[Oyster.]

Yaretzi Meztin

You Will Always Be Loved.

The serenade of songbirds heralded a morning unlike any other. It was a special occasion for the siblings Yaretzi and Tothacl. Years ago, in the dark recesses of the humid jungle, the explorers had stumbled upon a most curious grove. Within it were flowers that bloomed only twice a year- the Quazeratni, the Rise and Fall, thought native to Gehenna. Ever since, the twins had returned at the appropriate dates to watch the flowers bloom and promise a change of seasons from Asena's grace to Saekanis' cruelty.

Yaretzi strode through the village, the young woman dressed in unusual black furs reserved for special events. She was one her way to one of the alchemists. Before spotting her quarry, the girl was called to from a nearby group of youths. They waved their spears and invited her over with jubilation, excited to conscript another to their communal hunt.

"Not today!" the girl called back, to groans of collective disappointment. Yaretzi couldn't refrain from an apologetic smile. "It's an important occasion. Good luck! Eznite sharpen your spears."

* * * * * *

Some time later, she found herself before the old alchemist, tending to her crops and sprinkling some strange, pungent dust over them. "Muwatle," the girl greeted her.

The alchemist turned sluggishly, as if her old bones were strained by the effort. "Ah!" she crowed. "Yaretzi, dear." There was a sudden flash of realization on her features, expression twisting to one of concern. "Are you alri-"

"Yes," the girl cut her off, hand raising. "Never better. I'd like a small jar of honey."

"Honey?"

"Yes."

"Hmm... yes. Just one moment."

Muwatle would retreat into her hut, gone from sight for several seconds. Yaretzi waited patiently, listening to the hum of the tribe around her and the echoes of nature. The sounds were sweet. Enticing, as if rushing her to meet up with her brother at the grove. The earth itself hastening their adventure.

It was only when the alchemist returned that Yaretzi realized she'd been tense the entire time. Her shoulders slumped as the crone shambled forward, stretching out the tiny wooden pot, enough for a few scoops. No currency was exchanged; the payment had been given long ago.

"There you are. Good for the season, if you keep it well. What are you making?"

"Oh, it's for the grove. My brother and I are meeting up there. Thanks!"

The old woman's eyes bulged, face petrified with fear--

-- Yaretzi was gone before she could say a word.

* * * * * *

The grove was a place that young Yaretzi could reach with her eyes closed. Bare feet were familiar with every incline in the dirt, every root that poked through the earth. Her heart raced steadily, anticipation mixed with the pace at which she rushed through. She couldn't afford to be late to something like this.

A sigh of relief escaped her as she stepped into the grove. Her brother was waiting for her, beside the small patch of flowers that would soon bloom. Their stems were vivid purple, their folded petals white as snow. The warmth of Asena, soon to transition.

The rattling grunts of her guest drew her attention. Yaretzi spared a dull glance for the woman tied to a nearby tree, gagged with cloth and stripped bare with her Osronan weaponry neatly piled at her side. Tantalizingly close, as if with a deep breath she might be able to stretch her bindings and snatch them...

It wouldn't happen.

Yaretzi knelt down beside her brother, careful to distance herself from the massive mound housing vicious fire ants nearby. Her gaze fell upon those blessed flowers...

And she waited.

The grove was unnaturally still; even the breeze respected the changing of times, and no bird dared to break the reverie. Only the occasional resistance of her guest interfered with the mood. A picture of serenity, a slice of nature carved out perfectly to sing the changing of the seasons...

When those flowers finally bloomed, the entire forest seemed to hold its breath. Pale petals stretched outwards, darkening near instantly to an impossibly sharp black that spread from the bud. The flower was shaped within seconds, others following suit. The Quazeratni embraced Saekanis' chaos. Within days the petals would fall, yet the flower would not close for months until Asena passed over once more.

The first time Yaretzi had seen it with her brother, they'd been overwhelmed. A reminder of home, a reminder of their purpose, a beautiful glimpse of nature and a secret shared only between them. They'd vowed to come here every six months and observe it together, until they were both old and grey.

"... ah," the young girl said to herself.

Her eyes turned to her side. A small, marked bound with a talisman of spiritual protection. The bones of her twin brother, laid to rest long ago.

"It's just not the same."

* * * * * *

Rising to her feet, Yaretzi stepped over to the bound guest, who stared up at the young tribeswoman with defiance. The girl pulled off the lid of the honey carelessly. Much of her enthusiasm was drained, as if the flowers had stolen her energy to bloom and left her only with a fleeting memory.

One clawed hand gripped her guests hair firmly. She didn't bother to exchange words. The pot was tilted, honey dripping sluggishly over her face for a few second as she writhed before Yaretzi moved. She let it drip along her figure and across the ground, creating a thick trail of sugary honey straight to the nearby nest of fire ants. Scouts from the mound were investigating within seconds.

As her guest realised what was happening, her struggling became more frantic. She groaned and wrestled against the restraints, eyes wide and beginning to brim with tears. Yaretzi didn't even look back.

The least she could do was provide for nature. The wooden pot fell into the soft dirt as she turned around, leaving the grove and her brother behind until the changing of seasons. By now ants were streaming from their home by the dozens- the hundreds.

Even through the gag, the woman's' screaming would echo through the forest minutes later.

* * * * * *