My father's faith in me becoming a rider was unwavering, which was both endearing and unrealistic. Still, there was a chance that he was right, and as my imagination provided me with a visual of riding with Dylon on his dragonia, my mouth turned suddenly dry. The prospect was much more terrifying than scaling Mount Hope.
Would I be riding behind him so I could bury my face in his back or in front of him?
I hoped it was the former and not the latter.
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves." I infused my voice with confidence. "The shaman hasn't declared me gifted yet."
"But what if you are—" my mother started.
"If I am, then I'll deal with it." I softened my voice at her flinch. "But there's no point worrying about something that might not happen."
A rapid knock at the front door interrupted whatever my mother was about to say, and a moment later, Shovia walked into my room, dressed in her fatigues and looking as good in them as I had expected.
"Are you ready?" She practically bounced on her toes, radiating excitement. "We need to get going soon!"
"Some of us actually pack carefully," I said, but couldn't help smiling at her enthusiasm. "Not everyone just throws things in her bag and hopes for the best. Did you remember to pack several changes of undergarments?"
Shovia waved a dismissive hand. "I'm not gifted, so I'll be coming down after the shaman tells me my fate. I only packed what I needed for the three days going up, one day at the top, and three days coming down. You, on the other hand, might need more. Then again, they have laundry facilities at the Citadel, so seven of everything should be enough."
If we were flown directly to the Citadel, we wouldn't be going back to get our personal items, so I'd made sure to pack a few.
I believed in being prepared for any eventuality.
Shovia dropped her backpack on the floor next to mine and sat on my bed. "I packed makeup, though." She crossed her legs as if she were sitting at a party and laced the fingers of both hands over her knee. "Fasting doesn't mean looking bad, right?"
She couldn't look bad even if she tried.
I shook my head. "Only you would think of bringing makeup."
She shrugged. 'You'd be surprised. The pilgrimage is great for socializing and meeting new guys."
My mother snorted softly. "Is your family coming to the ceremony, Shovia?"
Her expression turned somber. "My grandma is not feeling well, so it depends on whether they have to stay with her. I'd rather they don't come." She grimaced. "My mother gets emotional watching stupid televised dramas. I don't want her sobbing loudly during the ceremony, and everyone looking at her. It would be so embarrassing."
My mom seemed taken aback, probably because she knew she would shed a few tears herself. "I hope your grandmother feels better soon and that your parents make it to the ceremony.After all, we embark on the pilgrimage just once in our lifetime. It would be a shame if they missed seeing you off."
Shovia shrugged. "I don't mind. I've already said my goodbyes, and they wished me luck and all that. Besides, they are going to see me in a week. I was gone longer when I was visiting my cousins in Podana." She turned back to me. "I heard that Alar stopped by the apothecary this morning."
My grandmother was such a gossip, but how did she know that Shovia knew Alar?
I busied myself putting on my hat. "He wanted something for altitude sickness."
"Smart man." My father nodded approvingly. "Most flatlanders don't think about that until they're halfway up the mountain and sick as dogs."
Chicha barked at the word 'dogs' and resumed her restless trotting back and forth between the window and the door.
"What's wrong with her?" Shovia asked.
"She's been like this all day. She must be picking up on everyone's nervous energy." I did one final check of my gear. "Water bottles?"
"Filled and attached," Shovia said.
"Socks?"
"Six pairs."
We wouldn't get to wash ourselves on the trek, and we had been given only one extra pair of fatigues, but at least we could put on a fresh pair of underwear and socks each morning.
