At sunset, the progression of natives stops again, collecting into pools and kneeling in the sand towards the western sky. The sharuq is noticeably closer now. It cuts a dominating swath across the eastern horizon.
After the Evening Prayer, the natives begin setting up their tents in a valley between two large dunes. From a distance, Gil and Kiddu watch the tan-robed men assemble the tents, sometimes clumsily, often shouting at each other, while the blue-robed women all keep clustered on one side of the camp.
Kripa and Hatvan eventually trudge up towards them, carrying a tent and a tentpole. Wordlessly, the two warriors plunge the tentpole into the loose sand and drape the tent around it.
Hatvan just shrugs.
Soon afterwards, Jaruna shows up, carrying a couple of pieces of flatbread and a handful of half-dried figs. He ushers Gil and Kiddu into the tent, waving aside Kripa’s objections.
Jaruna hands them food and refills their water flasks with his own. The mystic seems distracted, overwhelmed—Gil wonders how much experience Jaruna actually has as a leader.
Before Gil can object, Jaruna jogs out of the tent and into the night.
A wind blows in from below the tentflaps, scattering sand onto their flatbread. Gil brushes it off and takes a bite—he can’t tell if the crispy texture comes from an intentional baking technique or from staleness. He puts a fig in his mouth, mostly just to provide his mouth with some moisture.
He is surprised to learn that Kripa and Hatvan had carried him, which is what he wanted to say. But as he chews his dry food into a mushy paste, he gets a better idea.
He flails his hands, motioning for her to come closer. She leans in close, concerned—
The bolus of mealy flatbread and half-chewed fig flies and plops squarely under Kiddu’s left eye. It sticks against the curve of her round cheek for half a second before she swats it off.
Glaring at him, Kiddu grabs his robe and wipes it on her face.
She balls up his robe into her fist and then, lightning quick, punches it into Gil’s stomach. He gasps and coughs, but manages to grab her arm by the wrist, and the two of them tumble to the ground.
It quickly turns into a fight. Winded and still coughing, Gil rolls over onto his stomach, and tries to push himself up. But he is too slow—Kiddu pounces on his back and wraps her arms around his neck. The soft inside of her elbow squeezes against his windpipe.
Gil, unable to vocalize, just gags. He digs his fingers under her forearm and tries to pry it off his neck, but she shifts her weight suddenly and rolls both of them over on their sides. The sand slides underneath them as they struggle in the dark.
In desperation, Gil flails out his elbow.
She releases him and sinks back towards side of the tent. Gil gets to his knees and spins to face her, and sees that she’s clutching her chest.
She gasps as if she’s out of breath, or about to cry.
Gil can’t help but laugh. She begins to move towards him, but he holds up both of his hands.
Gil turns to face the native, who glowers at the tent entrance. His giant club is raised and pointed at Gil.
Once again, Gil gets the odd feeling that they’re back at the orphanage.
It is difficult to see Kripa’s face. The warrior’s hulking shadow blocks almost all the crepuscular light from outside. He stands there for a few moments and then furiously flings the tentflap back down, leaving them in peace.
Gil coughs. She had choked him pretty bad. They spread out on opposite sides of the small tent as much as they can.
Nevertheless, he forces himself to stay awake until he hears her snoring.
