The End; chapter two, cont.

There was an unusual chatter of excitement in the academy building, or what seemed unusual to Ahra. The young girls leaned fervently from side to side, whispering wildly and squealing, pulling on the young men’s sleeves and spreading the hushed excitement to them. Ahra sat cross-legged on a green mat, the same place as the day before. Those who were not gossiping glanced curiously at her bruised forehead, looking to and goading each other to sneak a glimpse as well. Jerking her knee impatiently; she glanced at Aya in the corner; his cold stare was rapt on something other than her. It seemed as if he was in pain, for his mouth was a quivering line that struggled not to scowl, and he was diverted, unaware that she had snuck a cigarette from her sleeve. Rolling her head over to Amaya Ta’al Aalya, in his prestigious seat and accompanied by the two soldiers, he was also frozen in an engrossed gaze, his straight mouth struggling not to grin. Darting back to Aya, then to the young lord again, Ahra almost believed that they were staring at each other.

         Ahra leaned her back onto the straw-colored wall, grumbling to herself and striking a match against the rough walls. Their bizarre instructor was nowhere to be seen, yet they were to wait until the hour had passed. Scanning the room as she cupped her hand to light the cigarette; she noticed the outlandish young man she had met in the village, sitting with his head down amidst the prattling group. Contorting her neck to gain clear view of him, Ahra saw that his bruises and cuts from the day before were bandaged or cleaned. Hayaku hid his hands in his coarse sleeves; he continuously shifted them, making sure they did not show. Casting her eyes toward the ground, Ahra puffed on her cigarette.

         Shuffling his hands around inside the green sleeves, Hayaku ignored the incessant rumoring that flew about the room, for once not the subject. They talked about two students, who had not appeared at the building that day, rumored to have been taken from their families by officials for 'inspection'. They were taken as potential concubines for the village warlord, and the incident had caused an uproar with their instructor, who was allegedly at a council, arguing that the girls had yet to complete military education.  Keeping his head low, Hayaku glanced over to Ahra, who rested jadedly against the wall, hunched over her knees. Noting the bruises upon her forehead, Hayaku felt his own, now reminded of the throbbing he had escaped until now. Sitting farther away from the others than Hayaku himself did, she sucked on a cigarette as if no one could see it between her curled fingers, simply flicking the ash onto the floor. Reaching up to touch her bruises, her eyes slid over to Hayaku's; she immediately recoiled the other way, utterly aghast and wide-eyed. Hayaku turned away as well, biting his tongue and wringing his bandaged hands within his sleeves. Biting her lip, the stun of meeting glances with the strange young man left Ahra’s chest tight and her cheeks ablaze. For whatever reason he was staring at her for, she did not know. Drawing in a nervous puff from her cigarette, Ahra crossed her arms, and dared not look up from the floorboards.

         

         Smells and sounds of Las'ta began to seem familiar to Ahra as she sauntered aimlessly down the market streets, passing time while Aya ventured to the southern tip of the village for fish and other meat for meals to come. It was too far for Ahra to go as of yet, for she barely knew her way around the village. A few hours after sitting listlessly at the military academy; the sun had fallen from its highest peak, now traveling slowly opposite of the mountains that bordered the east side of Las'ta. The streets surrounding Ahra and Aya's house were packed with those squabbling over prices of food for their next meals, pointing at every blemish on fruits or complaining of limp produce. Hot, spicy steam floated down the streets, hovering above peoples' heads. It covered Ahra, as if trying to entice her away from the street and to a food stand where a young boy about the age of ten, called out to friends in the crowds to come and get the pungent stew. Ahra walked along the roads warily, dodging horse carts that rampaged through the masses and ducking so not to hit giant baskets that women carried upon their heads. A rambunctious swarm of squealing children pushed in and out of peoples' legs like usual, running away in delight once they saw Ahra. Pushing her way the less dense sides of the loud street, Ahra scanned the currents of people, in awe that she managed to maneuver through them at all. A bit warm, she loosened the white sash of her saffron robes, which she put on after returning home. It was pleasant to be hot instead of cold; not wearing cotton was much better.

         About to slip back into the bustle and rush of the crowds, the crumpled bundle of cloth and a broken hat once again found her. It laid just paces away from her, tossed and unwanted into a narrow alley between two buildings. It was at that moment, that she remembered where it came from. Though it would have made sense to leave it, Ahra went to the alley, which was more so a crevice, and reached in to pick up the cloth and the damaged hat. Holding the hat; brittle threads of straw frayed out from a smashed hole in one side. She flipped it over in her hands, feeling the thick, worn cotton ties that attached to either side of the hat. Setting it down for a moment, Ahra reluctantly rolled up the muddy cloth into an impromptu bundle, holding it away from her wide sleeves, then set it into the damaged straw hat. Holding them in one arm; Ahra wandered back over to the fast-moving crowds, waiting for an opportune place to slide back in with the baskets and steams. Growling to herself, she stepped into the masses and was again swept away.

         She followed the same streets as earlier, on her way to the military academy, for reasons unknown. The strange young man did not live there, yet she did not know how to go anywhere else. People watched her for a bit, as perplexed as she, eventually shrugging and returning to their haggling and darting of cart horses. Soon enough, Ahra had pushed and swerved her way to the unpopulated gardens before the barricaded academy, easily detaching from the currents of rushing villagers and onto the stiff grass. Disregarding the curious looks given by those lounging at the sides of the street, Ahra marched hastily up the gardens, carrying the hat and cloth with both hands. Open for those who wanted to visit, the towering gates of the thick, wooden boundary seemed to lean at Ahra, ready to collapse upon her for coming without logical reason. Feeling the air behind her, Aya was not there. Thrusting her head up high, Ahra promenaded beyond the giant gates and began towards the academy building. She started up the brick path, watching the red clay bricks before her pass underneath her black slippers. Glancing up to anticipate the shallow stairs leading to the building's porch, she stopped in her tracks, faced with something else.

         Hayaku sat on the steps, looking right at her with sharp, green eyes. His arms were bent over his knees, sleeves rolled back to his biceps. Bitterly silent, Ahra stared at his arms and hands, gripping the hat and cloth loosely. Cuts and scratches that covered his arms were like snags from thorns, bleeding through sparse bandages. His hands were wrapped almost fully in thin strips of white cloth, some of the areas blotted red like spreading ink. Reaching to the sleeves, Hayaku unrolled them as swiftly as he could, shoving his hands into the sleeves like before. His face was almost blank, averting his gaze to the ground. He bit his tongue, wringing his hands. It was very quiet, the din of silence ringing in Ahra's ears. She stood, biting her lip, brows furrowing. Restless to do something other than stare at the dirt, Hayaku arose from the porch, stepping down by Ahra. Without a word, Ahra smashed the conical hat further between her hands, dropping it and the cloth to the ground. Spinning on her heel, she strutted back down the brick path, squeezing her hands into tight fists that turned her knuckles white. Hayaku did not follow, but stopped to watch her disappear past the gates, the last sight being the flick of her black locks. He rubbed the back of his neck, biting the inside of his bottom lip. Had she not seen his arms, perhaps Ahra would have spoken to him.

         Stooping to pick up his hat and the cloth, the straw splintered into his hands, falling around his sleeves and to the ground. There was no repairing the hat now, but that mattered not. He folded the cloth, piecing his hat together, tucking them beneath his arm. Falling back onto the stairs, he could not help but grin.