I spent much time wondering how this Nidath’s visit might be different from Etiar, and how it might be avoided altogether. But, of course, I was completely helpless, and had means neither to speculate nor to take action. Instead, I drifted slowly into thoughts of the woman I had exchanged greetings with one evening, just before a large stone tore through the air and wounded her shoulder. That might have been the last time I had spoken to a woman, I thought, but soon my thoughts were on other things, as the thugs and the deceased and the attacked came into my head.
The following day, however, I found myself thinking of Etiar and Nidath more and more as the customary time for the grocer’s visit approached. Once again, I began to consider methods of avoiding Nidath. I prayed that there might have been some mysterious event that had prevented Nidath or permitted Etiar. As the minutes passed by, I began to believe that Nidath would not come, as I she did not appear for well after I expected her. Perhaps she would not come after all! I began to experience a feeling of relief. But I still lacked a solid concept of time, and as it turned out, I merely expected her earlier than Etiar had come. Just when I felt in a mood to celebrate and forget about the girl entirely, I heard a voice within my home. “Yahram alu,” it cried. “Fe’n, are you in? It is I, the grocer’s daughter.”
I of course offered no response, but merely sighed heavily. If I am quiet, she might believe that she has the wrong house, and she will leave, I told myself. But I knew this was untrue, and sure enough, she entered my bed chamber soon afterward.
I wanted to remain as still and as uninterested as possible, but I soon found my curiosity taking control. What did she look like? How did she move? What sorts of close did she wear? I turned my head toward the door to cast my eyes upon her. “Hello there. Are you Fe’n? Federan Poniubiress?” She asked me meekly.
My attempts at ignoring her failed. I managed not to respond to the light, airy voice, but at the sight and sound of her, I inhaled deeply into my chest, and then allowed the breath to escape rapidly through my nose. Before me stood a young woman, probably seventeen years in age, and I found everything about her to be lovely. She was dressed rather conservatively, with her simple yellow gown flowing from her shoulders to her ankles, interrupted only by a cinched waste that had been marked in purple. Her hair was tied in a purple silk dress of medium height. She was neither my wildly glamorous sister nor my bitterly austere mother. She was simple and seemingly flawless.
All this for her clothes, but I doubt that I shall be able to accurately describe her face. In that moment and in this, I can best describe her face as that of a perfect Hihaythean reformist woman. She had lovely light eyes with an almond shape, set gracefully upon a perfect oval face. Her skin was rich and vibrant, a golden shade of brown, which I felt I had never exactly seen before. But it was her mouth that I was immediately drawn to, as it smoothly formed her soft words. Her lips were full and dark, and no matter how I watched them, I never witnessed an abrupt movement from them. In all of her speech, her lips seemed to move in the most elegant, nonthreatening manner, even as she continued to talk no matter how much I appeared indifferent to her. Her mouth physically expressed her quiet determination, as though she would slowly overcome by force, even as she seemed to yield.
I longed for her to say my name again. It had never sounded as beautiful as the time that it had parted her lips. I said nothing to her. “Yes, you will be Fe’n. I am Nidath, the daughter of the grocer Etiar. He has sent me to take care over you. If you have any need, please say it to me and I shall do my best to fulfill it.” I remained silent.
Nidath stared at me for a moment, clearly expecting some sort of response. When she realized that she would not have it, she produced the cup of stew from the large basket she had brought. “Here you are,” she said, handing me the cup. “Father says you shall have all of it and no more.”
However, I would not take the cup into my hand. She grabbed me by the arm and attempted to force my hand around the small tin cup, but I would not hold the grasp. “Very well, then,” and she held the thing to my mouth. “Drink.” I complied with the order.
I swallowed all of the liquid. It was the first time I had done so, as Nidath brought me considerably less than Etiar ever had. I had also continued to drink more and more each day, and perhaps Nidath’s graceful presence had urged me on that afternoon. She returned the empty cup to the basket and I heard her ask herself “what next?”
Dread spread quickly out of my heard, and I could feel its terrifying coldness creep into the extreme parts of all of my limps. I knew what usually followed the stew. I hoped as hard as I could that she would not, but I knew this hope was futile. Sure enough, I saw her produce a small, wet cloth from the pouch which she had kept within her bag. She stepped toward me with neither word nor change in face, as though what she were about to do was a perfectly ordinary task. My body tensed up, and I could feel muscles in my arms, legs, belly and back tighten—some of them for the first time in over a week. The novelty was lost on my, however, as the whole of my body and mind were focused on resisting what I knew was promptly to come.
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