For me.
My vision blurred. I blinked hard, but the tears came anyway, hot and sudden, spilling over before I could stop them.
He wanted me to look honoured. Not taken.
Kessa made a soft sound and pulled me into her arms, her body warm and solid, and I buried my face against her shoulder and tried not to sob. The other women murmured around us, their voices soothing, and I felt hands smoothing my hair, my back, grounding me in their care.
"You cry for joy?" one of the younger women asked hesitantly. "Or fear?"
"Both," I managed against Kessa's shoulder, my voice muffled. "I don't... I don't know how I deserve this."
"You survive," Sira said simply. "You learn our words. You try. That is enough."
When I finally pulled back, sniffling and embarrassed, Kessa cupped my face in her broad hands and spoke low and firm. "You are Daska’s now, Ellie. Whatever old elders say, we don't let our daughters walk into new hearth without blessing." Her thumb brushed away a tear. "You understand?"
I nodded, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.
"Good. Now we make you ready."
They dressed me with care, peeling away my borrowed furs and doeskin tunic, washing me with warm water scented with sweet and spicy herbs. The cold air bit at my skin, but the women worked quickly, efficiently, talking in low voices as they moved.
"Your skin is pale like snow," the younger woman commented, not unkindly. "Will you burn in summer?"
"Yes," I said, managing a weak smile. "Very much."
"We make you salve," Kessa promised. "From—" Another word I didn't know. She mimed rubbing something on her arms.
When they slipped the cream leather over my head it fit like it had been fitted for my body. The leggings hugged my legs perfectly, the boots soft and warm, and when Kessa fastened the belt at my waist and stepped back to look at me, her eyes went bright and wet.
"Beautiful," she breathed. "Like spirit-walker from old stories."
Sira nodded, her weathered face soft. "Daska will forget to breathe."
The other women laughed, warm and knowing, and my face went hot.
Then Sira gestured for me to sit, and said quietly, "Now we do your hair. This part is... sacred. You understand this word?"
"Yes," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Sacred. Like... spirit-touched."
"Yes." Sira's expression was grave. "We mark your change. Old life to new. You will carry both in your braids."
They worked in focused silence, their hands gentle as they combed through my hair with a carved bone tool, smoothing out the tangles. One of the younger women brought a small clay pot filled with oil mixed with herbs and they worked it through my hair until it gleamed. Then Sira began to braid.
Her fingers moved with practiced ease, weaving my hair into intricate patterns I couldn't see but could feel, tight and secure at my scalp, looser as the braids fell down my back. She wove in small beads as she worked, bone and stone that clicked softly together, and wrapped the ends with thin strips of leather dyed deep red.
"Why red?" I asked quietly.
"Blood," Kessa said simply. "Life. Bond. The cord that cannot break."
Sira leaned close and touched the beads gently, then touched her own hair, bound in similar fashion. "Each bead tells story. This one…" She tapped a pale bone bead near my temple. "This is for your old life. The people you left. We honour them."
My throat tightened.
"This one…" A dark stone bead, shining like obsidian. "This is for your courage. You walk through...” She used a word thatmeant something like danger. "You come to us. That takes strength."
"And these…" Kessa touched the turquoise beads woven near the base of my skull. "These are for water. For life that flows. For children, maybe, if spirits bless you."
I closed my eyes and let them work, my throat tight, my chest aching with something I couldn't name.
