"Would you like to try it on?" Hama says after Katara has turned the comb over in her hands for most of the evening, running her fingers over the ornament, a shape both new and familiar. In the dim light of Hama's bedchamber the white is a dull yellow and the blue a deeper, darker hue, closer to purple than it is in full sunlight. Katara squeezes masterfully carved sealwalrus bone until it digs sharptoothed into her palm and swallows the lump of homesickness in her throat with mouthfuls of hot air.
"You used to wear it? I thought-"
The shadows hiding in the folds of Hama's dress dance as she walks across the room to the bed, sitting down beside Katara with the stiff, contained grace of an old woman. She pries Katara's fingers open and plucks the comb from her.
"It was made for grooming," she replies, "but still won't shame the face of a pretty girl."
Hama's hands have skin like thin parchment wrapped tightly over veins like the fry of water snakes and bones that look deceptively frail. Her fingertips are very cold. Her nails are very sharp.
They treat Katara's hair with brusque efficiency, combing through and gathering it in a bun perched high on the back of her head. Two braids by her temples. Hama twins the tresses tightly with sharp, smarting tugs.
At last, she tucks the comb in. The final touch. She leads Katara to the mirror, then steps back and away from the light, leaving Katara's reflection alone in the glass
It doesn't suit her very well, the hairdo. Her face is trapped between the braids, surrounded by too much hair to be flattering. She resists the impulse to pull them away and readies words of praise and thanks.
Very quickly, only a flicker of shadows and light in the mirror, Hama is by her side. Her hand is firmly on Katara's upper arm. Her breath is warm on Katara's ear.
"You and I, Katara. We are the same. We are the last ones." Her grip goes from firm to hard. "We must stay close. You must understand."
There will be a bruise, if not many. The pain of nails and strong fingers –stronger than she imagined- digging into her flesh makes Katara gasp, but when she whips around Hama is already several feet away and her smile is sunny and soft and safe.
"Now, how about some butter tea before bed?" she says, reaching for their one source of light.
The shadows crouching in the corners leap out to engulf the room as she takes the lantern from the hook on the wall and steps out into the hallway. Katara nods to no one, faintly at first and then harder, assuring herself of she doesn't know what.
On her arm the blood leaves the burst vessels, floating under the skin in splotches of deep, dark blue.