gani nods, seemingly satisfied with Horohan’s response. “Rest well, both of you. Tomorrow is another day,” she says, her voice filled with warmth.

After Gani’s departure, an almost tangible tension fills the small yurt. The two young women exchange glances, the weight of their shared circumstances making every movement feel exaggerated, every second linger just a bit too long.

Taking a deep breath, Horohan begins to peel away her clothes, and as each layer drops, a roadmap of scars and bruises is revealed. They stretch across her back, flank her ribs, and even down her legs—a testament to a life that’s been anything but gentle. There’s a raw vulnerability in this act, a glimpse into a past Naci had only scratched the surface of.

Naci, even in her embarrassment, can’t help but stare. The play of candlelight makes the scars appear both tragic and strangely beautiful. Before she can stop herself, the words spill from her lips. “You’re beautiful.”

Horohan stiffens momentarily, the comment catching her off-guard. She turns her gaze to Naci, her face a myriad of emotions—surprise, vulnerability, and a touch of warmth.

Feeling the need to fill the silence, Naci quickly changes and slips under the thin blanket, laying on one side of the bed place. Horohan, after a moment’s hesitation, does the same, positioning herself opposite to Naci. The two lie there for what feels like hours, the quiet only interrupted by the occasional rustling of the blanket and the distant hoot of an owl.

Finally, Naci, her voice slightly shaky, breaks the silence. “Do you remember the first time you tried to ride a horse?” she asks, a hint of mischief in her eyes.

Horohan chuckles, the tension in the air dissipating slightly. “Oh, don’t get me started. I was convinced the beast hated me. Every time I tried to mount, it would buck or sidestep, making me look like a complete fool.”

Naci laughs, the sound light and genuine. “I had a similar experience, but with a goat. I thought it would be fun to ride one, given how small and less intimidating they seemed compared to horses. Big mistake. It bolted, and I ended up in a mud puddle.”

Horohan’s laughter joins Naci’s, the two of them caught up in the shared humor of their past follies. The night continues in this manner, with the two women exchanging tales from their childhoods—some humorous, some touching, all of them painting a vivid picture of the lives they had led before their paths converged.

Horohan shifts slightly, her fingers playing with the edges of the blanket as she gathers her thoughts. Naci, sensing the depth of what’s about to be shared, offers a gentle squeeze to Horohan’s hand.

“My father was the chief of the Alinkar tribe,” Horohan begins, her voice quiet and reflective. “He had always longed for a son, an heir to carry on his legacy and leadership. When I was born, my mother passed away due to complications. My father was devastated, not just because he lost his beloved third wife, but also because he was left with a daughter.”

She pauses for a moment, taking a deep breath. “In his grief and desperation, he made a decision. He declared to the tribe that he had been blessed with a son. And so, I was raised as ‘Horohan’, the male heir to the Alinkar tribe.”

Naci listens intently to a story she only heard partially, absorbing every word, every emotion.

“As a child, I didn’t really understand the weight of my father’s decision. I was simply happy to be by his side, learning the ways of our tribe, the art of combat, diplomacy, and leadership. I was treated like any other boy, and for the longest time, I believed that’s who I was.”

Horohan’s gaze turns distant, lost in the memories of her past. “As I grew older, my feelings began to change, and the elders and the women of the tribe, especially those who remembered my birth, would cast furtive glances, whispering among themselves.”

She chuckles wryly, “I became adept at hiding, at concealing any signs of my femininity. I trained even harder to prove that I was every bit the warrior my father believed me to be.”

“The real challenge began when the neighboring tribes began discussing marriage alliances. As the ‘male’ heir of Alinkar, many sought my hand for their daughters. The web of lies grew more intricate, the stakes higher. I couldn’t marry, for that would reveal my true identity. Yet, refusing would risk the ire of potential allies.”

Naci, her voice full of empathy, asks, “How did you cope with all of that?”

Horohan shrugs, a bittersweet smile on her face. “It wasn’t easy. There were nights I would cry myself to sleep, trapped in a life that wasn’t truly mine. Yet, amidst all that turmoil, there were moments of clarity. I always felt more attraction towards the girls than boys in Alinkar. Maybe it’s a consequence of my education, but I convinced myself it would all be fine if I could love a woman the way men do.”

As Horohan reaches the end of her story, Naci can’t help but sense the deep-rooted conflict within her. It’s as if Horohan’s entire life had been a struggle between embracing her true self and adhering to the expectations thrust upon her. Naci feels a swirl of emotions, a maelstrom of sympathy, sadness, and above all, a fierce admiration for the courageous person lying beside her.

Naci’s heart raced, but she pushes herself to speak, choosing her words carefully. “You know, Horohan, your feelings might not be just because of how you were raised. I… I mean, I like you because you’re a woman too.”

Horohan chuckles lightly, brushing off the weight of Naci’s words. “That doesn’t count, Naci. I’m basically a tomboy.”

Naci’s eyes narrow slightly, feeling her emotions swell. She isn’t about to let her feelings be dismissed so easily. With a determined motion, she slides under the blanket, closing the distance between them. Her movement catches Horohan off-guard, and she watches, wide-eyed, as Naci props herself up, looking down into her eyes with an intensity that makes Horohan’s heart skip a beat.

“I told you once, and I’ll tell you again,” Naci whispers, her breath ghosting over Horohan’s face, “you’re beautiful, Horohan. And by the way, I’m way more of a tomboy than you.”

The words hung in the air, thick with unsaid emotions. Horohan’s face turns a deep shade of red, her heartbeat echoing in her ears. She swallows, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m cold,” she admitts, her gaze darting away.

Naci caught the hint, her own face flushing as she understands the implicit invitation. Gently, she lowers herself, bringing their bodies closer, seeking the warmth that both of them desperately need. The night outside may be been chilly, but inside the yurt, two souls find solace in each other’s embrace.