The thunder rumbled as a stone struck the shattered window of the right minar, marking the beginning of yet another routine day. A yawn escaped from a young girl who rubbed her eyes before rising to investigate the disturbance. Though nearly a decade old, she appeared younger, with dark brown, tousled hair framing her sandy complexion. Her black pearl eyes drifted down to the broken window. Another girl, taller and leaning casually against the wall with her arms crossed, sharply addressed the little girl beside her.
“Didn’t I tell you to stop playing around with your feet in the grass?”
The little girl glanced down, her reaction muted. The taller girl aimed a slingshot towards the window but paused upon seeing the girl peering out from the minar. Lowering her aim, she signaled with an aggressive gesture, her silence deliberate, as though she’d been waiting far too long.
The girl in the minar sighed with disinterest, her gaze signaling that she would come down.
“So, what’s now?” the minar girl asked as she descended.
“Goodness, what took you so long? At least comb your hair!” the taller girl chided, her voice kept low to avoid drawing attention.
With a shrug and a roll of her eyes, the girl from the minar replied, “Well, I did change my clothes if you noticed. Now, where are we going with this storm overhead, Samira?”
Just then, the little girl approached and gently tugged on the minar girl’s sleeve. “Api?” she said, addressing her like an older sister.
“Oh hey, Zoya! How are you? Wait a second, your sister’s attention is hard to get. Samira? I’m asking you something!” she said, turning her attention back to Samira, her voice low but insistent.
Samira suddenly grabbed her by the shoulders. “Do you really want to know where we’re going? Well, that depends...” She glanced down, her voice trailing off. “How much do you have?”
“Hmm, let me see… not much, but…” The girl from the minar began to hand over a small pouch of jingling coins. Before she could fully release it, Samira swiftly snatched the pouch from her grasp and started counting. “One, two, three... four... seven... eight, and nine... Look at that!” she whispered in awe. “Nine gleaming gold coins? Where did you get these?”
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“Well, you could say I have a knack for it.”
“Oh, I love you, Zharfa!” Samira exclaimed, pulling her into a one-sided hug. “... And you know that. Now, hurry up. To the town of Moudari we go...” she said excitedly, then abruptly changed her tone. “Zoya, you little rascal, come on, we have to go!”
When the carriage driver demanded four gold coins, Samira skillfully bargained him down to three. The three young girls embarked on their journey from the capital of Miraz, passing through several farming fields and villages. As the storm gradually receded into the distance, Zharfa admired the rolling plains and the refreshing breeze that caressed her face. Her gaze settled on a field of delicate white flowers, so light that even the wind’s gentle touch set them swaying, producing a pleasant sound.
“What are those flowers, Samira? They’re so beautiful!” Zharfa asked.
“Those are the fields of Sauzan. Gorgeous looking, aren’t they? Each flower has six pristine white petals, and their beauty isn’t just for show. The petals hold a liquid that, when applied to burns, rejuvenates the skin. Here, don’t tell anyone,” she whispered conspiratorially, “but my aunt used to say each petal hides a tiny seed. Plant it, and imagine—six new flowers from just one! But,” Samira’s voice dropped, her shoulders sagging, “25 coins for each... They’re just too expensive for us.”
Zharfa, puzzled, asked abruptly, “But how can they be expensive when they multiply so easily?”
“Sshhh... Don’t say it so loud, Zharfa... It is what it is,” Samira replied.
Still unable to grasp Samira’s meaning, Zharfa looked out to her left, where another field of flowers came into view. These flowers, however, were rough and dull, their grayish hue making them seem as if they were withering. This field was far more extensive than the others.
“... And what are those?” Zharfa asked.
Samira’s mood instantly brightened. “Oh! Those are the great fields of Zeba. So beautiful... and their fragrance is divine.” As Samira inhaled deeply, little Zoya interjected, “She’s lying! They don’t smell.”
“Oh, hush now. Zharfa, please ignore Zoya. She’s too young to understand,” Samira said, scolding her sister.
“And how old are you to comprehend it?” Zharfa asked Samira, a small, hidden smile playing on her lips.
Samira smirked, realizing that despite her age, she was still young, though the oldest of the three girls.
“You know what I love about the Zeba flowers? They’re resilient. No matter how harsh the storm, they stand tall and endure. They’re cheap, plentiful, and cherished. Women adorn their hair with them, and men carry them in their pockets. And their scent... it’s heavenly, but only if you let them rest for six months or more. The fragrance lingers for just a moment, if you’re lucky enough to catch it, before it fades away...” Samira said, her eyes alight with admiration for the fields of Zeba, feeling a deep connection to the resilient flowers.